The first time I peeled, I thought I was dying.
I had just returned from Cuba. At first I chalked it up to dry skin, but the skin – my skin! – kept rubbing off with frightening ease. I showed my mother.
“Oh, you’re just peeling. From the sun,” she had said.
“You must have gotten burnt in Cuba.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that happened to us.”
I was reminded of that special moment earlier, after sloughing off a layer from my forehead. Memories of South Africa, but more specifically, standing in line for the cable car up Table Mountain. I was out there for about 2 hours and half of that time was spent in the sun. If I had known about that wait in advance, I might not have gone (or I would have at least worn sunscreen). But the views from Table Mountain were magnificent and worth every second in the sun. I had lucked out, because the day before and the two days after were so windy that the cable cars weren’t running.
I hope my burnt layer hangs around for a bit longer to remind me of my good fortune and fun times.