You think you’ve played it smart, you’ve spun around on the towel, you’ve run down to the water – those grains of hot biting sand nipping at you heels. You’ve let the water clothe you with coolness before returning to your spot of carpeted real estate on the beach towel. It’s all good. At home the horror begins. In the bathroom, as you shower off the grit of the beach, as the fresh droplets of untainted water start to fizzle from the nozzle, you feel a mild discomfort and as you soap yourself up it seems to sting a bit. The towel feels as if it’s made of sandpaper. You hold it out over you like a stretched flag and the you catch site of your back in the mirror. It’s an angry shade of red, as if your back has been suffering embarrassments before the sun. Where your back meets the place your swimming togs rested there’s a clear demarcation line. You think of an empty plug hole and the hoops of decaying matter that surround it, you’re earmarked now. Your arms and face are the same.

Why didn’t you use sun cream? 30+ is essential these days, you know that! But some part of you wanted to re-live childhood and ignore all those responsibilities and now the prospect of shedding your skin in a couple of days is a reality. You stare at your stupid face in the mirror before swinging open the cabinet in search of some Savlon , or aloe-vera, thinking this might fight the problem. It’s oily as you slide the salve on. The aroma of medicinal hope rises and fills you nasal passages. For some reason you start thinking of hot meals you’ve had in the past; Mexican, Thai, Indian. That’s what your skin is tasting right now. The universal chef has had you on a spit and has twisted and basted you on every spare inch of skin, it’s going to be more painful than a bee sting when this thing hits home, you’ll probably toss and turn tonight fretting about wether it’ll be alright and if skin cancer might keep out of sight.

Posted in Object Writing | Tagged | No Comments »