On a normal work day at the pool six years ago, while sitting in the back office waiting for my turn to rotate, Red came over and sat in the chair next to me while wearing his street clothes before heading home. He was struggling with his second divorce and had been dealing with his situation in unhealthy ways. Several other employees believed he was spending a majority of his time inebriated and worried about his safety while riding his motorcycle at night. On a different day, while we were working a shift together, Red told me about getting drunk over the weekend and taking a sledgehammer to a wall in his house he had tiled into a mosaic for his wife. They were still married at the time of this incident, but Red was living in his trailer. It was during this time when one of the Building Supervisors also suspected Red of selling weed to a younger male lifeguard on staff.

“I am strongly attracted to you and I was wondering if you would like to be more than friends.”

After he spoke, I immediately felt trapped by Red’s body position, which effectively put me in the corner between the wall, the counter, and Red himself. I felt distinctly perturbed knowing that if I were to try and move away, I would not be able to pass Red without touching him. Wearing my uniform exposed my thighs and cleavage more than I am comfortable exposing in public when I wear my own clothes. The extreme vulnerability I experienced while feeling exposed and trapped became instantly entangled with the combined emotions of disgust, resentment, and anger, which consequently became devastating for my psyche and emotional well-being over the next six years. The closest Red had even come to asking me out on a date was a month earlier when he had casually mentioned taking me out to lunch one day, then never mentioned it again.

I looked into Red’s eyes. They were glassy, but they were also the eyes of a friend I had trusted and confided in for the past three years. I had sought this man’s counsel and advice concerning my own recent trauma from an emotionally abusive relationship I had remained too long involved with because of the love I felt for the man’s three-year-old daughter. Red was a friend I had been grateful to share many personal issues with over the past few years.

My fist instinct was to use a response that would not cause further harm to Red’s feelings. I knew he was in pain. I knew he was suffering from his divorce, and I believed his pain was affecting his judgement. I believed Red was reaching out blindly for comfort and not truly aware of the line he was crossing with his behavior. I wanted to spare him the embarrassment I was sure he would feel as soon as he sobered up enough to realize what he had said.

“Thank you, but I only want to be friends. I appreciate you telling me how you feel. It means a lot to me.”

I felt relieved when he seemed to accept my answer, but then he turned to me and asked, “do you feel the attraction?” Unfortunately, I interpreted his question to be asking me if I had felt his attraction to me. I told him “yes,” but it was a couple weeks later before I finally realized he had been asking if I felt attracted to him. A few days before this moment, I had hosted a potluck for a group of coworkers at my house and ended up feeling profoundly uncomfortable around Red because of the way he intensely stared at me with his glassy eyes. I consciously spent that evening, in my own kitchen, doing what I could to persistently keep someone else between us.

Again, Red seemed to accept my answer and I was relieved to think the situation was over, but, a few weeks later, we had the work Christmas party at a bowling alley, and I had to leave early because of the acute discomfort I felt in Red’s presence that night. I remember the intensity of his stare, the way he would focus on me in the crowded room. I wanted to play air hockey at one point, but Red was the only person who would play. I had fun, because it was air hockey, but I felt so remarkably awkward because of his undeterred attention. After the game ended, my friend Paige asked me why Red had been acting weird while we played. I told her what had happened in the back office and how it made me feel. Paige asked me what my plan was for responding to the situation. We talked about Red’s obvious drinking, and all the other various manifestations of his emotional turmoil, and Paige agreed that my idea to simply stay away from Red, and give him the time and space necessary to pull his life back together, was sufficient.

Paige agreed to leave the party and drive me home early because of Red’s proximity and increasingly erratic behavior at the bowling alley. During the drive home, Paige and I discussed how inappropriate the situation was, not only because of Red still technically being married, but because he is old enough to be my father. I am, in fact, closer to the age of his children then I am to him. This was the only time in my life when a man who is distinctly my elder has ever made such a strong pass at me. I did not know how to politely tell him to leave me alone. The worst he had done at this point was to look at me and tell me how he felt. I believed, at the time, that he was doing nothing wrong, but that I was simply having a hard time dealing with his affection. I can recognize now how I had internalized my role as a passive female who is intent on not hurting a man’s feelings. Especially a man who is in a position of authority, such as Red was, by his age and his role as a Building Supervisor at work.

The next morning, I received a text from Red. At first, I was simply angry he had sent me a text and woken me up at 6:30 in the morning on the one morning of the week when I didn’t have to get up to go to work. Then, I read the text:

Invite me over. I want to show you how a real man pleases a beautiful woman. I want to please you the way you deserve. Let me show you how good I can be. I do bite.

From the instant I read his words I was consumed by a wave of stifling anger and deep disgust, not only for the implication I would be so easily interested in having sex with him, but for the absolute sense of betrayal and disrespect I suffered in the process of reading his text. I immediately erased the text before going back to sleep. I absolutely believed Red had gotten so stinking drunk after the work party that he sent the text unaware of what he was even doing. I wanted no evidence to the fact the text ever existed! It never remotely occurred to me that I might need to save the text, or that the situation would escalate. I believed the best thing to do was ignore the text, pretend like it never happened, and allow Red the opportunity to recover his dignity without further embarrassment for either of us.