Taking it Back: A Lesson in Conversation
Steve Cave
(Email to a Friend)

Whether in a fit of rage (saying 'I hate you' to someone you care for) or in the heat of passion (saying 'I love you' to someone you don't care for but want to sleep with anyway), every so often we spew a string of words from our lips that we'd give anything to take back. Staying cool and shifting deftly into damage-control mode is what separates men from boys in this arena of social unpleasantness. Unfortunately, I rank as an infant in this regard.

Every Thursday this spring, the kids at my daughter's preschool went swimming for a half-hour before going to their regular classes. My wife usually took Annie, but one Thursday my son had a doctor's appointment at the same time, so she gave me the choice of taking Charlie to his checkup or Annie to the pool.

"Is he getting any shots?" I asked. The answer: yes, three. The decision: restrain a flailing, hysterical child being stabbed with needles, or splash around in a pool for a half-hour with my 3-year-old sweetheart. This was like choosing between a donkey-kick in the nuts or a Swedish massage with a "happy ending".

"I'll take Annie to the pool."

It's rare that I get one-on-one time with Annie, so I looked forward to this swimming gig. It started promptly at 9:30, so we arrived at the Boys & Girls Club at 9:15, allowing plenty of time to change.

"Where is the locker room?" I asked the woman at the desk.

"Men's or women's?" she asked. I was stumped. Annie is an absolute chicken; she is ultra-cautious. This is a good thing -- one I hope lasts well into her teenage years -- but there are times when it creates logistical problems.

"Annie, do you think can you dress yourself in the ladies room if I wait outside?" I asked, knowing she is fully capable of doing so. (The kid changes outfits at least 10 times a day on her own; playing dress-up is the essence of her young existence.)

"No Daddy, no Daddy, no, no, no..", the panic in her voice escalated as her grip on my leg tightened. The lady at the desk had seen this routine before.

"You can take her into the men's room; she's young enough that it's not a big deal," she assured me. I did not like this at all, but I appeared to have no choice. The woman pointed us toward the men's lockers and off we went.

I was relieved to find the locker room empty. "Come on ding-dong, let's do this quick and get out of here." I went into fire-drill mode. While Annie undressed, I changed rapidly then gave her some help. I struggled to identify which hole was which in her convoluted bathing suit, errantly stuffing her head through a leg hole. After a painful extrication and a few tears, I got the foolish thing on properly. I grabbed our towels, took Annie's hand, and made a beeline for the door to the pool, thankful to have avoided exposing Annie to male-stranger nakedness.

We got all the way to the door, and I saw the sign: "All swimmers MUST shower before entering the pool." Usually I'd ignore such orders, but the capital 'MUST' sold me on the importance of at least feigning compliance. I picked up Annie, shuttled her to the nearby shower, turned on the water and, without waiting for it to warm up, stuck both of our heads under the icy spray just long enough to give off the appearance of having bathed.

Annie, lips blue, was shivering and whimpering as we exited the shower area. I was holding her hand and looking down at her, relishing in one of those "my kid is so damn cute" moments that all parents have, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Hey, why's that man's butt so hairy?"

I looked up, and my jaw went slack. There it was, a Sasquatch of a man in all his naked glory, hunched over as he prepared to pull on his tube socks. I'm not sure if he noticed Annie. If so, he made no effort to cover up, though his copious hair concealed his nether regions quite nicely. I scooped her up in my arms and covered her eyes and mouth.

"He must be Greek," I whispered in her ear, answering her question. I covered her head with a towel and got us the hell out of there as fast as I could.

When we got to the pool there were only a few people in the water. Annie, unaffected by the horror of what we'd just witnessed, grabbed one of those Styrofoam noodle flotation things and jumped in. I followed, still rattled by the hairy, naked-man encounter and still trembling from the arctic pseudo shower. The warm water felt good; I started to relax.

Now that we were in the pool, I had no idea what to do with myself. My wife, veteran of multiple swimming sessions, failed to give me a primer.  The mothers were socializing in small packs while their kids splashed around. I had no interest in sidling up to a group and masquerading as a friendly person; I was there to play with Annie. I grabbed her hands and started pulling her around the pool, but she yelled at me to leave her alone-she wanted to "practice" by herself. She'd freak if I strayed more than a foot or two away, but she didn't want me to touch her. So for a while I just followed her around awkwardly while she completed a few circuitous laps of the pool. I offered a few swimming pointers as we went; she told me to be quiet.

The pool filled up quickly. Soon there were about 15 kids in the roped-off shallow end, each with a parent, me the only male adult. I was a novelty; all the moms smiled at me. I glanced at the clock over the door to the woman's locker room and was shocked that it was only 9:40 -- it seemed we'd been in the pool for at least 20 minutes. As I was checking the time, the door below the clock opened and a woman walked out with a small girl. I recognized the girl as someone in Annie's class, but I didn't think I'd seen her mother before.  She was beautiful: tall, blond, pretty face, toned legs, ample rack - and pregnant. I didn't notice this last point until she turned to the side and started walking along the edge of the pool. Besides the soccer ball-like bulge in her belly, she looked completely non-pregnant. She was a bona-fide hot pregnant lady. She gracefully descended the stairs to the water with her daughter and got acclimated. Almost immediately her kid spotted Annie, and she and her mom waded toward us. I introduced myself.

"Hi, I'm Steve, Annie's Dad." I said.

"I'm Nancy, Heather's Mom," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," I answered. Awkward silence followed.

Smalltalk is not my bag. I'm good at responding to queries, adding a funny comment here and there, but when faced with being the anchor in a free-form chatting session with a stranger, I flounder. This chick was throwing it all on my lap.

"So, do you have any other kids?" I asked. A good, fair question, I thought proudly.

"Yes, I have a one-and-a-half-year-old son."

"I have a son the same age! Isn't that funny? We both have a girl and boy the same age." Actually, it wasn't funny at all. It was stupid and this conversation sucked. I was struggling, looking for a way to wrap this up. She was smiling, waiting for me to say something - maybe I should tell her how I'm fond I am of her breasts.

"When are you due?" I asked.

Her smile wilted and her shoulders slumped. Mine did also and I winced, bracing for what I suspected was coming next.

"I'm not," she answered.

Oh dear God, here it comes, the rush of warmth, the panic. My face turned crimson as I looked down at the water to avoid eye contact. This couldn't be happening, I knew she was pregnant; it was a lock or I wouldn't have asked. Maybe she is and just doesn't know it yet. Or maybe this is a sick joke she plays on loose-lipped losers like me. I looked up to see if she was smirking like someone who just pulled a fast one. She looked like she was about to cry. I threw up a little bit in my mouth, then swallowed hard. Compose yourself. Say something, anything. How about: "I must have been thinking of someone else?" or "The water must be distorting your figure?" or "I was only kidding...?" My ineptness was on full display.

I had absolutely nothing to say, but it didn't matter; I didn't get a chance. She turned and swam away.

How could I be so stupid? I know that short of actually seeing the head of a baby sticking out of a woman's vagina, a man should never ask "when are you due?" Nothing good can come of it. The real kicker was, I didn't remotely care about the answer. I didn't give a shit if it was next week or next year, I'd have forgotten seconds after she told me. I'd already forgotten her damn name! There were a hundred other questions I could have asked that I didn't give a shit about the answers to. Why did I ask that one???

It was now 9:45, leaving me 15 minutes to kill. I looked around the pool, imagining that word of my insulting inquest had spread. The once-smiling moms were whispering to each other, leering menacingly at me. There was hate in the air. Even the little ones seemed pissed off. One threw a Nerf ball off the side of my head and cackled; another rode the nose of his boogie board into my kidney. I had a hard time believing this was incidental contact. My chest tightened. I was a bleeding baby seal in a pool full of circling killer whales, waiting helplessly for them to tear me apart. Hopefully they'd spare Annie; it wasn't her fault her old man was a bumbling boob.

While wallowing in my idiocy, I'd forgotten what brought me to the pool in the first place. "Come on Daddy, chase me!" Annie beckoned. Her practice regimen apparently over, she was ready for some fun with Pops. I dove under water and swam beneath her, pinching gently at her tiny legs, mimicking a school of attacking piranhas. I popped up on the other side of her and my ears cleared of water to the sound of her laughing and screaming. I started to feel better. "Do it again Daddy!" she begged. We played until it was time to go.

Only a handful remained in the pool. The swollen-bellied woman I insulted was not among them; she must have snuck away unnoticed while Annie and I played. I wasn't overly disappointed, given my aversion to confrontations, and what could I possibly have said to make her feel better anyway? We returned to the men's locker room and changed without incident. I brought Annie to her classroom, and I went home. I told my wife what happened; she told me what I already knew: "You're a jackass."

I now live with the uncertainty of "when will I see her again?" Whenever I drop Annie off at school in the morning, my heart races as I round the corner to the foyer where parents and kids congregate. I scan the faces of the adults with apprehension, exhaling once confirming hers is not among them. I do know the answer to "what will I say when I see her again?" I'll say nothing about it, pretend it never happened and introduce myself as if we've never met.

I'm taking a Mulligan on this one; I'm guessing she won't object.

Steve Cave has contributed two short stories to Arriviste Press. Read his first effort here.