these hands
I get home early one day and book myself a massage. There is a massage place a few blocks from me, Massage Ultra. It seems forsaken, in a sort of overworked, typecast adjective sort of way. I’ve never seen anyone go in. I hardly ever go myself, but lately I’ve renewed my interest, wondering who else keeps their business alive.
This Massage Ultra seems to be run by mostly Chinese people. Today my masseuse asks me what part hurts.
Shoulder? Back?
My brain, I want to reply. I wonder if it ever occurred to her that sometimes people get massages just for fun, and not because something hurts. Or maybe everyone has a part of them that hurts, always.
Try as I might, I can’t turn my brain off. At some point, I must have grumbled, because she asks me if she’s pushing too hard.
It’s okay to say, she says in Mandarin. You can tell me.
No, it’s fine, I mumble, finally mustering the confidence...