I wanted Beth’s company. I didn’t want her checking whether I felt better.
From Sam:
Dani knows this venue and has enjoyed swimming there before. This time, getting ready took longer, and reassurance from a friend made things harder.
They’re trying to work out what to ask for before the next visit.
From Dani:
I changed my shirt three times before going somewhere I normally take it off.
The first one was fine until I looked in the bedroom mirror. The second was worse. The third was the first one again, which apparently needed to go through an appeals process.
I knew what I was doing. That didn’t stop me from turning sideways for another look.
Beth was meeting me for a swim. We go to an indoor nudist place we both know, and I’d been looking forward to it until that morning.
Nothing had happened that I could point to. Nobody had said anything about my body. I hadn’t seen a photograph or weighed myself. I just looked in the mirror and couldn’t leave it alone.
On our previous visit, I’d got undressed while telling Beth about a terrible film. She kept interrupting because she’d seen it too and thought I was leaving out the worst parts. We were still arguing about it when we got into the pool.
That’s how little I’d thought about being naked.
This time, I stood in my bedroom deciding whether I could claim a headache.
I didn’t have one. I also didn’t want to stay home and keep checking the same mirror, so I put my shoes on and left.
Beth was waiting near the entrance.
“You’re late.”
“Seven minutes.”
“Seven minutes I could have spent having coffee.”
She took the bag I was carrying while I sorted out my things at the desk. I’d managed to put everything I needed at the bottom.
Normal stuff. I liked that she was annoyed about waiting instead of asking whether I was okay.
That lasted until we went to get changed.
Beth was ready quickly. I sat on the bench, took off my shoes, and stayed there holding my socks.
“Coming?” she asked.
“In a bit.”
She sat down at the other end of the bench.
“You all right?”
I said I was having a weird day about my body.
She looked at me, then said, “You look exactly the same as last time.”
“I know what I look like.”
“I just meant nothing’s changed.”
“Can you not inspect me?”
Her face changed.
“I wasn’t inspecting you.”
“You just looked at me and reported back.”
“Because you said you felt bad.”
“So now you’re checking whether there’s a reason?”
“No, Dani. That isn’t what I said.”
She picked up her bag and put it down again.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Nothing would be nice.”
“All right.”
She stood up.
“Do you want me to wait, or go ahead?”
That was a reasonable question. I hated it anyway, because I’d turned a swim into something she needed instructions for.
“Go ahead. I’ll come out.”
Beth left, and I sat there feeling worse.
She hadn’t called me ugly. She hadn’t demanded I undress. She’d tried to say something reassuring after I told her I was struggling, and I’d accused her of examining me.
But I hadn’t wanted to be assessed, even favourably. I wanted to tell her what was happening without starting a discussion about whether my appearance justified it.
I didn’t say that. I said, “Nothing would be nice,” then felt abandoned when she gave me some space.
Excellent work from me.
Eventually, I got undressed. I wrapped my towel around myself and went to find her.
Beth was beside the pool, trying to fit a large paperback into her bag without bending the cover.
“Hold this a second.”
I held the bag open while she pushed.
“It won’t fit.”
“It fitted at home.”
“Did you bring the same bag?”
She stopped pushing and looked at it.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
I laughed.
“Wrong bag?”
“Don’t. I’m carrying enough emotional baggage.”
“That was awful.”
“You’re welcome.”
We put the book under the chair instead.
I sat beside her, still wrapped in the towel. Beth opened the book and read. After a while, she asked whether I wanted the chair nearer the pool.
“No, this is fine.”
She moved her foot so I could stretch my legs out.
That was easier to accept than being told I looked fine. I wish I’d known how to explain the difference earlier.
I wanted to swim. I also wanted Beth to keep reading while I got up, so she wouldn’t ask whether I was feeling better.
I got in when a space opened near the steps.
The water felt good. I swam a few lengths, then stayed near the side while Beth got in. We talked about the film again because she’d remembered another stupid scene.
I was enjoying myself.
I was also keeping track of who was nearby and whether they looked in my direction. When someone moved toward the steps, I waited for them to get out before I did.
Nobody had said anything to me. I didn’t need them to. I was doing enough on my own.
I dried off and wrapped the towel around myself again.
Beth stayed in longer. I was glad she did. I didn’t want her giving up her swim to sit beside me, though I probably would have been annoyed if she hadn’t come back eventually.
When she did, I said, “Sorry I accused you of inspecting me.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t want an opinion on how I looked.”
“I wasn’t trying to give you one.”
“I know. But that’s what I heard.”
She rubbed water out of her hair.
“Can you tell me that without biting my head off next time?”
I said yes.
I think I can. I’m less sure what I should ask her to do instead.
I want company. I want us to talk about films and complain about being late. I don’t want her checking whether I’m comfortable yet, but I can see how sitting there holding my socks might make her wonder.
She’s my friend. She isn’t supposed to pretend she can’t see me.
We left earlier than usual because I’d had enough. Beth didn’t call it a shame or tell me I’d done well for going. She asked whether I wanted coffee.
I did.
We talked about other things. I stopped pulling at my shirt eventually, though I couldn’t tell you when.
Now I’m tempted to cancel our next swim before that morning arrives. Partly because I don’t want another day like this, and partly because I don’t want Beth watching for one.
That second part isn’t entirely fair. She hasn’t said she will.
How do I tell her I want her there without making her responsible for getting me back to normal? And how do I ask for fewer questions when I’ve barely explained what’s wrong?
Outside the café, Beth asked, “Same time next week?”
I said I’d let her know.
“Before I leave home this time, please.”
I said yes.
Next: Who’s Carrying Everyone’s Business? Coming November 16.
