Devonne Brown

The mission.

When Cynthia stepped out of the lecture hall, a sunbeam caught her face. The mini auditorium, morgue-cold and crowded, was too painful to sit in, thus her departure into the sun. It was just too freaking cold in there. The beach beckoned. No time share was worth freezer burn, she didn’t care how cheap worldwide vacations could be. She was outta there.

Cynthia loved the sun, and she needed a suntan. She was 65, didn’t have skin cancer, though she deserved it. She’d spent her teen summers in the family pool covered with baby oil and iodine. She figured the combination would work as well today, even though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find the iodine of the good old days. If she got skin cancer now, she’d just ride it out and make a great looking corpse. Even cellulite looked better when it was browned up a bit.

Cynthia’s mission began with a trip to the beach store where bathing suits were plentiful and all styles and sizes were available. Each suit was designed to pull in and push out in the right places for every age and body type. Although the tag said it would be a fit, the first suit Cynthia liked, gave her conniption. It got stuck on her hips and wouldn’t come up over her butt no matter how hard she pulled. The suit had some sort of rubber sticking agent in it as well to hold it in place. It didn’t want to come off either. It was a harrowing ordeal that required more energy than she needed to expend. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow over this,” she thought.

The staff found Cynthia the perfect black suit. Plain, elegant, concealing yet revealing enough for the great sunbeams on the ocean shore. It didn’t make Cynthia look horrible. Besides, it had a big skirt on it.

After a stop at the drugstore for sweet smelling baby oil, she’d have to make due without the iodine, Cynthia was ready to hit the sand. She’d let herself bake for an hour today during peak sun hours, go to the bar all sweaty and hot, and get a beer with tomato juice, a red eye, light and refreshing. Her day would finish by the pool with wine and a book. God, she loved life in a condo at the beach. She needed to make her residence permanent there, and tan year round. 

Ha! A retired teacher could barely afford to vacation at the beach let alone live there, but it was a happy thought, wasn’t it?