“You all ready,
Heather?” Tasha called out, probably worried about how long it took me to get
undressed.
I shoved the
drape of the dressing room aside. “Absolutely.”
She led me to
the room across the hall as if through a slow motion dream. She was that
graceful and lithe and willowy. Tranquil sounds filled the space. Waves
lapping at a sandy beach.
She patted the
massage table. “Up or down?”
“Excuse me?” I
didn’t know there’d be a quiz.
Perusing the
clipboard, she asked, “First massage?”
“That’s right.”
Then couldn’t help but add, “I’m a massage virgin.”
“Well, we’ll see
what we can do to remedy that.” She smiled, not taking my comment
offensively, unless she was a really good actress. “Would you like to start
face up or down?”
“What do you
recommend?” I stopped myself from repeating the virgin reference.
She skimmed the
clipboard again. “Lower back pain. Tense, knotted muscles. Insomnia.
Headaches. Stress. Let’s start face down.” Looking up from my long list of
afflictions, she asked, “Would you like me to step out while you disrobe?”
Would that be rude? “Of course not.” I
scoffed. “We’re both women, right?”
Tasha turned her
back, preparing her oils or instruments or whatever. With her attention
elsewhere, I slipped out of the robe, hung it on a peg, and hopped on the
table quick like The Flash, hauling the sheet over my nakedness, which I
still wasn’t sure was appropriate. Oh, well, what the hell? She’d just have
to deal with it. I planted my face in the face donut and waited.
The acoustics
transitioned into raindrops on a tin roof. Occasionally a clap of friendly
thunder rumbled in the distance to mix things up. She positioned me like a
rag doll, placing my arms at my sides on the outside of the sheet.
“Comfortable?”
she asked.
“Yes,” I
mumbled.
I fixated on her
delicate bare feet, her toenails painted a fuchsia color. The fringe of her
sarong nearly tickled the floor as she gracefully glided around. A silver
chain encircled her ankle. How I wished I could be more like her.
Free-spirited. Serene. Bohemian.
“Be sure to tell
me if I rub too hard.” She rested her palms on my skin, and I tensed.
“Okay.”
“Relax,
Heather.”
“I am,” I
protested.
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