Free Martin Misunderstood by Karin Slaughter

housed. Martin had sat in his
mother's Cadillac (she refused to be seen in the
'twat-mobile'), watching the sign glow in the
evening light. 'Stressed? Tired out? Need a lift?'
the letters had asked. 'Professional Massage at
Reasonable Prices! Walk-ins welcome!'
    Martin had never had a massage, and the truth
was that ever since he'd spent three hours
scraping the last remnants of the vibrating dildo
off his desk, his back was killing him. There was
a kink in his neck and a knot just under his
shoulder blade that felt as if a hot knife was
jabbing between his ribs every time he moved his
right arm. What was massage for if not that very
thing?
    He had thought about the massage the entire
drive back to the house, drowning out Evie's
complaints about 'that bitch who runs the gardening
club like she's the head Nazi at Dachau.'
    This is what he imagined: an earthy young
woman with a ring in her nose and bare feet
would meet him at the front door. Maybe there
would be some nice hot tea and cookies. Chimes
would tinkle, perhaps the burbling of a small
fountain would fill the air. Was there such a thing
as a healing touch? Martin had read about a study
in one of his magazines where rabbits were being
used to test cholesterol medication. One of the
rabbit groups showed amazing results, and it was
later learned that the keeper of the group had
been stroking their backs when she fed them.
Could the same thing happen for Martin? Could
the loving strokes of another human being change
some intrinsic part of him into a happy being?
    'I'll be back later,' Martin had told his mother,
pulling away from the curb in front of the house
as soon as Evie was out of the car.
    'What the fuck—' she said, just before the
forward motion jerked the car door closed.
    As he drove, Martin felt himself relax just
thinking about the massage. He even sped,
pushing the Cadillac five miles over the posted
speed limit. He was picturing this new, reckless
side of himself. What would Unique say
tomorrow when he managed to slip into the
conversation that he had gotten a massage?
Would he be some kind of metrosexual because
of this? Would he start using scented shaving
cream for his weekly shave? Would he get
pedicures like Unique? Ha! Wouldn't she think
that was funny? Wouldn't she be jealous!
    He pulled up in front of Madam Glitter's and
parked right outside the front door. As soon as he
got out of the car, his feelings of elation started to
leave him. Heavy drapes covered the windows.
The front door had a large handicap sticker on it,
the words, 'We specialize in special needs' underneath.
Worse, there was a fast-food restaurant
next door, so that when Martin entered Madam
Glitter's, he was overwhelmed by the scent of
fried chicken.
    'You want a massage?' the woman behind the
desk demanded. She was large, possibly one of
the largest people he had ever seen (and that was
saying a lot – there were some beefy women on
Evie's side of the family).
    'I was . . . uh . . .' Martin felt his feet start to
move backward.
    'Fifty dollars. I don't take credit cards.' The
woman nodded toward a closed door. 'Go in
there, take off your clothes and I'll be there in a
second.'
    Martin stood where he was, frozen in place.
    'Move,' she barked, so Martin did.
    The chicken smell was even more overpowering
in the small massage room. There was
a table in the center with a single hand towel at
the place where Martin supposed his lower half
would rest. He unclipped his tie and hung it on a
hook jutting out of the wall. His hands shook as
he unbuttoned his dress shirt, and he felt silly for
it, because, after all, this was a therapeutic
massage, not a date , for goodness' sake.
    Still, how long had it been since he had been
naked in front of a woman? He tried to think
back. There had been a girl in high school, a
sweet young lady who wore a back brace to
correct her scoliosis. Wendy. Martin smiled at
the thought of her, the way her curved spine had
felt against his palm. If only she