I took a deep tissue massage at the new day spa a few blocks from my place of employment. It cost $75 and thirty minutes of my life to have my shoulders, neck and head manipulated, or were they shattered? That was a lot of money spent but I was sore and achy and in need of a break. What was to unfold I could not have known or understood before meeting Ruth.
She was a short, petite redhead and was my “gatekeeper” to The Valhalla of Massage. She escorted me to a room where a heated massage table with clean crisp white linens was available for me. June shut the door behind us and began whispering orders with a toothy grin.
"Take your clothes off and place them on the chair," she noticed I was a little shy. "Don't think anything of it, honey. I'm a therapist and here to heal your neck and shoulders." I dropped my drawers and squatted behind the table hoping the mirror on the wall didn't reveal anything to June.
"Lay down on your front, please," said June. She was holding a sheet by the corners and slightly above her head, which concealed me from her eyes. I leaped on the table before June lowered the sheet and could see my overexposed parts. She threw the sheet over me and the ordeal began.
June squirted some oil on her palms and rubbed them together to spread the lubricant. Grabbing my shoulder and squeezing with her fingers and thumbs I felt my clavicle rebel at the pressure. With a palm on my triceps and the other on my shoulder June began to rotate the left side of my upper body. She being so petite I thought I would assist her in the movement.
"Don't do that! Let me do it." I was wondering how she said things with such authority in a whisper? My shoulder was creaking and groaning like my dad's derelict Ford F100 Pickup from 1960. I thought about complaining but I was afraid she would make it hurt worse. Anyway, she didn't look like she would be tolerant of any criticism. I muddled through and tried not to bite my tongue. A lot worse was to come.
June, the destroyer, moved over to my right shoulder. That’s where the pain really began. Cartilage, sinew and bone heaved and buckled inside my shoulder. The pain was so intense I saw visions; first a bright sun burst then stars, then a white light. Could this be the end? Is this the way I’m to go, at the mercy of Madame Mao? The light was so inviting. I wanted to go to the brilliance. Clearly I was seeking immediate relief and not “thinking.” I’ve read enough about near death experiences to know what to expect. I knew that the closer I moved to the light the less the pain and the pressure of the “psycho fingers” assaulting my flesh would matter. This turned out to be correct. I was ready to go – to abandon the table, the massage therapist and my entire life. June should be paying those who will survive me instead of collecting a fee from me. But, as they say, it wasn’t to be. Escaping the pain was not an option
June’s voice was whispering in my ear and pulling me back to the pain on the table. "Now turn over, darling," there was a sadistic tone to the word “darling.” Maybe I was imagining things. Anyway, I rolled on my back and she repositioned the sheet to cover me.
Fingers sought out and found strategic points on my head. She was shifting my neck to the left then the right then the left. Her fingers felt like carpenter’s nails driving through my skull. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t catch my breath.
Somehow I remembered the lyric to a Rogers
“June is bustin' out all over
The ocean is full of Jacks and Jills,
With the little tail a-swishing'
Ev'ry lady fish is wishin'
That a male would come
And grab 'er by the gills!
Because it's June...
June, June, June
Just because it's. . .
The ocean is full of Jacks and Jills,
With the little tail a-swishing'
Ev'ry lady fish is wishin'
That a male would come
And grab 'er by the gills!
Because it's June...
June, June, June
Just because it's. . .
“June, June, June! You have to stop!” I heard the words spilling out of my mouth but it didn’t faze June. She kept right on the assault.
“Oh, my Lord. . .
I began a prayer but couldn’t keep my mind on my thoughts.
“It hurts, it hurts!”
“Oh, silly bugger, I’m not hurting you.”
I tried to get up and off the table but she was too strong. With one hand she pressed on my skull and the other she slammed me back on the table. I felt like a calf at a rodeo roping contest. June had me down on my back and might as well have trussed up my arm and both legs into a bunch. No less humiliating for me. However, the attack suddenly stopped. The maelstrom of pain and panic subsided.
I cancelled the singing and the praying abruptly. Her fingers finally were off my person. No more shoves, no more pokes, no more powerful hands manipulating my neck. It was like the surreal peace after the bombing of Dresden
“There you are,” said June.
“Where,” I asked. I had forgotten I was in a strange room and tied to a rack. The fog lifted when I realized the torture really was over. The redhead, June, had stood down and I was still alive. My bones were not shattered. Muscles and joints seemed intact.
“I’ll leave you to put your clothes on,” said June, the crusher. I survived but I couldn’t get up. The room was spinning and I felt nauseous. I managed to roll over the edge of the table and onto my feet. That’s when my head began to throb and my eyes blurred.
Oh boy, I just remembered I have to drive. I’ve heard of designated drivers for drinking. It never occurred to me to have one after a massage. I sat in my car and considered my options.
My eyes were not focusing so driving was out of the question. I could sleep this stupor off, but there is a real possibility of being mugged. I could walk but it’s 15 miles to my house and I can’t see the road. I just spent my last $75 on the massage; there was no money for a cab.
Hmm, who could I impose upon to drive me home? Who owed me a big enough favor that would get them up out of their evening meal to rescue me from my dilemma?
About this time June, my bone manipulating gate keeper to the chamber of horrors, walked out of the building. “Are you alright, Deary,” she asked me with genuine concern.
“Uhm, I’m not well enough to drive myself home,” said I.
“Oh, honey, I can’t leave you here alone and in trouble. I’ll take you home.”
Wow, it just goes to show how little I understand human nature. Once again I have misjudged the situation and allowed my emotions to cloud reality. We jumped in her little green hybrid vehicle and sallied into the dusking sun. I would be home soon, all because of June.
