Tag Archives: Julie Titone

Equator Beach

by Julie Titone

The boy is naked. To shield his groin, his mother ties a scarf around his middle. He sheds it during his dash for the ocean. She laughs, lets him run about starkers for awhile. She calls to him with words that I recognize only as German and playful.

I am impressed by the cut of the mother’s black bikini and the body that gives it shape. She rises, retrieves the crimson scarf, takes the two-year-old back to the blanket and offers him bottled water. She ties the scarf around him again.

Why doesn’t she simply sunscreen the bejesus out of the boy? Maybe she did that before they reached the beach. Or maybe no one warned her about this West African sun, how it permeates everything so deeply that you even feel it at night, radiating from the red earth. I am lathered up even though I stay under the cabana most of the time.
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Filed under Fiction