There is a gentleman of indeterminate age who’s a regular at the Y. Let’s call him Sam. He’s of Lebanese descent, grew up in North Africa, and has lived in the US for decades. He’s a sweetheart and a total flirt. It’s somewhat heartening to have someone tell you you’re beautiful, especially when it’s 5:45 a.m. and you feel like Ugh on a popsicle stick. I generally see him when we’re swimming. We chat here and there in between laps. He told me I have a wonderful backstroke.

This morning, in between laps 11 and 12 (mine) he said I was a strong swimmer (this is more evidence of his flirtatiousness because I’m not a strong swimmer) and said, “You probably started swimming when you were six years old.” I replied that actually I had didn’t have swimming lessons as a kid and more or less taught myself when I was older. Sam said that was how he learned too. He grew up near the sea, so “We go to the beach and you just learn.”

Between laps 17 and 18, Sam was chatting up the woman in the lane on his other side. She and I had talked for a few minutes while waiting for the pool to open, so I felt comfortable saying, “Watch out for Sam. He’s a player.” Same protested that he wasn’t flirting at all. I said I just didn’t want her to get hurt like I had. Laughter and more laps.

When I was done swimming and was just about to get out of the pool, Sam said, “The coral and the fish in the Red Sea and the Mediterranean Sea are so incredible. You can’t duplicate it in a photograph or a movie, you have to be there to see it. It is so beautiful. You can never see it unless you can swim.” We stood there in the water, less dressed than we’d ever be with any other casual acquaintance but comfortably talking. He again waxed poetic on the beauty of the coral reefs are and how nothing can compare to seeing them in person. I told him I would add swimming in the Mediterranean Sea to my List of Things to Do in This Lifetime. As I was getting out of the pool, he raised his right hand and said, “Okay, I confess, I was flirting with you.”