THE MASSAGE


By ChicagoTunnelKid

 

Vincent looked at the book lying open on his table. A gift from Catherine, he had started it only yesterday. He wanted to read, he really did; fatigue ruled his body and clouded his mind. He was sore from lifting pipe all day long, even forsaking his classes. Spring necessitated pipe work to keep the tunnels from flooding with melting snow and rain.

 

He propped up his head with his hands. Slowly his eyelids lowered. What a pleasant dream he was in – he and Catherine walking along the beach, then sitting on a blanket. She was leaning against his side, and then she was behind him, kneeling, so she could rub his shoulders. Oh, that felt so good. Such little hands, yet they strongly manipulated his tense muscles. He flexed his head and neck in response, furthering the relaxation. Her hands withdrew and he next heard her whispered words in his ear. He smiled; she loved him. His heart warmed at the thought.

 

His eyes slowly opened. His head was no longer propped up on his hands; they hung limply by his side. He turned to his left and there she was. Catherine.

 

“It wasn’t a dream?” he asked.

 

She smiled. She moved behind him, enfolding him in a hug. He brought his hands up to hold hers in place against him. Into his ear, she whispered, “I love you.”