Gotta Get That Tan
The sand leaves your feet as you edge further into the sea. The gulls that once shrieked in your ears are now propelled into the background as they fight for a chip. The report you’ve got to finish, that customer that was rude to you last Thursday, your wife’s insistence on bringing the kids on this holiday…can you feel it?
The sun is very harsh, and you aren’t used to it. You’re grateful for the slightest breeze and regret trimming down your chest hair for the inevitable holiday photoshoots. That carpet on your chest could have been a hat for your torso.
Oh, well, you’re on holiday, right? Your skin can inform people of how great a time you had. Tick ‘weather’ off the list of usual discourse.
The vastness of the ocean makes you want to cry. A pirouette demonstrates the distance between you and any other bitter existentialists rolling in the deep- you’ve gotten closer than them. One difference between the sea and the woods is that the sea is never silent. It never stops. You can float in the sea. Strip off. Watch the games continue from afar.
You stop just as the water reaches your belly button.
You’ve been in the water a while now, and you’ve started to tell yourself little stories.
“Where is Dad, Mum?”
“In the sea; he should be back any minute now.”
That wrinkle breaking out of her forehead any time you are not predictable. A wrinkle that would invariably multiply if the holiday was on your own dime.
You feel it is easier to breathe out here, and it is. There is no blockage, your breath flows, and you see your seasoned belly burst out of the water before reluctantly sinking back undercover, locked and loaded. You feel a sense of euphoria unfamiliar to you or at least foreign to the adult version of yourself. Back when a celebration was a single entity that didn’t spawn a bunch of inbred offsprings desperate for a drink, a picture and a plan. Back before, a greeting was automated.
Your hair loosely falls out of your hands as you imagine the train tracks being constructed on your wife’s forehead. You smirk as the water caresses your chin. The sea moves so fast, but once you fully emerge, everything is slow. What is that? Calm amongst the storm? Quiet in a crowd? We aren’t sure, but we know you love this.
You cannot swim, and soon a decision must be made; you look to the sky. Once again, stories invade your mind. The image of a traumatised, young coast guard is the enemy. It is the boy you met at a fundraiser over a decade ago. He will be in his thirties now, but he is perpetually nineteen with an everlasting vulnerability to you.
Your ears awaken as the sea pushes you out. You have that report due, remember.
But hey, what a tan!
Cheers