Anecdote of a Black Girl and the Sun

There’s a beach in Long Island that always made me grimace. I think it was because the water always looked a little brown or maybe because the walk from the parking lot to the beach felt miles long to my heat-stroked body. I’d always have to make the devastating choice of either walking in my flip-flops as my sandy straps pierced the top of my foot, or walking on the burning sand without them. Once at the beach I always found something to complain about—I’d fixate on the grains and quarter-crushed sea shells prickling my bottom, or the disappointing fact that I wasn't holding an ice-cream cone in my hand that very second. My family would always make the trip a whole-day affair, so going home, I would notice a regrettable sun tan. 

Mother would try to teach me how to float on the quiet waves of the ocean. I would stare in fascination as her body became one with the sea, her limbs stretching out like a starfish treading lightly, as she breathed in and out. “It’s simple my love, just let go. Ease up and untense your muscles. Be one with your body.” I’d gasp for a breath and try to float, pushing my tummy to the sun and lightly treading the water with my toes. For a second I felt I was gliding! I’d start to smile and tense my muscles again. Then soon enough, salt water would reach my smiling mouth, my two little nostrils, and I’d choke up. “What happened ma cherie?  You were doing so well!” my mother asked. But her words of encouragement came too late; I had already stomped off the beach regretting I ever even tried it in the first place. 

On the car ride back, I would brush off the rest of the Long Island sand that stuck to my salty skin and play tic-tac-toe on my ashy body with my sister. When I got home, for a moment I’d forget about the tan, the stain the sun gave me. But unlike the ashy skin and grains of fury, this ailment felt permanent. It was not something I could put lotion on or brush away. At home I’d look at myself in the mirror and stare at my tan lines as I peeled off the bathing suit from my skin. I was so much prettier before this morning, I thought as I tried to find an ounce of confidence in my complexion. I didn’t know why it bothered me, but it did. All that walking and sitting only to be driven home even darker than I already wanted. I left the bathroom weary and disappointed in something I felt like I could’ve prevented. 

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So, when my dad offered to go back to the beach again this summer, I was hesitant. We set off one Sunday in early August. The ride there was peaceful with intermittent traffic and songs from Steely Dan. But when I got out of the car, I noticed that the beach in Long Island I once loathed felt different. I didn’t choose to nitpick the walk from the parking lot. Come to think of it, the sand didn't even burn the ends of my feet the way it did before. Only the breeze grazed my skin and I felt the sun’s rays bless me with a kiss on the forehead. To be honest, I found nothing to complain about. The skies were aquamarine and unblemished by the sad sight of rain. Looking out to the sea, the water shimmered and became the sky’s vanity mirror, only there to reflect its beauty. I took a breath and inhaled this new, indescribable positive energy. There were young women jogging and old couples getting away from the city commotion. I watched the birds fly from sand dunes to the ocean and reached my hand into the water to feel mother nature’s soft blow on the currents. 

My mom and I decided to go for a swim. “Remember how I’d teach you how to float when you were younger, Taliya? C’mon, let’s try it again!” I looked at her with hesitant eyes. “One last time?” she persisted.  “Then I’ll never ask again, I promise!” I started off a little hesitant, but sure enough I caught my stride and it all fell into place. I was floating! The perfect mix of sun and sea. Like a water lily on a pond, I floated for what felt like hours. 

When it was time to go, I didn't yearn to leave. During the car ride back I only felt the soft touch of the beach still radiating in my mind. 

Still coming down from post-nature euphoria, I went to my room and caught myself in the mirror. I thought back to all the beach trips I’d taken when I was younger. Years ago, I’d come home and feel insecure looking at myself. Almost as if a shadow were cast over my being, darkening my skin. Reminiscing on a time of confusion, I cringed at how I felt in those moments. I looked harder into the mirror to find my younger self and found her, crippled by society's misgivings. She looked at me disheartened and guilty for hating something she had no control over.

But that night I knew something was different because I felt no hate for my complexion nor regret for basking in the sun. That night I did not feel disappointed in my melanin, nor weighed down by the world’s rhetoric about dark skin.  Looking at myself in the mirror, I knew my skin was beautiful. That night, I didn’t need to find my confidence because now it was unshakable. Somehow, without yet understanding the terms colorism or discrimination, I had reached a moment of clarity.  I felt lighter, a lily, afloat.