The Etiquette of Passing

The Tao of Swimming

I swam in the middle lane today

Where this old Japanese guy

I say old

He was probably sixty

In a blue skull cap and goggles

It’s hard to tell

Tan and lean

With that sweetness

You only see on the faces

Of older men

I say old

But if that’s an old man

Then me, old woman,

Isn’t far behind

This Japanese guy

Was doing wind-sprints

He’d chase the water

Stop

And chase again

The kind of swimmer

Who bends his elbows

Flings his arms out to the side

And still goes fast

Usually I take the slow lane

Though I have foolishly

Bragged to my children

About my summer on a swim team

Age fourteen

Now, swimming while pregnant:

That’s what I remember best

Rolling, enormous

In troughs of water

Somebody

Swimming inside

Today though in the slow lane

There’s this old white man

I mean really old

Persistent like a crab

A procession of one

Taking up all the space

Who wants to swim behind him?

If I swam that slow I’d be treading!

I can’t stay here all day!

There’s the other slow lane of course

Full of moms

With kick boards

Following, waiting

Taking turns

The fast lane is out of the question

The tanned and muscular young

Plunging headlong

I could never stay with it

So I get in the middle lane

And hope I keep pace

It’s just the sprinter and me

Doing laps

And I just want to get moving

But etiquette interferes

We don’t develop a rhythm

I follow and wait

Then crawl one length

Backstroke the next

For a while

We’re in sync

But after each sprint

He catches his breath

Soon I’m following

And waiting again

We’re smiling

And nodding

Till he’s ready

To go

I don’t really want to pass this guy

Transference, I know

And it’s

That time of year

Circling times six

Since my father died

You might call it

The Transference of Everyday Life

Not a bad title

For somebody’s paper

Phase two of the etiquette

Goes something like this:

Once he’s winded

From sprinting

He smiles: “You go.”

“OK,” I say

And push off the wall

I keep up the pace

Not knowing

When he’ll follow

Coming back

On my back

I hit the rope

With my left arm

Etiquette again:

I’m leaving space for him

To swim by

On my right

Excessive politeness

On my part it seems

He’s resting

Still

At the end of the lane

Turned away

He fiddles with goggles

And pushes off the wall

I really don’t want to pass this man

One more time

Yet how can I avoid it?

After so many years in the slow lane

I’m gathering speed

My arms swing

Like windmills

My kick’s light and easy

Air and water

Stream through my mouth

And where my hands cut through

The water’s like silk

“Go ahead,” he says

When I pause

One last time

He smiles permission

But I can barely stop myself