Menacing

 

“That was magical….” LS sighs, turning on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her after our swim.

“Yeah, it was…” I agree… “except for The Perv watching over us.”

“I found his whistling to be a bit menacing,” Teresa says, leaning her head back into the shower to gather water for shampoo. “You know, there we were, just three women in the pool and here’s this Man, this Large White Guy, up there on his throne whistling at us. I don’t know if it was conscious or not, but to be whistling at three women in the pool…. well…I found it a bit menacing. Men are so used to taking up all the space. And that whistling, it was definitely a manifestation of this.”

“WOW!” I exclaim. “That is so true. I knew he was particularly creepy today, but I always think that he is. (Regular readers may remember that The Perv informed me about a year ago that ‘I can see through your suit; you might consider replacing it.’)  “So, of course, today, I noticed the whistling, I just didn’t pinpoint this as a behavior that was menacing today, but you’re right. It was!”

          And menace is in the air, right? Esp. from Fat White Men in charge. They have all power right now. Or at least they think so. And as women in this country, we need to let them know that they don’t.
          Last weekend, Teresa had told me how this Big White Guy that she had to share a lane with cuz there weren’t any other openings told her that she had to watch out for him cuz his backstroke was wide and if she didn’t watch out, he might hit her. She’d fired back, “I have to watch out for you! Listen Dude, you need to watch out for me. Not the other way around.”

          Her large brown eyes flashed with anger. “After last week’s election, watch out. I’m mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore.”

          Okay, she didn’t actually say that famous line to me, but this anger and frustration at the world of Trump is palpable. I move through it in the pool when large men get in the lane with me, taking up all the space. Cuz you know, they can. It’s all about them. I’m invisible. Why on this same day that Teresa is talking about, down at the Richmond Plunge, when it was so crowded, I got into a lane and signaled the man already in the water to split the lane with me. He’d acknowledged my presence. We swam a couple of laps just fine, I on the right side of the black line, he on the left side when WHAM, he crashed right into me.

          “Oh…sorry sorry,” he’d mumbled, before turning and swimming on. I was left fuming. What the hell was the matter with this guy? Did he just forget he’d been swimming laps? Or, was is something more menacing. That palpable right-wing fog that was spreading all over the country. Women were, once again, very much second-class citizens. No rights over their own bodies. No options to ‘take care of it.’

          But hey! Why should I care? I’m an old crone. It’s not an issue for me anymore. (Yeah, Trump said that. But I’m not gonna get into all the insulting misogynist things that come spewing out of his mouth every minute of every day right now. You’ve all heard them. You know what I’m talking about)

          “That word menacing…” I nod toward Teresa as we're out of the showers now, throwing on our clothes. “It’s such a good word!”

          She smiles. “It is. Menacing…hey Men- a- cing…I never thought about that till now!”

          We all laugh.  "I’m gonna look up the etymology of the word later."

        "Speaking of entymology," LS contributes, "have you heard of the word petrichore?"

       "No," we both respond. 

        "Petrichore is the smell of rain. The word comes from the Greek words for 'petra', meaning stone, and 'ichor' which in Greek mythology refers to the golden fluid that flows in the veins of the immortals."

        "Wow!" we exclaim.

         "Let's hope there's no ichor in the veins of The Perv!" I cry.

        "Oh, he can't be an immortal!" LS pronounces.

        "Yes, I'm sure he's not. Unless he's one of those immortals from Hades that's come to our sphere to torture us with his whistling!"

          We all laugh, cuz  for now, menace is not in our sphere. We are three women laughing, dressing, and commiserating over the state of the world.

          Let him whistle. I don’t care. I’m mad as hell ...and..... I’m not gonna take it anymore!

Menacing Entymology

Election 2024

The Day Before the Election

“Hello?”
“Oh…Hi! This is Carol, a volunteer for Team Harris-Walz and….”

“Lemme ask you a question.” The Man from Pennsylvania interrupts my spiel, barreling right into my words. “What’s your favorite color?
“Blue.”

“Me too. Lemme ask you another question, What do you like better, Ford of Chevy?”
“Ford.”

“Me too! I have a Ford truck parked in the drive right now. Hey! Do you like to mow your lawn?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I….”

“I have to go now,” I interrupt him. Why I’ve gone along with his random questions so far is beyond me. I think I was just so happy to finally reach a real person instead of everyone’s Voicemail that I was swept away. Plus, he didn’t give me a chance to protest.

Now I hang up. Not letting him ask another stupid question. Is this what political phone banking is for? Answering stupid questions from stupid men in stupid states?

I sigh. Dial the next number.

“You have reached 918.555.7865, please leave your message after the tone.”

“Hi, this is Carol, a volunteer with the Harris Walz team and….”

 

 

 

Nazareen School, Holy Bible, 1937

Election Day

“I tell you, it doesn’t matter who wins. Man or Woman. Republican or Democrat. Red or Blue or Purple. There is only ONE person in control and that is God.”

            I’m trying to yank my swimsuit on in the Richmond Plunge Women’s locker room. Had I asked her who she had voted for? Or was this proclamation of God as the only one in control something that was volunteered into the community air of the locker room? I can’t recall. And it hardly matters. She’s going to say what she believes no matter what others think.

            I never know what to say to those who have this belief. My first reaction is shock and increduality.  I mean, ‘c’mon, God is in charge? Since I don’t believe in God this is easy for me to say. But another part of me thinks, well, if this gives her comfort then let her continue on.

            She struggles now to pull on her sweatpants. Trapped in a wheelchair, her life is one that I can’t imagine. Maybe a belief in a being that has all the control is the only way she can get through the day. And the pool. She must feel so free floating, out of the confines of the chair, the water’s embrace taking her to places she can’t go on land.

Getty Images

            Today, after her proclamation, I don’t respond. Just nod and continue on with my preparations to get into the pool. She’s busy too. Her dressing so much more labored than anything I struggle with. Her heavy black sweatpants still crumpled at her feet; she’s taking a rest before carrying on. Staring out into the vacuum.

            Heading out to the pool, I let the God Comment float around in my brain. Nothing I could say that would change her mind, I’m sure. It must be nice to have no responsibility for anything, especially politics on a day like today. I sit at the edge of the pool, dangling my feet into the aqua water, before jumping in and swimming swimming swimming.

           

Day After Election Day

Turning at the wall in the shallow end of the Plunge, Harp Woman stands on the deck in front of me. She motions to split the lane. I nod, yes. “Good morning,” I greet her.

            She stares at me for a split second, then shakes her head, “It’s NOT a good morning.”

Whoa! I know it’s not. Kamala lost. And it wasn’t even close. The Rapist Lying Crook has won. Given permission by the American people to run things his way.

            So, yes, it’s not a good morning for anyone who voted for Kamala. Myself included.

            But, hell, I was just greeting her. I didn’t literally mean that it was a ‘good’ morning.

            This is how upset people are. They, I imagine cuz this is how I feel, feel like they’ve been punched in the gut. Hard. All of their efforts to bring Kamala to victory were for naught. I had spent many hours the past weekend phoning folks in Pennsylvania and Nevada, urging them to vote.

            And, yet, I know that many of them didn’t. Though my hope is that some of the dozens of people I left the scripted voicemails for were prompted to cast their ballots for Kamala. No way of knowing, of course.

            Today, the day after, I’m at the pool. Where else would I be? Swimming is my salvation. My church. My religion. Yes, I don’t believe in God. And yes, I know that the world now is dangerous and scary with this crook in the Whitehouse again. But all I can do today is swim.

            Tomorrow is another day.

            Will I fight anymore? Make any more phone calls? Talk to the naysayers.

            You bet I will.

            But for today, I’m going to just let the water carry me into another more peaceful world full of blue light and luscious embrace.

            Harp Woman is in the water now. Chugging away with her bright pink turban on.

            I can only hope the pool helps her too.

            She turns at the wall, not interacting with me anymore.

            From the looks of it, the pool is doing its work. She’s swimming. And sometimes, that’s all we can do.

Kamala's Concession (NOT!) Speech: