Mr. Joshua would have been proud of Jit, the bulbous 65-year-old Thai masseuse who moonlighted as the deliverer of pain. Like Endo, Jit “had forgotten more about dispensing pain than… I would ever know.” However, I was no Martin Riggs, much less a lethal weapon. It had been months since I’d seen Jit, though I’ve been going to her for punishment for three years now.
Thirty minutes into our session, she asked, “where you pain.” It wasn’t even a question.
“Everywhere.” I admitted dejectedly, upset and ashamed. Um, why did you wait thirty minutes to ask when clearly I’ve been grimacing in pain the entire time.
She laughed. That’s what she does; it almost sounds evil, toad-like.
She covered my face and started punching me close to my eyes. Now that’s a new technique. I’ve had many things done to me at Kinnare, but until today, I’d never been punched. (Or maybe, I was slapped. My face was covered; who knew? Only Jit knew.)
If you’ve never had a Thai massage, I highly recommend it. It can be intensely painful, but the results born over centuries, are tried and true. Your body is contorted in ways it may not meant to be; and you’re stepped on and poked and pointed and beat all to the point of exhaustion and pain. It’s worth it.
As I was paying, Jit remarked, “you very tight.”
“I had been in a car accident.” Not the first time I’ve told her. Won’t be the last.
She laughed. Not the first time she’s laughed in response. Won’t be the last.
I walked into Kinnare Thai Massage in pain, was delivered even more pain, excruciating in fact. And now, a few minutes later, I feel better.
I’ll be back, Jit.
I’ll be back.
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Secret of My SucCecil 