An Errand
Today, I am going to the spa. I’ve been longing for him for so long, but he has denied me. I hope the spa will ease my nerves and desire for him. Our relationship ended six months ago, and his kiss on my shoulder still lingers. Or maybe it is just the fabric of my sweater that brushes my skin when I put it on and not his lips. I’m overthinking this.
I packed an overnight bag to spend hours at the spa. I need everything that will stop his touch from touching me. Grabbing my car keys, I hurry to the front door. I’m afraid I’ll see him in the living room on the couch, and I’ll get tempted to reach for a goodbye kiss.
It’s 95 degrees outside. A warm breeze greets me, and I am reminded of entering his home, where the scents of marinated baked whole chicken waft in the air. A cloud moves away from the sun, and the world becomes bright. I see his face as he grabbed my hand, guiding me into his kitchen. He is smiling at me because he knows I love to eat, and he is excited to share a meal with me. Moving with the cloud, I back away from the sun and get into my car.
The spa is on the second floor of a big shopping plaza. There is a crowd, and this worries me. I’ve kept myself away from people, locking myself and memories of him within my home. Now that I think of it, all we did was make love for the two months of our relationship, locked in our homes—a few days in his and a few days in mine.
I can’t get out of my shower without remembering when he removed my towel, raised my right knee, and placed it on the bathroom sink. His eyes looked at me in the lightly foggy mirror, while his hand traced the length of my right thigh. My mouth was slightly agape as I watched him in the mirror. His eyes never left mine. I whimpered and anticipated what would happen next. I remember balancing myself on my left leg and feeling his abdomen against my back. Each water droplet he collected on my thigh added moisture to my skin.
Someone bumps me as I am walking towards the spa.
“Watch where you’re going!” A woman yelled.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, almost breathless. It must have been my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. The woman shakes her head and walks away, upset. I take in big breaths and continue to walk towards the spa. It’s ridiculous how much I miss him.
A spa would cleanse you. My cousin advised me over the phone when I called her in a state of distress.
Entering the spa, a warm eucalyptus air greets me, and I relax a little. A receptionist smiles at me with a broad white smile and asks for my name. I told her, and she read my reservation details: one hour of body scrub, one hour of full-body massage, and one hour in the sauna.
“Yes, that’s me,” I tell her, and she asks me to have a seat. I sit in a chair in the lobby and cross my legs tightly. My overnight bag is on my shoulder, and I clutch the bag close as I return to the memory of that day, in the bathroom, my right knee on the sink. That moment when he inserted himself into me, thoughtfully and slowly. I close my eyes the same time I closed my eyes that day, my right knee on the sink. The mirror is high-fiving me. My hips rocking back and forth following the path to ecstasy.
“Shelaine, your massage therapist, is ready. Follow me.”
