Free American Babe by Babe Walker

thing happens.)
    I named him “Scotts” in my mind, because that made the most sense. As I approached him, he was putting goggles on and stretching his arms. Scotts was actually really fucking hot and his skin was a nice tan color, which, for this time of year in Maryland, was somehow reassuring for me. He smiled at me as I walked by. Nice teeth. Great smile. He didn’t need to smile but he did because he was a decent human being, obvi. I responded with my standard half smile/half smirk/half wink/half glare/it might look like nothing but I’m definitely moving my face muscles. I know that math doesn’t add up, but just go with it. Guys love it, so just let me do my thing. It’s not about logic.
    We definitely had a moment. A very short, but distinct moment. Then he dove straight into the pool and actually splashed me a little bit. I wasn’t mad. Which was very weird because I hate being surprised by liquids. But Scotts got a pass.
    â€œMa’am,” someone called out from across the pool.
    I looked toward the source of a terrorizingly loud voice: a human being who can only be described as a Richard Simmons impersonator but obese. This person was calling out in my direction, but I was confused because I most certainly am not old enough to be perceived as a “ma’am.” I’d been referred to as “miss” or “young lady,” but MA’AM was a nunca. I prayed this person was not talking to me.
    â€œHon, are you here for my twelve thirty?” he asked, looking directly at me.
    â€œI’m sorry? Are you talking to me?”
    â€œYes, girl! You. You in the head-to-toe Y-3 walking on my pool surface with sneakers.”
    He knows fashion. I felt immediately more comfortable with this creature.
    â€œIs it an aerobics class?”
    â€œYes, hon. Water aerobics.”
    â€œIs it starting now?”
    â€œYou got it. I’m D’Angelo. Better go get into your suit, girl, or you’re gonna miss it.”
    First of all, a white person named D’Angelo is simply remarkable.
    â€œOh. I’m going to be skipping the aquatic portion of today’s class,” I told him.
    â€œThe whole class is in the water.”
    â€œYeah, well, that’s not really gonna work for me as I don’t ever get in public pools.”
    D’Angelo gave me a smile that said fuck you but also it’s okay.
    â€œI think I’ll stand just outside of the pool and do all the movements out here.”
    â€œThat’s fine with me, but the point of water aerobics is for the pool water to create resistance against your muscl . . . Ican tell by the look on your face that you don’t care what I’m talking about so I’m gonna go ’head and start class.”
    â€œThank you, D. I’m looking forward to this.”
    There were four older women in the class with me. All of them chose to be in the actual water. They were all wearing one-piece suits and little head condoms, or whatever they were. Each one of them seemed genuinely happy to be there. They were all smiling. It was kind of strange because they would smile at me when they looked at me, but they were also just smiling at each other and at D’Angelo. Like they were just happy people. Their default mode was SMILE. It made me a little angry. As the music started (Madonna, “Ray of Light,” LOLZ) and I began mimicking the movements, I became starkly aware of how odd this whole situation was.
    I, Babe Walker, was standing in front of a pool full of people from Maryland, basically dancing, by myself, to a Madonna song. But the weirdest part about it was that I wasn’t stopping. I was somehow compelled to do this. D’Angelo was right about the resistance or whatever because it was barely a workout, but there was something meditative about it that kept me going. Ratchet tai chi. From the outside of the pool it must have looked like I was teaching the class or