Fuggeddaboudit Page 4

the Magic Man.

  The Magic Man

  The Magic man arrived in my life at one of my darkest moments and changed my life forever. He showed me how much people need touch and that there is fundamental good in the world. All that….and he didn’t charge me a dime. Even when I pleaded with him to take money. Go figure.

  As seems common for most life lessons for me, I resisted at first. Had to be forced into it. I thank my husband and that same clerk at Good Earth for making me go to the Magic Man. Quite frankly, things would have turned out a lot different had that not happened.

  Tom knew I was stressed. Heck, anyone that saw me knew I was stressed. Tried to hide it. Failed. It was just before I decided to quit my job and take care of Dad full time. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of a putting him in a Care Facility, checking them out, and me realizing there was no way, Tom gave me a gift certificate for a massage.

  He gave it to me for National Kazoo Day. It said so right on the card. Happy National Kazoo Day. Before that, I didn’t even know there was a National Kazoo Day. January 28th. Turned out that National Kazoo Day was a turning point in my life. That is the kinda stuff you just can’t plan, plan on, or make happen. It just has to come along all by itself. The chain of events that led me to my first massage and the Magic Man still amuse and amaze me.

  Tom and I were shopping at Good Earth one day. Must have been just after Christmas. The first Christmas tainted by Fuggeddaboudit. Dad had some fun that holiday season, although much of it was as a kid playing with the Lionel trains. That was nice to see in a sick and twisted way. He played with the trains for hours and seemed quite content to be 10 again for a while. Actually made the holidays feel like home even though Dad was far from being Dad while choo-choo’ing away.

  The hard part was Christmas Morning. One of Dad’s worst days to that point. He didn’t recognize anybody and refused to come out of his room. I tried. Tom tried. Even the kids tried. We tried all morning. The kids, to their great credit, did not complain about the delay of gift opening. They just waited and hoped while I tried to get Dad back to the moment. He did not make it back that day. We celebrated Christmas in the living room while he was in La-La land by himself. It was a shitty day wrapped up pretty and nice and flooded with memories….one of which would be a holiday staple forevermore. No matter how hard I tried to forget it.

  I put on my game face and sucked it up…fooled no one, not even me. Alright, I think I fooled Dad. La-De-Fucking-Da. Happy Holidays.

  A few weeks later, we began the new year in a bit of a funk. Quite a bit, actually. The new year began with little hope and less happiness. Just a reality at the time when illness is the center of existence on a daily basis.

  Tom and I went shopping at Good Earth. That became more and more routine. Somehow things seemed better there. Healthier. Happier, somehow. We were checking out and the clerk, the same one that gifted me with a cup of herbal tea and time, noticed my funk. How she saw through my best façade stunned me. Yeah, right. I realized later I was more walking wounded than person. She did not say anything to me but, very discreetly, handed Tom a card. She put her finger to her lips indicating it was a secret. A secret he honored and gifted to me later on National Kazoo Day. A free massage.

  Tom went back to the store without me to ask her about the card. Tom is a man of the world and wondered why the heck someone would give away a massage. He wondered what the catch was. He admitted later that if anyone else handed him the card, he would have trashed it. It was from the clerk though. Jen was different. If she gave the card, Tom knew it was for a reason. He went back to the store the next day to ask her about it. She had that day off so he went back the next.

  I chuckled when Tom told me the story later. He felt like a stalker. He went back to the store, tried his best to be inconspicuous, and waited for Jen to go on break or have some free time where he could talk privately. It was about 45 minutes of pretending to read labels and browse before he cornered her. Jen told me later she knew exactly why he was there and thought it was cute that he was so nervous. Turned out that Tom pretty well sucked at being inconspicuous. I knew that for many years.

  He, as nicely as he could, asked if the card was for real. What was the catch? Jen expected the question and said there was no catch. It was a free massage from a man trained in Reiki, Swedish massage, and even some Reflexology and Acupressure. He considered touch his ministry and gave it away. Literally, gave it away.

  Tom was leery. Jen understood. She said she sensed how stressed I was and that a massage would help. Jen gave Tom the card for that very reason. She went on to say how she went to the same therapist once a week. Jen suggested he get a massage himself and then decide if he should gift me one. Tom did not get that massage. He did decide to gift it to me. That is, he decided after discussing it further over a cup of herbal tea with Jen.

  That image cracked me up. Tom drinks coffee; lots of it. The very idea of him sitting in Good Earth and having a cup of tea with obviously alternative Jen gave me an idea of how much we had changed since Fuggeddaboudit arrived. I still laugh at the idea of that meeting.

  Jen explained the benefits of bodywork to Tom. He learned that it moves lymph and that is, in Tom’s very own eloquent words, “a good thing”. Jen must have been very persuasive. By the time she was done, Tom, the man who has yet to get a massage, understood the benefits and background and more about massage. He understood so well that he was very excited about the prospect of me having a session. In fact, he insisted on it. His sales pitch included a plea that I “had to go”. It was important for my health.

  So I went. Thanks to Jen. Thanks to Tom. Thanks to Tom’s insistence. I went to Jason for my very first massage. A ninety minute session of touch. It worked. It was the first day of the rest of my life in regard to healing and more. Jason was much more than a person who understood touch. He was truly a Magic Man. I went for one session and then for more.

  Time there kept me sane. It was a place of refuge and insight. For me, Jason became the Magic Man. Massage became my Sanctuary. Turned out that Sanctuary arrived just in the nick of time. Fuggeddaboudit came closer to claiming two victims than I cared to admit.

  Sanctuary

  I needed a place to hide from Fuggeddaboudit. A place where it didn’t exist. Even if only for a moment. A minute. An hour or so. A place where Dad was not about to die and where my faith in hope and miracles still breathed a bit. I did not know it at the time, want to admit it now, and even understand why….but I wanted to run away. Far, far away and not come back. So I did run. To Sanctuary. A place I needed to be so that I could be all I needed to be everywhere else.

  Silly me. I thought I was just going for a massage.

  Called and made the appointment and drove over to Jason’s house. Arrived 30 minutes early and was unsure what do to so I parked down the street and waited. Was I supposed to show up early? Right on time? Fashionably late? I eliminated late. Jason’s time was to be respected. As for early or right on time, I compromised and showed up 5 minutes before my scheduled appointment.

  He greeted me warmly and led the way to his session room. It was a lovely room. Gentle colors. What I came to think of as massage music was already playing softly in the background. It was decorated like one of those New Wave places would be. Zen things and all variations thereof.

  At the time, I did not realize what each item meant and how each contributed to the whole. I just knew I felt comfortable. Learned later how carefully, and easily, Jason ensured that would happen long before I or any of his blessed guests arrived. Much of what I learned later about how that place felt and why it felt that way carried over to my home now.

  Jason showed me the room and explained a bit about the session. Then he led the way to what he called his porch. A glass enclosed room that was, in Jason’s own words, his favorite room on the planet. It was
easy to see why. It felt like heaven. Simple. Beautiful. Peaceful. Dignified. Unpretentious. The session room was a wonderful place. Jason’s porch was even better. It was home. Home to anyone there. I felt like I belonged and it was my first time there. It felt like that every time since as well. Jason’s porch welcomed me.

  We spent over ten minutes talking. Jason explained he needed to understand more about me to guide the session that day and every session thereafter. He had me fill out a questionnaire, much like I would for a Doctor’s visit. This one was different. It asked about medical conditions and the like. It also asked what I needed that day. Just like that. What do you need from the session today? The question stumped me, at first.

  The form was also different in another way. Jason stayed with me the entire time. Not the “over the shoulder, hurry up so we can get on with this”, staying. The “I am right here if you have any questions, take all the time you need’ staying. He sat on a chair nearby and looked out the windows like he all the time in the world and I was the only thing that mattered to him.

  I looked at the question again. “What do you need from the session today?”

  How about a big helping of whatever the heck Jason