Flash fiction/ Taking a break

Going For a Massage

Is there anything better?

She has drawn the dark yellow curtains closed. Twilight reigns in the room. The air is imbued with the gentle aroma of fresh hyacinths, and the space, free of furniture, looks like a vast spring field on the brink of night. There’s only one small table in the corner, where, next to the vase with hyacinths, stands an open laptop and brings to my ears the tender voice of Norah Jones: ‘Come on in, did you have a hard time sleeping? ’Cause the heavy moon was keeping me awake, and all I know is I’m just glad to see you again…’ Norah sings, and her magical vocal cords curl around my body like a velvet blanket.

I’m positioned on a long, leather couch, half-sitting, half-lying down, and completely relaxed. Alone. Oh, the bliss of solitude! I have two hours to myself, two precious hours dedicated solely to me. I’m far from my children’s screams, their ceaseless whining, their squabbles, their shouts, and their accusations, ‘Mom, he pinched me, Mom, she knocked down my tower, no, the bike’s mine, no, this is my bunny, then I won’t leave my room ever again, and I won’t eat ever again, and I won’t do my homework ever again,’ oh, far, far from their incessant demands for food and water and play, and after I’ve cooked and hydrated and entertained them, and I have done it again, and again, and again, they won’t even let me have a peaceful night’s sleep.

But now, I’m far from all that.

I’m on the couch.

Its tapestry is incredibly soft and molds perfectly to the contours of my body. The aroma of hyacinths plays a dance of love with my nostrils. The music makes me drowsy. Vaguely, I can sense the movements of the woman in white nearby. She is washing her hands, getting ready to work on me. She is young, tall, and possesses strong, nature-honed arms, fitting for her profession. Her silky black hair is elegantly tied up in a bun. I close my eyes, filled with warm anticipation of the pleasant two hours ahead during which somebody will take care of me, and I won’t have to care for anyone. The woman moves about, rolling small tables closer to me, and switching on a bright lamp over the couch. The sudden light startles me, and I realize I have dozed off for a moment.

‘Hey there, girl? Did you take a little nap in the chair?’ the woman chuckles. Her face is now concealed by a surgical mask and looks like the face of an authoritative mother.

‘Wow, yeah, I did! It’s just so comfortable here, so relaxing. It’s like I’ve come for a massage. I might have to do this more often.’

‘I hope you won’t have to’, the woman says, raising a dental probe, ‘Although, what can a mother of two say? It’s better at the dentist’s than at home!’ she laughs again.

I laugh with her, and together, we drown out Norah Jones.

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