I'm laying face up on an old felty blanket, the lumpy sand underneath me almost conforming to my lumpy body. I can hear the steady rocking of the waves landing just feet away, the buzz of an airplane flying overhead, the comforting call of seagulls, and AJ softly snoring next to me.
I'm attempting to keep my lily-white skin out of the sun since surely my sunscreen must've washed off in the ocean. I have two corners of a Cynthia-Pareo weighed down by my feet, and the other two corners held high over my head. It's like a kite, billowing in the wind, and I am its anchor. I can see a bright spot in the middle of the woven threads where the sun shines through. And I'm mesmerized by the bright, alive quality of all the colors on the tie-dyed fabric.
It's a wondrous Fauve still-life as I squint. I am nearly consumed by deep, moving red. Fire-orange melts through the floral scene, running into pools of molten yellow-gold. The greens mingle in and out as if they bring life to the hues surrounding them. Every so often there is a small splash of purple emerging out of red, as if a florist chose tiny purple buds to fill-in her bouquet.
I spend an hour fighting with the fringed corners of my color sunscreen, readjusting them over and over in my hands and toes, as I peer through the silky fabric and imagine my life through the shades and hues of color.
