Rose, the Masseuse

I remember when I was still living with my parents and I haven’t heard of spas and massage parlors yet because my mom would always have someone over to do her (that didn’t sound right) whenever she felt something on her muscles. Sounds like she’s making an excuse to get pampered, right? She would call Rose, her home service masseuse. Because Rose has so many clients calling her every day, she would make our house her last stop because fortunately for her my dad would always have someone to drive her home after.

Her last stop is at 10pm. One hour for mom and one hour for me would turn her into this panic frenzy person who pinchs and karate chops your limbs until you can’t wait for her to end. One time when she was in the middle of running her knuckles down my back at 1030pm, I realized the entire world stopped and I can only hear her breathing hard. I opened one eye (we all pretend to fall asleep to avoid convo, right?) and snuck a glance at her. The silly old nut is dozing off! Hands poised on my back, she was breathing hard with her eyes closed! Multi-tasking, the sneak! The muscle on my shoulder twitched and she fluttered her eyes open. When she realized where she was, she continued kneading on my back as if nothing happened.

That was a trip.

I haven’t seen Rose in 7 years now.

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