Beware of the dirty old man at the yoga studio, the one who takes advantage of the hug-y New Age environment to hit on every woman he can get his hands on. You’d think if he read the newspaper or watched the news, he wouldn’t keep on doing this, but you would be wrong!
I’ve been dodging the advances of B. for years now. I used to see him three times a week, when he was loitering after his 2 o’ clock gentle class and I was arriving for the 4:15 level 2-3, I used to frequent.
I was sort of amused by him in the beginning. He kept his hands to himself, I knew he was flirting, but I thought it was mildly ok. He’s clever, he’s from New York replete with old fashioned Bensonhurst accent (for which I’m a sucker) and so elderly, I felt no physical threat. I remember too, standing in line with some forty-something yogis before class one day. The two guys were bemoaning the fact that the twenty-something yoginis thought they were too old and wouldn’t accept dates. We made a joke of it. I confessed the only guy lately who flirted with me attended senior yoga at 2 PM. Just wait, I told the guys, this is LA and it gets worse! We all laughed!
Then, one day, old B came up behind me and thrust the front of him, into the back of me, put his arms around me and I was so shocked, I turned around to his leer, drew myself up–shot him a dirty look and walked off.
I stopped going to that class, and forgot about old B. until today. He remembered my name and called it out like we were old friends. He came forward, arms out, eyes twinkling… I backed away, and it was only then, I realized, he’s the same old pre-#MeToo letch, who hasn’t learned his lesson, who isn’t even scared to keep at it. Everybody hugs everybody at the yoga studio. It’s the perfect place for a slimy operator like B. to get away with his groping. Still and this is the point: The person who is really scared is me! Yes old B. inspires fear in me. Yesterday, the year before and maybe even tomorrow I’ll still be afraid if he’s coming toward me. I shrink from him. I lose my voice around him. It’s hard even to write this about him because he still, old as he is, discredited as he is, possesses his ancient power!
Part of this has to do with my own history. Back when I was small and defenseless some one much bigger and stronger and more powerful had his way with me. But part of that fear is the childish desire not to be unpleasing. The childish impulse to run and not to tell. To say it ain’t so! Because that’s the way I was raised and it’s bred to the bone. Isn’t that how men and women, boys and girls got in this mess to begin with? Isn’t this what these perps have counted on?
So while we may be weary (and I for one am) reading the long list of protocols: may I touch you, may I kiss you, and on and on, this is where we have to go before we get to the place where we should have been all along.
In the meantime, I’m rehearsing what I’m going to say if I see old B. at the yoga studio again. I vow not to be speechless again!
Illustration by the fabulous Aimee Levy
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