Yesterday was mall day. The large, full of outlets and discount shops and Asians mall in Milpitas. Among the features of this mall is a wide array of Chinese massaging going on.

We got side-by-side, half-hour “reflexology” foot massages, or feet massage, or feet massages. Four feet, two massagers, 30 minutes.

Whenever I get a manicure or a pedicure and now a foot massage, I become acutely aware of the people alongside me. The ones with beatific, peaceful smiles. The ones who look limp, languid. I think they call the state “relaxed.” It’s something like that, and it’s an entirely foreign concept to me.

Invariably, I’m in a weird muscular tug-of-war with a helpful professional beseeching me to “just relax…relax” while manipulating some extremity or another. Taut is how the world made me and taut I stay. Rigid. Unyielding. I don’t do anything but clenched. Really. I try. Turns out, though, that using your brain to will yourself relaxed leads to board-like stiffness.

M.’s reaction was, “You’re from New England and a stranger was touching you.” Like, duh.

I’m thinking of loaning myself out as scaffolding.

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