I



Charles F. Meyer III

Professor White

Creative Nonfiction

2 June 2008

Sunglasses, Burnt Skin and Fresh Beats

One fine afternoon on a beach in Florida during spring break 2008, four college students remembered to put on their sunglasses but forgot to apply enough sun block. Two hours later, as they stumbled out of a cab desperately trying to make their 4:10PM flight to Tampa, all four became aware that they were blood-red and tender all over, like a batch of rare steaks from Lawry’s. “Ouch! This is gonna be an intense one,” declared Lexi when the strap of her carry-on bag began to irritate the skin that covered her collarbone. “Yea, I’m for sure gonna peel,” I said. (I was one of these four sunburnt fools.)

Days later, the peeling would begin. Each of us would finally be released of a layer of skin—that outer layer that had been there since last summer’s burn and that had therefore become constricting, suffocating. That outer layer whose time had come.

Yesterday, as I whipped my head around to check my blind spot before changing lanes, I caught a glimpse of my profile in the rear view mirror. Well, it was more like a 45 degree angle view than a profile, but what struck me was the way my sunglasses looked. Though I wasn’t crazy about this particular $16 pair with rims the color of egg yolk, they looked pretty good at the moment. I’d had previous shades that I adored, almost worshipped. Those were now defunct—stolen, broken or lost. This pair was just something to “tide me over,” so to speak.

It’s funny, I thought, how much attention goes into the purchase of a new pair of sunglasses. Finding the right fit—those glasses that complement your facial shape, your cheekbones, nose bridge, jaw structure—can be tough. Some girls have to decide if they’re going to wear their bangs down or pull them back because that can totally change their choice of sunglasses.

A pair of sunglasses transforms your view of the world. The lenses can make it darker or perhaps tint the entire world a fiery orange. Sunglasses can make you feel protected, or they can make you feel like doing something outrageous. One usually puts them on when leaving the house or once already out doing something, so sunglasses tend to come with a sense of adventure.

Sunglasses also alter the way the world views you. They might make you look like a more fun person, or you might look stupid and ostentatious. And then there’s the magic of removing them at just the right time for dramatic effect, either William Shatner style or Fonzie style.

The four of us were in Florida for Ultra, the world’s premiere electronic-dance music festival, which is held in Miami each March. The type of music that soundtracked our weekend is the type of music that keeps me alive. Every cell in my body flows to the feel of house music and break beats. A beat is always pumping through my head, rolling on through every vein in my system. As a matter of fact, it’s what I’m listening to right now in order to keep writing at this wee hour of the morning. Anyway, that weekend in Miami taught me that electronic music is one of the most powerful forces in the universe.

Yesterday, I was leafing through Spin Magazine and paused on a full-page ad for Ray-Ban sunglasses. Ah yes, I thought, the “Never Hide” campaign—I’ve seen these ads before, the ones that depict some attractive guy or girl laughing with friends on the beach or in a club, and the ads say in all caps, “NEVER HIDE.” This particular ad shows two “rockstars” stepping out of their tour bus, wearing Ray-Ban aviators and looking off into the distance as photographers and whetted female fans flail their arms in praise. I always laugh at these ads, skeptical of the intentions of Ray Ban’s marketing team. Do we hide behind sunglasses, using them either to avoid direct eye contact with others, or do we wear them as a sign of an outgoing personality? What is the benefit of keeping our most socially indicative organs covered? Some people can’t wear sunglasses that are cooler than they are because everyone will know they are posturing. Some people can pull off any sunglasses and also feel just as socially competent wearing no accessories at all. Either way, Ray-Ban’s ironic catchphrase pries into a world of psychosocial nuances, playing off individuals’ insecurities as well as their social fortes.

I tend to buy cheap but flashy sunglasses, generally with large lenses and bright colors. There’s no rift between this flashy style and my inner personality—people know that’s just what I do. I even let them sit a little further down my nose, like I just don’t care. And that’s because—well, I don’t. In addition, more than once this month, people have actually given me their sunglasses because they couldn’t pull them off themselves and knew that they were better suited for me. I admire these people both for being true to themselves and for giving me free stuff.

“Ooooooh,” I uttered. It was a groan of both shock and relief as Lexi spread a gob of aloe vera gel across my stomach like lime jam.

“Crew prepare for take-off,” muttered the pilot’s voice overhead.

“That. Feels. Awesome.” It was the aloe’s icy coldness against my skin’s lava heat that made it feel so righteous. It’s that same satisfaction I get when I drop ice cubes into boiling soup and watch them dissipate into nothingness. It’s the feeling you get watching an innocent slug burn and wither in a pile of salt.

“Now do me.” I took the aloe tube from her and rubbed a handful of the chilly fluid across her shoulders.

I arrived back at Santa Clara University after Miami in the middle of the first week of spring quarter, so I had to hit the ground running. I never got a chance to take a breath and prepare myself. So I need a few moments every once in a while to just relax and take in the world—to hit the refresh button in my brain so I can start clean.

The next morning after I came back to school, I climbed up to my rooftop at around 6:30AM to take a few moments and watch the sun rise. I brought my headphones up there to double the beauty of the sun reaching over the East San Jose hills by adding music. I put on my egg yolk sunglasses in order to reduce retinal damage and moved my head to the beat. I watched my arms as a few flakes of dead cells fell off, swept across the roof, feathered down towards the lawn, and became part of the earth again. As I bounced my head, I noticed my sunglasses sliding a centimeter further down my nose on each fourth beat. More skin flakes snowed onto the lawn—until my sunglasses finally reached the tip of my nose. And as the final peak of the song dropped into the chorus, my sunglasses fell off, tumbled down the steep incline of my roof, and crashed onto the brick path below. My snake scales had all returned to dust, and a fresh layer of skin lay tenderly waiting for each new moment of time to press itself onto my flesh.

I thought of people all over the globe wearing sunglasses—mirrored Ray-Bans, white-rimmed Von Zippers, polarized anti-glare Oakleys, and thick black Electrics. Some of these people are still rocking fresh shades; others are in need of a new pair. I thought of people around the world treating sunburns—a small boy in Southeast Asia ripping off a piece of an aloe plant and painting the cool relief on his red shoulders, a young blonde in her Malibu beach house taking an aloe bath. The boy and blonde alike know how to take care of themselves—how to repair the body and soul and jump back up.

So next time you feel bored, burdened, stagnant or stale, maybe you’re that melting slug on the back porch. You’re in need of a reincarnation. Try letting go of that worn outer layer of skin. Try a new pair of sunglasses, and find some new beats for your life. Remember it’s better to be a rare steak than a dried egg yolk.

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