The In-Between

I slowly pull along the curb; put the car in park and look around, taking in the grayness of the day. Sitting in silence, I pull in as much air as my lungs will hold and ready myself before stepping onto the sidewalk. I stand before an establishment. A glance at the card in my hand confirms I am in the right place.

This is it.

My first time. I have never done it out before, choosing instead to do it myself in the sanctity of my own private space. But, as so happens when an amateur attempts a professional's job, things got unruly and I finally sought help from a friend. With a knowing smile and an "it's about time" pat on my shoulder, Zoe handed me the card I hold now, standing before a business I passed a hundred times but never noticed. I don't know. I've heard stories. Horrific tales of pain from others who've tried it.

Oh, come on! Zoe said. You had two babies! You've been through worse.

I pull the door open and walk in. Not because the woman at the counter is looking at me suspiciously. And not because she picked up the phone (surely) to call the police as I stood hovering at her entrance. I walk in because I know I cannot go home a coward. I had talked it up to almost anyone who would listen. And having created this monster, I have no choice but to follow through.

The suspicious woman places the phone down as I enter. Her hair is slicked back so smoothly it looks painted, yellow and deep brown stripes along her head and tied in a pony tail that hangs efficiently to her shoulder blades. Her eyes are also pulled back slightly and I hardly believe it is the work of the coif style, though I can't be sure. My gut tells me she is not from around here.

Ken I help yoo? She purrs.

See?

Um, I don't have an appointment. Do I need one? I can come back…. I point to the door to assure her (and myself) that I know the way back out.

No. We hiv an opening. Plis, sit one moment.

With a nod, she disappears behind one of two doors.

So I sit strategically choosing the seat closest to the exit. Just in case. My eyes glaze over the plethora of pamphlets spewed along the table next to my chair, various procedures available to me to better myself or make my problems go away. A woman steps out into the waiting area where I sit. Another exotic woman, wearing a white coat, follows.

I watch as the white coat steps behind the counter. The first woman quietly places her purse down and pulls out her wallet. While the transaction takes place, I try to discern a dried path of tears down the payee's face, but I can see nothing. Oh, how well she masks her pain! Not a shred of evidence of even a sniffle! Words are murmured back and forth and each takes her leave; one out the door to blessed freedom and the other to the 'employees only' door in the back, leaving me alone again, unbalanced, hovering on the edge of a cliff of uncertainty, warily peeking over, fighting the temptation to run out the door.

The pony tailed woman steps out then and looks to me with another nod. I'm sure she must have mentioned her given name between the time I arrived and this moment, but in my unease, I cannot recall what it is. I stand and make my way to her. She smiles. To lure me in, I'm sure.

What ken I do for yoo?

Um, I would like a bikini wax?

Okay, so it didn't come across as convincing as I played it out in my head. It never quite does, does it?

Pony Tail's smooth, razor-thin eyebrows express their disappointment as clearly as if they speak aloud. How does she do that?

A bikini wax?

I nod.

Ken I interest yoo in a Brazilian?

Now, I've heard of this before. Zoe had gotten a Brazilian last year for her husband's birthday. She attempted to describe it to me post-wax, but I cut her off mid-explanation as my groin started to hurt as if offering associated pain to hers.

I shake my head. No thank you. I would like a bikini wax please. Stay strong, I urge myself.

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