The Perv and the Patriarchy

 

I.

He waves for me to approach from atop his throne of power. A burly, tank-like white man, middle-aged, scruffy beard. The Lifeguard.

            What could he want? I think as I put the kickboard back in its stack, still cold and shaky from my swim. I’d gotten the Covid booster the day before and its side effects were giving me the chills, making me tired. Plus, my arm hurt.

            I honestly just wanted to get in the hot shower. Not have any sort of conversation with the lifeguard. But maybe he just had some pool news to tell me. Maybe the pool was closing early next week and he wanted to inform me. Who knows?

            He leans toward me, his usually booming gruff voice softer, conspiratorial. “I can see through your swimsuit,” he says. “You might want to consider replacing it.”

            Shit. I am mortified. Embarrassed.

            “Oh, sorry,” I mumble, trying to cover up by wrapping my towel around my waist. But what part of me could he see? If it was my ass, then the towel would help, but if it’s my tits, then what could I do to keep him from seeing?

            To be suddenly so exposed by a MAN was beyond creepy.

            I hurry off the deck, into the sanctuary of the women’s locker room, full of the usual cackle and chatter. I turn on one of the showers, letting the hot water rinse off my shame. I don’t participate in the women’s banter, but hurriedly dress and head out to hang with the post swim crowd in the parking lot.

II.

They’re gathered there as usual, chatting about Ian’s not pursuing the cello as a child. I’d heard the story before, but was too distraught to take up the thread; instead I interrupted.

            “You guys won’t believe what just happened to me.”

            They stop talking, LS and her husband, who is busy on the phone, and Ian. “The lifeguard told me that he could see through my suit and I should consider replacing it.”

            “That’s awful,” LS murmurs.

            “I’d like to see that,” Ian quips.

            “Not helpful, honey,” I answer. “It was horrible. I was so embarrassed. Mortified. I couldn’t believe that he singled me out to tell me that! Coming from a man.”

            “Maybe, since he’s a former Pastor,” LS offers, “he is just trying to take care of his flock.”

            “I dunno,” I’m shaking a little. Is it the after effects from the vaccine or the incident I just went through? “Maybe. I guess…. but it seems so inappropriate for a male lifeguard to tell a woman that he can see through her suit, you know?”

            They nod. Not reacting much. Was I being too sensitive? Making too big a deal out of the incident? Maybe he was just trying to do me a favor.

            It didn’t feel like that.

            “I need to get home,” I tell Ian. “I’m not feeling very well.”

            “Yes, you said you were cold,” LS says, offering sympathy and understanding.

            “Sure, let’s get you home,” Ian says, grabbing my swim bag for me and heading for the car.

III

“I was thinking about your text,” DL says, “and that lifeguard is a total Perv. He had no business telling you that he could see through your suit. It was shaming, Cj, shaming.”

            “Yes! I was mortified.”

            “Of course, you were. That was his intention. He was using his position of power and authority as a member of the Patriarchy to make you small. Here we are in our bodies, and for years, we’ve been owning them, and then to have someone like HIM belittle you like that. Well, it’s shaming and outrageous.”
            “Yes, and agist, too, DL. I mean, there was another woman whose suit was thin, but she was young and cute. Did he tell her? NO! He singled out the old lady who has no sex anymore to make her feel small and shameful.”
            “Exactly! Sexist. Ageist. Not only would he not tell her, she’s young and sexual still. But if a DUDE had the same issue, would he tell them he could see all their stuff?”

I laughed. “No way!”

“…and the bit about his being a former pastor,” she continues.  “Well, that just adds to the Perv aspect of the situation.”

            “Yes! You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that. Why is it that the clergy has such license for perversion.”

            DL frowns, shakes her head. “They just do. They have the power. The establishment behind them. They know there are no consequences for their actions.”

            I think of how the vicars of Trollope are always ordering their women around. “Make me some tea dear. Have you posted the mail yet? When will supper be ready?”

            And the women, in their buttoned-up Victorian dresses, dutifully serving, submissive, quietly suffering the patriarchy’s unrelenting suffocation.  

            I wasn’t buttoned up in my see-through suit. The nerve of me to expose my body! The Patriarch was disgusted. I must be put in line.

            “Will you report this to the management?” DL asks.

            “No, I don’t think so,” I shake my head. “Even though part of me is very angry about this. I don’t feel comfortable going to the pool now with this Perv in charge. But, I’m not gonna let him stop me from swimming, you know?”

            “I understand,” DL shakes her head.

            “But if he says anything to me again, I’m gonna let him have it. And I’ll report him then. Let’s hope he doesn’t.”

            We both laugh. “Watch out for CJ!” DL declares.

            And he better, I think, he just better.

The Three Carols

 

“Hello, Carol.”

I hear my name and answer to the other Carol that I know in the locker room. “Hello, Carol.”

But then, there’s another woman in our midst too---and, guess what? She answers too: “Hello.”

“Wait a minute,” Carol #2 says (I’m #1 of course), “is your name Carol, too?”

“Yes, it is,” Carol #3 says.

“WOW! I exclaim. “Three Carols all in the same place at the same time here in the locker room of Kennedy High Pool!”

“Is your name spelled with an e on the end?” Carol #3 inquires, “or are you a Real Carol, with no e.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the REAL Carol!” I grin, plopping my swim bag on the wide bench and rustling around for my shampoo and conditioner out of its depths.

“Yes, me too,” Carol #2 says.

“Me too,” Carol #3 says.

We all start grinning. “Are you Carol Ann?” Carol #2 asks me.

Our middle names will surely distinguish us. Not that we aren’t already quite different. Yes, we’re all women, we’re all white, we are probably of nearly the same generation. Though I think I’m a bit younger than the other two Carols—but I always think I’m younger than I am. I forget that I’m a senior citizen now until I look in the mirror. But these two women, while both women and white,  are physically very different. Carol #2 is a wide square load with a painful and slow gait caused by a fall. Carol #3 is delicate and slender, almost too slender. You can see her tail bone poking through at the bottom of her back when she bends over. And, me? I’m just a petite swimmer athlete, with a perky step and no bones showing. Well, maybe a few rib bones if I suck in my stomach.

But, I’m no Carol Ann, “Carol Leslie,” I answer, heading into the shower.

“Carol Lynn,” Carol #3 announces. “But two separate words!”  She laughs softly.

Oh, I know that one.

I often get called Carolyn, one word. Not sure why since it’s a longer name and doesn’t really sound like Carol by itself. In fact, there’s a fellow swimmer here who calls me Carolyn. I’ve thought about correcting her, but then, I shrug and think ‘Why bother’? I can be Carolyn for her.

        

Now as I turn on the hot water and dip my head under the tap, I think about names and Carols. How my mother told me I was named Carol because she was very pregnant at Christmas and there were Christmas Carols in the air. Plus, I think she thought it was a pretty name.

            And it is.

            Though I have taken on other names over the years. I was “Nora” at Avenue Books because there was another Carol. And I’m Cj to a few of my friends. My sisters call me Snart because we couldn’t say fart when we were kids so Fart and Snot became Snart.

            Now I’m part of the Pool Carol Club. And I like this. Though part of me is always a little surprised to meet another Carol.

            Aren’t I the only one?

            As I rinse the conditioner out of my hair, turn off the shower and head out into the locker room to contine the Carol talk, I find myself alone now.

            No more Carols in the locker room.

            Now I am the only one.

            And boy do I like that!