Page 66 of Everything's Better With You
“Seemed appropriate. Look, Joe, I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here. I can get Sandy to drive you back.”
Joe held up Leslie’s keys. “I can get back when I’m ready. I came here to take care of you. Now where would you like your Joe Judd Migraine Special?”
Oh, yes, please.“Um, here? I guess?”
Leslie led Joe over to the overstuffed leather sectional and they sat next to each other. Joe turned his body, kicked his shoes off, and tucked a leg up under him.
“What do I need to do?”
“May I touch you?” Joe asked, his voice low.
Leslie whimpered and then cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, his voice raspy. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his black khakis. He’d decided on the black khakis, white polo shirts with the blue and gold Jackets logo for the coaching staff and Sandy had outfitted them all. He preferred a uniform to having to pick out dress shirts and ties, but he loved his band tees and denim or Carhartt work clothes around the house. Right now, he just hoped Joe couldn’t see the telltale signs he was nervous.
Joe waited for him to settle and then held out his hand. “Give me your right hand; we’ll start there.”
Leslie rubbed his pants again, hoping his hands weren’t as clammy as they felt.
Joe simply smiled and began moving his joints around gently, bending his fingers, feeling around the major knuckles and minor connections between bones.
“Relax and let me do the work, okay?”
“What are you…ow.”
Joe pressed his thumb into the space between Leslie’s index finger and thumb, up against the bone.
“Acupressure. You ever try it?”
Leslie shook his head and sucked in a breath.
“I refuse to take pain medication,” Joe said, his eyes trained on Leslie’s hand. “My doctor sent me to a holistic center and I learned all about pressure points. There are several places in the hands and feet that can help mitigate the effects of a migraine. Let me work on these and I want you to close your eyes for me, okay?”
Leslie complied. He didn’t care what Joe was doing, acupressure, witchcraft, satanic rituals, as long as he kept touching him. His hands were soft and nimble. And strong. They weren’t as big as Leslie’s, but he had enough strength to really apply pressure.
“Have you ever done guided imagery?”
Leslie shook his head and let it fall back against the couch. “Like meditation? I tried but it felt silly.”
“I get that. But I think it does help to find your special place to go to when you’re in pain. A place with no pain. Want to try?”
“I’ll try anything you say, Joe, just don’t stop touching me.”
Joe chuckled. “Okay, then. All right, I want you to picture a blank movie screen in front of you. You’re sitting in the seats—”
“Holding your hand?”
Joe sighed. “Yes, dear. You’re holding my hand. Your eyes are focused on the screen and you’re looking forward to the pictures appearing. When they do, you see light followed by deep, intense green. The green splits into leaves of all textures and shapes. The leaves pull away to expose a private slice of sand leading to crystal blue water before you.”
Leslie’s skin grew warmer and the pressure in his head dissipated as he literally felt the heat from the sun blanket his skin. He sank further into the couch and moaned. Joe had moved to his other hand and was making small circles with his thumbs in certain areas: his thumb, the pad between the index and middle finger, the palm of his hand…
He heard Joe’s voice continue, but in his mind, he was already on that beach. Without knowing, Joe had taken him to his family’s Hawaiian getaway, his father’s first extravagantpurchase after signing with the 49ers. Leslie and Barry spent a lot of time there with their mother while Rick Payton got knocked around on a football field. It was a place for them to escape and explore as boys, and then as they got older, it became a refuge when their mother needed space from their father’s tirades.
“You’re tensing up.”
“Mmm sorrr…” Leslie could barely make his mouth work to form words. He was too far away, wishing that the two chairs in the sand with a large umbrella between them were occupied by him and Joe. He wanted to see Joe there, splayed out on a towel on a lounge chair, his golden skin covered with fine dark hair. Maybe he wore swim trunks, or if it was just them, maybe he was covered only by a sarong. Maybe he’d pull it off and Leslie would chase him into the water where they would cling to each other in the surf and—
“Feeling better?”
“Mmmm?”
