In the hot tub, DL and I rest for a moment, letting the watery heat therapeutic our bodies and brains. Then the water starts moving. We are in waves. Why? I glance to my side. On the steps floats a Large Bouncing Woman , jiggling her entire body up and down, up and down, creating wavy waves that jostle us back and forth. We both start to giggle.
“I remember when O and I went to Germany many many years ago,” I grin, trying to keep my balance on the seat as the waves continue to cascade outward into me. DL nods in encouragement? Actually, she has no choice but to listen to the story: Hot Tub captive audience. “And there was this beautiful indoor pool in a little town called, Garmisch Partikirchen. The pool’s water was calm and peaceful when I first ventured in and began swimming laps, but then I noticed that it was getting harder and harder to lift my head up to take a breath. The water was swooshing into my mouth? Why? So I stopped swimming and stood in the center of the pool for a moment. All of the pool patrons had swarmed into the pool. They were boisterous, laughing, splashing. Was this causing all the waves? No….I saw now that there were actual large uniform waves being generated somehow. A wave machine?”
DL’s eyes are wide, delighted behind her foggy round glasses.
“It was hilarious and marvelous!”
She nods.
I let myself be waved about by Bouncing Woman’s machinations now. And think to myself how I’d never encountered anything like the Garmisch Wave Machine in all of the pools I’ve swum in since, and today, with Large Bouncing Woman making these little waves, I'm reminded me of those bigger waves in Germany, so long ago. I can still savor the delight. Still hear the Germans calling out in glee. Wave induced nostalgia? Sure, why not?
But back to today. I start to tell DL about my day, my woes, my shoes. I’d started wearing tennis shoes to work cause my ‘work’ shoes were hurting my little toe. It had become all red and swollen. And, I just didn’t care anymore how I looked at work. My Business Crisp days are over!
DL and I have started this thing about ‘not caring’. Or no, that’s not true, we are going to try not to care about things. And then text each other about what we don’t care about. For instance, I really don’t care that I’m wearing my tennis shoes to work now instead of my more business crisp footwear that hurts my toes. And really I don’t!
And DL doesn’t care that she wore her blouse inside out all day. And I don’t care that my hair is a straw stick mess---but then see, it sometimes happens that we can say ‘We don’t care,’ but actually, we do. The wrong hair don’t care desire is just that—a desire. I actually care a lot about what my hair looks like.
“And so if you wear men’s shoes than there’s more room for your toes!” Bouncing Woman exclaims, raising her foot out of the tub and spreading her digits. Then letting her foot fall back into the tub. Kersplash. More waves!
“Oh, yeah, that’s true,” I say. “I’ve been wearing boy’s shoes for my whole life.”
“Good for you!” She nods her approval, sinking back into the tub. “It’s called a ToeBox!”
That word: toebox! It sounds like a sinister receptacle for some evil kidnapper to send detached digits if the ransom isn’t paid pronto. “You better pay up, Mr. High and Mighty, or your daughter’s dear little toe is gonna show up in a toebox on your front step!” I see Marlon Brando in
The Godfather, looming behind his massive desk, flicking a tiny box back and forth between his index fingers on the desk’s shinny top.
Gross! I start to feel a little queasy thinking about Brando and the ToeBox as DL and I heave ourselves out of the hot tub. Toebox Woman starts in talking to someone else.
I still feel sort of wavy as I weave toward the sauna, though less queasy out of the watery heat and the wavy water.
Water and waves and ToeBoxes. It's hard to put it all together. So, I won't try. I'm just going to sit in the sauna, close my eyes, and feel the gentle wavy heat of Utopia.
