A Perfect Day

A perfect day

Even though it is well before midday, I can tell this is going to be a perfect day. I am certain of it. Without a doubt.

I pick up the sunscreen from the picnic basket. Then I open the lid, let a tiny amount of cream warm up in my hands before I gently smear it on both my thighs. The sun is sending hot, burning beams down towards my white skin. Even the thick parasol can not stop it from hitting my skin. The same sunbeams are glimmering in the water and sending a flickering light over the surface, where Berit is lying on her floating mattress, tanning her body. 

Berit and I met at the beach. At a time when we both wore diapers. The photos from that day show two smiling toddlers playing with the same bucket of sand. I still have that bucket, in my garage. I smile.

A mother seagull flies close to my head, and my toes curl up in the sand. I look up at the bird, smile, and gently swipe her away. Then I try to brush the sand off my blanket, making it even worse. I let out a silly laugh before I bend over the picnic basket and get one of the wine glasses out. I wipe it off with my towel. Then I pour myself a glass of bubbly from the cooler.  

It was our mothers that brought us to the beach that summer day. It was well over forty years ago. They were friends, my mother, and Berit`s mother. They are dead now. But Berit and I are still friends. Best friends. Always have been. And today we are at the beach, alone. My husband is at work, the children are at school.

I lean backward, holding myself up with one hand. It feels like I have stolen this time. This day. The doctor said no, but the sun said yes. 

I let my eyes take a good look around as if I try to look at it in a new way. Or maybe just to never forget. And I enjoy the view. It soothes me. Comfort me. At the end of the beach, the pier is barely standing, just as worn down as always, since the beginning of time. Two teenage girls are sunbathing, right under the old, weathered lifebuoy and a bleached parasol just giving shadow to the books. It could have been us. It has been us, Berit and I, a long time ago.

An elderly woman is walking by the edge of the water, gently splashing the water as she puts down her feet. She looks up at me, give me a wave. I wave back and give her a big smile, before I grab the book beside me, open it, and start reading the first page. The bright light makes it difficult to read. Effortlessly I find my sunglasses, put them on, and look out over the water. The floating mattress has taken Berit far, far out. I could have shouted at her, but she might not have heard. She has probably not noticed being so far out, in her eagerness to get the greatest tan. 

Berit has always been passionate about her being tan. And pretty. Beautiful. Berit has always been stunning, even in preschool. Not sweet, like I was. Like they say I am. Sweet. Kind. Not beautiful, like Berit. In high school, every single boy was drooling over her, and at university, they were on their knees. I take a good look down my own body. The black bikini is a great contrast to my milky white skin. The stretch marks on my stomach are red, already burned after a couple of hours in the sun. Apart from that, it is flat. The stomach. And under the stretch marks, my six-pack is bulging. 

The bubbly wine is splashing over the edge of the glass as I lift it up to my mouth. It is like the wine wants to dance. Berit loves to dance. Her soft hips always swing elegantly from side to side, her arms float in the air and her hair swipes her big bouncy breasts. I take a big sip of the wine and give the glass an elegant swirl as I put it down.

Cheers, I say quietly. Cheers to a perfect day.

The two teenage girls at the pier get up, stretch their long, lean bodies and let out a loud laugh. It is as if they are the show of the beach. I smile. They get dressed, put the books in the bag, and walk giggling towards the road. I secretly watch them, behind my sunglasses, giving them a tiny goodbye smile. I take off my hat, scratch behind my ear, and run my hand through my non-existing hair. Once again, I put on sunscreen, while I look out over the water. I long to soak my aching muscles in the refreshing water. Long to dive in. Long to swim far, far out. As I used to. Instead, I sit and watch.

The floating mattress is floating towards me, towards the beach. 

I take another big sip of the bubbly wine, spinning the glass between my fingers. The stem feels cold against my long, thin fingers. I bought the wine yesterday. It was then I saw her dancing. Berit. In her own home. In the living room. I went to the store, bought two bottles before I stopped by the pharmacy in the city. When I came back Berit was still dancing. Naked.

I put the cork in the wine bottle, put the wine glass in the basket, get up, and shake the sand off my blanket. I then fold it and put it on top of the basket. Berit is in the water. I get into my summer dress and put the hat over my balding head.

She danced naked. So did he. My husband. I throw the basket over my shoulder, grab the cooler with the other hand, and walk towards my car. Berit cannot swim.