Thursday, November 11, 2010

Numb to Love

I needed a massage yesterday like a wounded soldier needs morphine. With my neck broken, my lower back seized up, and the nerves in my left thigh hot and spastic, I lurched into Massage Envy as a POW: Prisoner of Want.

After being led back to the massage chamber, I tugged my clothes off and heaved my remains onto the table, belly-down, tucking myself in under the white sheet. I pressed my face into the doughnut and waited for Lisa to make me whole again. I was there for a Deep Tissue, meaning that Lisa was supposed to use her fingers, hands, and elbows, her fully body weight and possibly some dental equipment to reach all my balled-up muscles and bring them to life again. I was expecting good pain to replace my bad pain; I wanted to have moving parts again.

Lisa came quietly into the dark room; to the sound of flutes and chimes, she began to caress me. She began with my neck and moved to my shoulder blades, which by then had switched places so that it appeared my neck had wings. I was sure that Lisa would push everything back to where it belonged, but instead she gently hugged me. I said from my doughnut, “I think the pressure could be harder.” Lisa responded by sweeping her fingertips down my fully exposed back and touching her nose to my neck wings. Soon she moved to my left leg, by then curled back toward the ceiling, and lightly pressed her thumbs into my thigh.

As I neared rigor mortis there on Lisa’s table, I fell asleep. I couldn’t help it. I felt like I was going to second base with Lisa when what I really wanted was a professional to rough me up, hurt me bad, make me cry. Instead I napped and occasionally woke myself up by drooling and farting, which wouldn’t have happened if Lisa had kept me awake by jamming her skinny elbows into the deepness of my tissues like she was supposed to. She didn’t even turn me over; she left me on my stomach, face-down in the doughnut, passing wind and slobbering like a dog.

Lisa would not make a good nurse, nor would she make a good girlfriend. She should have seen that I was numb to love, paralyzed and scared. I wanted her to resurrect me, to go all in, but instead she did as she pleased, then told me it was over.

I’ll never ask for Lisa again. She reminds me too much of myself.

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4 comments:

  1. Kate, once again you had me laughing in spite of myself, this time with the the "farting and drooling" stuff. You also brought back massage memories that I had forgotten, some surprising and one that probably was the beginning of the end with a massage therapist with whom I was having what had been a wonderful physical, spiritual, emotional relationship (it was the opposite of the Seinfeld episode when Jerry dates the massage therapist and keeps trying to get her to massage him). You surely have a knack for peering deeply and directly into life's dark corners and using humor to shed a little light into them. Keep it up!

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  2. :0) lol but I feel your pain. I had an Indian Head Massage once and I swear the therapist never touched me. If you go for a relaxing massage than fine feather touches are Ok. If you go with pain you need pain to help. I'm booked in for a few weeks!

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  3. Great post, Kate. Reminds me to make an appointment for myself, with Yvette, of course! She's got man hands.... :)

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  4. Reading the first.... couple of paragraphs..... I find it... hard to breathe.......

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