naked i stand, tender and beloved

beau eats the rice i put on a log next to the mating lady bugs. spring! sprung!

the waves roll in no particular hurry. the sun beats down on my back.

“in my thoughts i have bled,” sings beth gibbons.

“white horses will take me away.”

seven years today since my mom died just a few miles from where i sit.

i imagine what it would be like if she was right here next to me, just for a few minutes – what i would tell her about this last near-decade, what questions i would have.

i’d start by telling her my brother is ok. she’d want to know. and i’d tell her beau has taken good care of me.

i’d talk to her about how broken my heart has felt over and over again for so many things, and by way of one particular man.

i’d ask her if my dad proposed and, if so, how. i’d ask if she’s seen him in the afterlife.

i’d tell her about moving out of the house in merrifield and moving into the house in new york. i’d spill the tea on how her lifelong best friend started dating her high school sweetheart not long after she died. we’d agree they can have each other.

i’d ask her to tell me again about her time has a young woman living in duluth in the 80s and 90s. about her german shepherd she brought everywhere and the house they lived in with the retired nun out here on park point. i’d want to know what were the good spots to get a drink? how was it – the beach and the hillside with no cellphone in sight?

i’d tell her i came back here this year to bury something. to bury many things, i guess – some version of myself born of sorrow and loss and rotten love – some part of my psyche that thought i needed to suffer in order for any of it to be real, that punishment is the only path to reward.

i’d tell her about all the times i’ve cried in the sand. about how i sometimes lay on my back and imagine the earth swallowing me, the water consuming my body. that i pray to be closer to something beyond my mind, beyond my heart. about how here, on the beach, more than anywhere else on earth, i feel at home.

i’d ask her to look into the future and see if i meet a good man – like, a really good one. i’d ask what our children will be named.

i’d try to guarantee that no matter what happens i’ll be okay and i’ll promise that if i can’t be good, i’ll be good at it.

i’d tell her i’ve really missed her and i’m sorry she had to go.

—

later in the evening i walk over to get a massage from andy. i’m tense all over, so booked his last hour of the day – 8p to 9p.

we do our usual greeting and he asks me what i’m in for.

“i’m really sensitive right now,” i say. “in mind, heart, and spirit.”

andy nods. “okay, so we will have you start face down,” he says.

i take all my clothes off aside from my underwear and get comfortable on the table. he walks in, takes a deep breath, and asks if i’m ready.

“yea,” i say. “thank you.”

he takes a moment to rub my scalp and i feel my body begin to melt. about fifteen minutes into the massage he asks me if everything is okay.

“yes,” i say. “i trust you.”

he hums in approval.

andy takes his time on my back before moving to my glutes, which i requested on account of going to a lot of workout classes lately. i can’t believe how tense they are, how much my entire body responds to them being touched. andy moves around methodically, holding my hand while he digs his opposite elbow into each side. it’s an unparalleled release, somatic and heavenly. it’s there, under andy, that i feel the best i’ve felt in a very long time.

he moves me onto my back and spends a good twenty minutes on my chest, shoulders, neck and face. i feel like i could cry but want to hold it together. i think if i start, i won’t be able to stop.

andy finishes with my feet, which is perfect. i take deep breaths and focus on a vision of myself years from now, accomplished and deeply well.

we wrap up and stand in the entryway for a moment, talking about how andy is looking to buy a house.

“i’ll pray for you,” i say. and in that moment i put out a silent prayer asking god to help him find what he’s looking for.

i leave and walk the half-block back to my apartment where i leash up beau and bring him out for his last walk of the day before coming back inside and running a bath.

there, i think about my mom again. i wonder what she’d make of me now, soaked, sore and full of hope.