Chuck Norris and Me

--After T Kira Madden’s “Can I Pet Your Back?” from Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls. Bloomsbury, 2019.

There’s a phrase I use to utter at parties in my 20s to make people laugh: Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately, I would say, with a twinkle in my eyes, a raise of my eyebrow, and a seductive grin, begging my friends to ask for more details. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately when I was working as an extra on Walker, Texas Ranger. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I joked, “Wasn’t it a funny brush with fame?” Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I had never met him before. Never said hello. Never seen him in person before this one day on the set. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I figured what was the harm? He only grazed the lower part of my breasts—just let them rest for a moment on top of his hands as he squeezed my bare midriff from behind in the doorway of Walker, Texas Ranger, as I gossiped with other extras (some of them regulars). Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I shrugged it off, like the costume I would later shrug off, the one my agent didn’t tell me I would have to wear but assumed I wouldn’t mind. Shrugged it off like the top that barely covered my breasts and the skirt that barely covered my bottom—so short I was afraid my tampon string might wriggle out of my undies and be seen.

Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately, but I wouldn’t mention it on the set and neither would the other extras who also laughed and shrugged. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and we all stayed silent—like the way our boots were supposed to sound when we walked on the set—given tape to cover the bottoms of them—tape we apparently didn’t need for our mouths but may have needed for our breasts, our tops, our too short skirts. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I never really thought too much about it—never really considered how fucked up it was. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately—like my father’s friends talked about me inappropriately when I was 16, no 14, no 12. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and my father laughed when his church friend joked, “Is 12 too young to work for Hugh Hefner?” Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately—I mean—he couldn’t really help it; I was so proud of my breasts—or so a couple of high school boys told me. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and it paled in comparison to high school boyfriend #1 who, after I broke up with him, befriended me again and again, promising he wouldn’t touch me, again and again, though he couldn’t keep his hands off my breasts. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I never considered that he should ask before he touched me—perhaps because so many other men touched me without asking. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and it paled in comparison to high school boyfriend #2 who didn’t ask if I wanted to have sex that first time—didn’t ask; just assumed that I did. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I never considered it sexual harassment like I never considered the first time I had sex rape like I never considered that might not actually be sex because it wasn’t consensual. Chuck Norris touched me
inappropriately and I didn’t know how to respond because no one ever taught me how to respond to men who didn’t know how to ask. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and the self-defense classes I took in college only prepared me to respond to strangers, rapists following me in the parking lot or men, trespassing, lurking behind the shadows on the college campus. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and it wasn’t until ten years later, when I was 34, when I graduated with a PhD in feminist literature, that I told the story to people who didn’t laugh. It wasn’t until then that I started to ask myself how I uttered these words again and again for ten years without thinking much of it. How I had become numb to being touched, being stared at. How I could let someone touch me from behind and not respond with violence. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately and I think about it when I hear men make “playful” remarks about my four-year old niece—remarks that suggest she should be denied a right to pursue her own pleasure—be kept indoors until well past her teens—coupled with remarks about just how pretty she is. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately, and it urges me to be a better aunt. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately, and now I tell this story differently. Chuck Norris touched me inappropriately, and this is restitution—a reclamation of self—though some may read it as revenge.

-Kimberly P. Bowers

Kimberly P. Bowers lives with her super affectionate Pittie mix named Finn and her super fiesty (practically feral) cat named Ferdi. Kim has published two academic essays, one on the [Dixie] Chicks and one on environmental pedagogy. This is her first creative publication. Kim can be reached at kpbowers@gmail.com.