Every time I start getting back into a swimming routine I notice the aquatic chapter of the Widows and Orphans club gathered around one or two silver backs. As they cluster in the pool waiting for the water aerobics instructor to kick off the morning session, it’s like watching bull elephant seals with their harems (if the style among female seals was to plaster their sleak heads with anemones & kelp fronds).
It’s not all about appearance, as one of the more popular silver backs is probably the oldest bull in the pool, has moderate boobage and wears disturbingly translucent nylon yellow board shorts. He laughs. And if the diving board is open he’s bouncing on the end, each dive still skilled enough to echo what must have been a joyous youth. I think he’s popular because he reminds the kelped ladies of their youth. He pursues them, a twinkle in his eye, a roguish joke to his buddies and a compliment to the most delightfully anemone adorned that brings a long overdue blush to her soft cheeks.
In the hot tub, the young folk, the fit, firm, fast, the flexible 20-30 year olds sit in somber appraising silence. A conversation among peers may start up about knee injuries, running times and unsympathetic supervisors. I am given a darted side look and categorized. They have tribal tats and Celtic arm bands: a snake peaks out in front of an ear as its tail glides into the hairline at the nape of a runner’s neck. The women have tribal tats, Celtic arm bands and butterflies. Then a couple of the old silver backs lumber into the water, sighing heavily as they lean back against the jets. They have tats as well, faded anchors, blue birds: splotchy blue black shadows of their prime.
The young hoist themselves out of the tub, a quick move with their arms behind them and they’re perched on the rim of the tub. Then on their feet with places to go and plans to meet later.
No more darting glances. These old bulls meet your eyes directly and ask how the day is going. They seem genuinely interested in anyone’s answer and the conversations are easy.
My first morning in the pool after 2 years away…2 years? wow, time flies when you’re rationalizing…and there’s a new bull in the pool. He’s friendly and not interested in the water aerobics anymore. As I do my initial lap and gasp in the shallow end we chat a bit. 7 days a week he’s here but only does a length then stops to chat with someone. There’s always someone who’ll stop for a minute to chat with him. It’s the Irish lilt, I think. And a few of the anemone clad, well built ladies make sure they are in the other lanes just happen to be resting when he shows up.
Yesterday, my 3rd visit to the pool and he’s there. A hello and how are you. He’s off to Haida Gwai for a week so see you in a week. And there it is, his hand is out, what’s your name? … “Maureen?”, he leans in, “that’s a good name”, then pauses ever so briefly for a feeling of being conspirators, “mine’s Finn.”
He’s a rogue, I think.