Sun Poisoning

Mom said twenty minutes in and twenty minutes out. Put on your sunscreen every half an hour and do not forget your face. Honestly, she thinks I am allergic to the sun. It’s ridiculous.

           “Come on, Beth,” Bekka and Rita yelled from the shallow end of the CityDay pool.

           I had been waiting all summer for this Girl Scout outing. We were going to swim all day, buy food from the snack bar, and hang out without our parents.  It was my twelve-year old dream come true. With “Bust A Move” blaring on the top ten countdown on the speakers above us, we splashed away looking around for boys and the rest of our troop.

           My mother had lathered me up with sunscreen before I left and lectured me solidly for a half an hour about how my red hair meant that my skin would not protect me from the sun like it did the other kids. She reminded me about the sunburn I got last summer at a family picnic where the blisters on my shoulders had bubbled and she had to peel the skin after they burst. The blister bubbles were so large they leaked fluid all over my arms when they opened. There was also the time that my nose got sunburnt at a soccer tournament and it hurt to touch it for three days. The shower water made my nose sting even more and it was all I could do to wash my face, so I stayed inside that July for almost a week.

           Maybe I am allergic to the sun.

           The thought briefly swam through my mind and then a huge splash shattered my thoughts. Three boys had jumped in directly beside us and were now swimming away laughing to each other. It had obviously been a planned event.

           “I like the one with the brown hair,” Bekka said dreamily.

           “The one who lost his glasses was sort of cute,” Rita offered immediately afterwards pushing her wet hair away from her face.

           That left the shaggy-haired blonde boy for me. He had flipped his hair out of his face and smiled directly at me before he swam away with his friends.

           “I guess it’s our turn now,” I said with a mischievous grin on my face.

           “Absolutely,” Bekka said, “but can we get something to eat first?”

           “Good idea,” Rita agreed, “It’s already 12:30.”

           Just then a whistle blew, and an announcement broke in on the last refrain of “Love Shack” on the speakers:

           THERE WILL NOW BE A HALF-HOUR BREAK. THERE WILL BE NO SWIMMING SO EVERYONE CAN EAT LUNCH, REST, AND GET OUT OF THE SUN.

           Seriously? It was like my mother had taken control of the speaker system.

           Before I could get angrier, Bekka grabbed my arm and we headed to get our money from under our towels. We stood in line, ordered hot dogs and slushies, and then sat at the picnic tables. We laughed and talked about what 8^th grade would be like in 1991 and how graduating in 1995 was never going to happen. Then just as we were finishing our lunches, Bekka got excited.

           “Let’s Zinc our backs!”

           “What do mean?” I asked.

           “You know our Zinc-It sunblock? Let’s put our names on our backs, so those boys know who we are.”

           “Yes!” Rita and I agreed emphatically together.

           We walked back to our towels and grabbed the purple, yellow, and pink containers of Zinc-It. Normally, this sunblock was for noses and under the eyes, but often girls created designs on their arms and faces using the brightly colored paste. We decided to put our names on our backs in bold letters to attract the boys’ attention. We used each color and painted our names accordingly. Then we walked slowly around the pool twice to make sure the boys could see who we were.

           The whistle blew and everyone was allowed to get back in the water, so we jumped in right next to the boys who splashed us earlier. We chatted, raced, and splashed for the next two hours. Then a new announcement came on the speaker:

           TROOP 1488, PLEASE MEET BY THE CONCESSION STAND FOR A PICTURE AND TO GET READY FOR YOUR PARENTS TO PICK YOU UP.

           We said goodbye to the boys who asked us to return on Friday because that was when they would be back. We laughed and said we would try to be there and headed to get our stuff. When my feet hit the hot concrete beside the pool, my legs felt very unsteady. I started to sway a little but caught my balance as we got to the grass. I felt so hot. My head started to hurt and my skin felt like it was on fire.

           “Beth. Are you okay?”

           “Oh yeah. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

           As I fell into my mom’s blue Dodge Omni, her face fell.

           “You’re so red,” she said holding back her anger because of concern.

           “It’s not that bad,” I lied, “We spent the lunch time in the shade.”

           I knew that didn’t even relate to our conversation, but I knew she was right. I felt horrible. My head ached, my stomach hut, and my muscles felt like they were dripping off of my bones. That night I threw up twice and had to sleep on the recliner. However, the worst was yet to come. The Zinc-It proved to be a reliable product, because it protected the area that Bekka had painted my name. It was snow white under the neon colors and remained so all summer. I again had blisters on my shoulders, had to be treated for dehydration, and was grounded from returning to the pool for the rest of the summer. 

           I guess I was allergic to the sun.

           The memory seemed mildly humorous now but was tortuous during my childhood. As I waited in Dr. Padson’s office I saw children playing in a yard next door. One little boy had on a hat and light, long sleeves. I couldn’t tell because of his hat, but I bet his hair was just as auburn as mine was. I looked down at my arms that used to be covered in freckles. Now there were matured age spots and I wondered how much skin cancer I would be fighting this round. I sighed and smiled at the children outside and said a little prayer that those children would be less allergic to the sun than me.