The D-Vine Touch

The light spilled out of the storefront windows in a hushed and exotic way, as if trying to simultaneously hide and exhibit the wares contained within the building known as The D-vine Touch, or more simply, The D. The town was known for its “intimate health and wellness” shops; there seemed to be as many of them as there were cannabis dispensaries, but not quite as many as the churches which churned forth in rapid succession on what seemed to be every street corner. 

A boxy-framed woman with close-cropped blue-dyed hair and a septum piercing stepped out from The D-vine Touch into the darkness of a Saturday evening caught between late summer and fall, the sort of evening that would leave one shivering pleasantly from the chill. She clutched a bag tightly and lingered a minute near the entryway, letting the cold settle through her hospital scrubs and puffy jacket, so that it might lose its bite. She clicked her car keys and looked a few parking spaces away to her car, only to see it fail to return the expected answer. The woman sighed knowingly and stepped up to the driver’s side door and manually unlocked it before plopping down in the seat, setting her package next to her. The car sputtered to life after only one try, and she backed out of the space, turning onto Main Street. 

She had just finished a long shift at the hospital, staying an extra hour or so for overtime. They had been short-staffed since the virus, and nurses everywhere had had enough apparently. Fortunately for those nurses, they had options and could walk away with a family to keep them in between jobs. She couldn’t. She needed the money. In fact she had always needed the money. The few times she found herself with a bit extra, she would try her best to put it away for a day when the electric bill came in too high, or her trusty car would blow a tire. Tonight, however, she had plans for herself and her girlfriend. Bumping along in the passenger seat was a bottle of high-quality, lavender scented massage oil purchased on discount with a D-vine Touch loyalty card. Her next scheduled work day wasn’t until Tuesday, and she needed to relax before re-entering the chaos that was her floor unit.

The static of the radio crackled as she drove towards her apartment, local indie rock filling the cool air in her car – her heat had stopped blowing a few weeks ago, and she didn’t feel the need to fix it until it got really cold. Stopping at 4th and Walker, she saw the low-fuel light come on and knew that it was a problem that needed addressing. A gas station convenience store appeared up on her right and she pulled into the lot, stopping at pump number seven. It was late, and while she did not like the idea of stopping at an establishment where the main billboard flickered every few seconds, and feral cats had taken up residence near the dumpster, her car was truly untrustworthy and she wanted to surprise her girlfriend rather than call for assistance this late. 

The cashier was a grizzled man with balding hair, a clean face and reading glasses, but he styled his hair as if he weren’t in the process of losing all it, which only managed to pronounce the effect further. He, too, seemed to be working a long shift. The woman felt for him, but did not yet have the energy to engage him further than necessary.

“26 on 7,” she said, handing him a few crumpled bills. 

“Yes sir,” He grunted, briefly winning over the silence of the convenience store from the girl as the humming of the refrigerators carried on steadily.

She turned for the door. The beginning of the transition is the hardest part… she reminded herself.

Pump 7’s trash can was overflowing, and the courtesy washer fluid was all but gone. The few bugs brave enough to face the evening’s chill swarmed steadily around the light above the pump. The woman noted these things, becoming lost in the mental drift that occurs with a somewhat mindless task as she selected unleaded fuel and began filling up the tank. The pump handle’s automatic shut off engaged shortly, and still, reacting almost mechanically, the woman squeezed the handle again, and again from habit, causing the gasoline to overflow and splash onto her hands and the ground. 

A curse escaped her lips and she wiped her hands on the scrubs, even as she noticed a few other stains from the day’s work. Back in her car after filling, the woman turned the key in the ignition. It failed to start the first time, which caused no concern, at least not yet. It failed the second and third. Her heart picked up just a bit. Not again, she thought, but, this wouldn’t be the first time, and she had gotten out of worse situations. A fourth sputter, followed by a fifth, sixth, and the car was still denying life. 

“Frick, no, no, no, no, no” she said, her hands perched near the top of the steering wheel to cushion her head, which now tapped against the knuckles in a reassuring rhythmic motion matching the no’s streaming forth from her mouth. Not tonight, not tonight, of all nights, not tonight! 

An expansive sigh filled the car even as a commotion near the convenience store drew her attention. A man wearing outdoor clothing, smeared with dust and grime was in the process of entering through the door, when suddenly his legs shot out and stiffened, a backpack tumbled down and he fell on the threshold crying out in distress. The clerk, not wanting to give up his position behind the counter, looked about frantically trying to determine a course of action.

The woman instinctively popped open the car door, and rushed over to the man to begin assessing his condition. His lips were dry and cracked, his face contorted in pain. She had a feeling he was dehydrated, and cramping badly. 

“Water….., water please, please”

The woman turned and grabbed a water bottle from the convenience store shelves without asking the clerk, and held it close to his mouth. He drank deeply, but still winced in pain as his leg muscles alternated between cramp and release. 

“Call an ambulance please, sir!” she shouted to the clerk. She fiddled with the man’s pant legs and rolled them up to begin assuaging his pains through massage, at least until the ambulance arrived; however, the man’s calves, dirty and hairy as they were, produced too much friction as she kneaded them, so without a second thought, she took off toward her passenger side door. She hit the unlock button on her keys, and the car once again failed the call and response. A thought burbled up in her mind, I need to get that fixed…

Hastily grabbing the package in the seat, and crossing the cracked asphalt lot in a few bounds, she returned to the man, still moaning on the ground. 

Upending the bottle into her hands she began to massage the man’s calves efficiently with the oil. Eventually taking his shoes off and doing the same to his feet, for they too began cramping, she worked her hands over every tense muscle as the scent of gasoline, lavender and funky body odor mingled in the convenience store aisle between the bags of chips, beef jerky, and sweet candies. The clerk hung up the phone and watched silently, thankfully even, and said “The ambulance is on the way, should be here shortly.”

The evening, now stabbed with unnatural peals of red and blue, remained resolute as it trudged on to midnight. The man who had collapsed at the convenience store was being wheeled toward the ambulance, but before being pulled inside the vehicle, he found the woman and said, “I’m going to let all my followers know what you’ve done for me ma’am! Whoever follows me will see your story pinned at the top of my profile! What’s your name?”

The woman simply nodded, not understanding what he had asked. Maybe he was more dehydrated than I thought, and more delirious…

“Turns out he’s a famous backpacker attempting a multi-week trail, some big influencer or another, logging each mile on a reel. Seemed to not have prepared as well as he wanted,” said an EMS worker standing next to the woman, He chuckled to himself and then asked, “Why’d you do that? Massage his legs?” 

“Well, he was in pain, and I had a remedy.”

“Fair enough.”

The woman stepped back into her car, forgetting due to the recent excitement that the vehicle had been nothing but intractable all evening. She turned the key and started the car, without realizing what a miracle it was to hear the engine fire up on the seventh attempt.

She texted her girlfriend, “Have I got a story for you…” followed with an eye roll emoji.

A quick response, “Can’t wait to hear it.” followed with a kissy face emoji.

Hopefully this was the last errand for the evening, as the woman turned toward home, exhausted and ready for bed.

———-

The next morning is a Sunday, and while the woman and her girlfriend sleep soundly cuddled together, all across town, faithful congregants drive to their particular street corner. In each building, some semblance of the following scene is repeated: The members enter, pausing briefly to dip hands in holy water to cross themselves, or to stop by the coffee thermos and chat about how blessed the previous week was. The pastor or priest stands and reads from the Bible, perhaps a passage from the book of Matthew. The congregants stand or sit, according to their prescribed tradition. The sermon is given, and the songs are sung. The people file out, one by one, and occasionally will stop at the newly installed sanitizer station to cleanse their hands from germs, before exiting the church towards their lunch destination. Later that afternoon, a few will open their social media apps and see the story of a woman who rubbed her lavender-scented massage oil purchased from an adult toy shop all over the legs and feet of a complete stranger in order to ease their pain.