Rusty

“Divination,” by Nina Klausen

I couldn’t even find my sheets and oil. That is how long it’s been since I gave a massage. For the first time in almost a year, I pulled the table out of the closet, gathered up my linens and set up shop. I found myself thinking, Am I a massage therapist if I’m not practicing massage? Where did that part of my life go?

I was so proud of myself when I graduated. It was two years of awfully hard work, but I enjoyed it beyond comparison. And, slowly, since then I’ve dropped off. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to use my hands to communicate and listen. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to get lost in the dance.

The first massage I gave was felt forced and a little experimental. I felt a little bit like the Tin Man, rusty and awkward. But I’m interested in getting back to the meditative place of movement and communication between my hands and someone else’s muscle.

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