Tuesday July 21, 2015
Posted by indigobunting in Uncategorized.trackback
It’s Tuesday, and it used to be that Tuesday—well, every other Tuesday—was Kimday, the day when Kim drove to Parts West and Tim and I got massages after work. I started seeing Kim in 2006, then Tim did, and when her practice moved from one town to another farther away, I was about to tell her I had to stop seeing her because I couldn’t take the long drive afterward, but she said she’d come to my house if Tim and I would both have a massage, making it worth her while financially. It felt like a $tretch to do it that way, to commit to every other week, but it was also too good an opportunity to pass up, and hey, we don’t have kids. That arrangement had been going on for awhile when, at a New Year’s Eve party, a plot was hatched by neighbors to offer up a second location so Kim could make a day of it. So, every other Tuesday, more or less (less, of course, because life happens), for the last 4½ years, Kim has come to our town to see four or five clients.
It’s Tuesday. Last Tuesday was the last Tuesday.
On Sunday, Kim left with her family for Boulder, Colorado. It is a wonderful opportunity for them. We are all happy for them.
But there were a lot of tears. One does not have a particular someone regularly rub oil all over her body and work on ridiculously tight muscles for nine years without getting emotionally attached. At least this one does not.
All of us are attached. Kim is not the kind of person you don’t become friends with. She is not the kind of person you don’t get attached to. She is the kind of person you will boldly write sentences ending in prepositions for.
It’s Tuesday. A week ago we met up in the heights (the other venue) for a champagne toast before moving it all down to my place one last time. We gave her a parting gift. We all cried a lot.
Tim got the last massage. I got the last embrace.
It is Tuesday, and Kim is gone.
I can’t even write this without tearing up again.
Route 153 
This says a lot about Kim–and a lot about you as well. I love massage, but my massage experiences couldn’t be more different from yours. Except for a few at salons here and there (with mixed reviews), mine take place at a massage school. The price is right. And sometimes the massage is too.
I can imagine Kim’s parting would be a real loss, on so many levels. I am sending you a virtual foot rub.
And this is the kind of writing I salivate over: “Kim is not the kind of person you don’t become friends with. She is not the kind of person you don’t get attached to. She is the kind of person you will boldly write sentences ending in prepositions for.”
Oh no! I remember being upset when my personal trainer left after two years. I can’t imagine losing a massage therapist after NINE years! (Though I am not-so-secretly jealous of you having a massage every other week for that long. I’ve been talking about going for a massage for months!)
Helen picked out the paragraph I loved the most. I read it and said aloud, “this is why I love you, Indigo Bunting!”