Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

2. European Union

July 12, 1995

Evergreen Yoga Studio

Ottowa, Canada

"Alright, class, if you feel any pain or discomfort, you've gone too deep into the pose."

I released a tense breath as I brought my knees a bit closer together. My forehead rested on the yoga mat beneath me, and my arms stretched out stiffly above my head. Canada's idea of a restful morning was not very restful at all. Even the scent of burning incense wafting through the studio didn't seem to help.

"Melt your hips down. Close your eyes," the yoga instructor continued in her slow, even cadence. "I know this one isn't easy. Ten deep breaths, and I want you to really check in with yourself and take note of your internal dialogue."

As I tried to relax into the pose, I took a moment to reflect inward. My mental calendar appeared, full of its usual meetings and flights. I exhaled a long sigh.

"I know these hour-long sessions tend to bring some stuff up. But this is the point of yoga."

My upcoming trip to Europe came to the surface—one that I was absolutely dreading. The shifting landscape of global trade ensured confrontation with both allies and enemies alike. I inhaled deeply.

"Can you sit with challenge, with difficulty, with tension? Can you allow yourself to be imperfect? Can you step out of your critical, egoic mind?"

"Pst, Margaret," I whispered.

Canada lifted her face from her pink mat and looked at me in surprise. The instructor shot me a glare from across the room full of obedient students.

"Wanna get coffee after this?"

"Oh!" Canada startled when the newspaper landed squarely on the table in front of her. She set aside her iced latte to survey the headlines as I took the seat across from her.

"Can you believe them?"

"What, this one?" she asked, pointing to "UFO SPOTTED OVER NEVADA DESERT."

"No," I said emphatically. Reaching over, I tapped my finger on "EUROPEAN UNION DEAL DRIVES WEDGE IN TRANSATLANTIC TRADE."

"Ah." She took a contemplative sip from her straw as her eyes skimmed the article. "Hm. A response to NAFTA?"

"No," I sighed, frustrated. I stirred my coffee into a raging vortex. "It's been in the works for ages. England has been practically harassing me about it."

"Oh, yeah..."

Interest gone, she clasped her hands underneath her chin. Her eyes trailed off, looking everywhere but my face. I knew that look like the back of my hand.

I set down my plastic cup. "Something wrong?"

"Well..." She pressed her lips together. "It's England."

This piqued my concern. The last thing we needed was a divorce in the family. "Are you two fighting?"

She shook her head and laughed airily at the notion. "Oh, no. Never."

Balling my hand impatiently on the table, I waited for her to elaborate.

"I just...don't see him nearly as much as I used to. This isn't new...probably twenty, thirty years now."

As reality dawned on me, my eyes fell. I was most likely the reason for their rift, whether or not she realized it. I didn't have the courage to admit this to her.

"You never told me," I murmured.

Her eyes flashed to my face, and she shook her head dismissively. "It's okay. I'm just glad I've always had you in my life, America."

Sincerely touched, I reached out and rested my hand on her arm. She smiled a sad kind of smile and placed her other hand on top of mine. Turning it into a competition, I stacked my other hand on top of hers. She dramatically wiggled the fingers of her trapped arm, and we both giggled like schoolgirls. I took both of her hands in mine and squeezed.

"You're too sweet to me, Canada."