by Dredeir Roberts
Umoja stared at her empty bag in disdain. She hated packing. She reminded herself that this was only a day trip and she didn’t need to pack too many outfits. Honestly, this whole thing was a bit uncomfortable for her. She’d never been to the beach with people other than her family.
Beach trips with her family have a natural flow to them. They all load up the car. Umoja is usually last to put her bag in because she is typically last to pack. They listen to old-school R&B music on the ride up. Her mom packs bags and Tupperware containers of food for the day because she’s not gonna spend “an arm and a leg” for food on the boardwalk. They arrive, lay out their towels, and kindly reject the beach servicer’s offer for an umbrella. Again, because that’s a waste of money. They came here for sun; why would they hide from it? All day her family reads, builds sandcastles, boogie boards, and plays Frisbee in the comfort of the sun’s heat. By the end of the day, they exhaustedly pack up their beach gear and head home.
Admittedly Umoja believes going to the beach with her basketball team could be a fun adventure. She gets to see how her teammates usually do the beach. Intellectually she knows it will be different, but she still can’t imagine how. She wonders how many ways is there to go to the beach? Because when she’s at the beach with her family, she remembers it looking like everyone else is doing the beach the same way her family does.
“5 minutes Umo!” her mom yells up the stairs in a know it all tone. Her mom told Umoja to pack last night and not to wait until the last minute. But Umoja said it wouldn’t take her that long since it is only a day trip, and the beach meant less clothes anyway. Defiantly, Umoja hurriedly stuffs an extra pair of clothes so that she has some dry clothes to change into when the day is done; she adds in some flip-flops, sunglasses, two towels, and a book that she knows she will be too busy having fun to read, grabs her boogie board and heads down the stairs.
As Umoja descends down the stairs, she spots her dad under the sink with a Plumbing For Dummies book beside him, cursing and making noise in the kitchen. Her younger brother Raul is kind enough to mummer a “hey” when he notices her presence in the living room. His focus remains on the video game he is playing on the family television. Sauntering in the from the kitchen, her mom asks “Do you have everything you need Umo?” Umoja distractedly responds while texting ” yeah it wasn’t much.”
“Are you sure? Did you pack sunscreen? Her mom persisted. Umoja twisted her face and asked, “Do we have any?”
“I think there is some under the sink,” she says as her gaze wanders toward Umoja’s cursing Dad and frowns. Umoja laughed and said, “I think one day at the breach isn’t going to cause skin cancer; Mom, I’ll be fine.”
It was never a showstopper. But they always asked, and also always took whatever excuse their kids provided for why it wasn’t necessary. And practically it wasn’t. The threat of skin cancer seemed so unlikely and they always came back from the beach the same way they went… only a bit darker. In her mom’s mind, as long as she got it across to her children that sunscreen was a good thing to use, that was enough. Her mother didn’t feel the need to go into detail about the possibility of skin cancer. And her mother didn’t even want to bring up sunburn, given that her mother has never experienced it. Her mother has shared more than once that she thinks it is just something other people complain about to get attention and pump up the sunscreen industry. Her mom finds security in the fact that she and her family and her friends seem to get through life just fine without wasting too much mental space on the rare potential for sunburn, and find it better to just stay positive and just not overdo it on the sun exposure.
Umoja jumped at the sound of the car horn. She grabbed her stuff and kissed her mom on the cheek saying a quick “love you bye” and headed out the door. Her brother sarcastically yelled from the living room, “don’t get sunburn!”. Umoja rolled her eyes and yelled back “ You know no one gets sunburn” at her brother and turned to wave to her teammates stuffed in to Kayla’s mom’s van. She put her small bag in the popped trunk and ducked into the van.
Umoja slides into the hot and sticky car. Her teammates are already glistening with sweat from being in the car for ten minutes. Umoja was the last stop, so there was little option of where to sit. “Hey, Mo!” “Yo Mo,” “YOU KNOW,” they all chanted as if they practiced that… “Did y’all practice that?” Umoja asked. They all laughed, confirming Umoja’s suspicion.
“Alright girls, we’re here. Hop out and unload the van. I’m just your chauffer, not your personal assistants.” Barb jokingly announced through the car as she pulled into a parking spot. “Alright mom, we get it.” Kayla retorted knowing not to glance back at her mom to catch the evil glare her little comment induced. The team filed out of the van and walked toward the trunk to receive their individual bags. Umoja looked up and stretched her arms to the sky as soon as she hopped out of the van. “Hey Mo, could you enjoy your newfound freedom over there so I can get out too!” Laura said. Umoja giggled while moving out of the way, “oops my bad, you deserve to stretch your legs too Laura.”
So Umoja started, with the confidence of someone who has been waiting to finally drop some knowledge, “Well like I said, no one in my family gets sunburn, not once. Even when we spend all day at the beach. And look, now we all went to the beach and hung out at the same spot for the same time and I didn’t get any sunburn, no one did. Like my mom always says, you can just focus on the positive and not let the fear of sunburn control your life” Umoja finished. Allison pulled her t-shirt over her shoulder and said, “well what do you think this is?” showing a dark red patch of skin over her exposed shoulder. “Yeah and this” said Ashley removing the towel from her leg showing some red patches on her legs.
Umoja, still in the mood to be right, ushered up, “Well, maybe it’s an allergic reaction to something else, like what you ate or the sand or that t-shirt irritating your shoulder. I mean, it still doesn’t explain the fact that I never get it, and I went out in the same area you did and didn’t experience it one bit. Maybe you’re making it up in your head, which helps bring it on.” She continued.
Allison, now serious, “Wow, so you think all of us are worried about something totally fake, and that we are so concerned about how long we are out, applying sunscreen, and getting aloe and actually having symptoms of sunburn because we made it up in our heads! That’s insane. I get that your skin and apparently your family’s skin doesn’t experience what ours does, but some things are skin specific, and when you are a particular skin type, you get burned.
Defeated and mostly wanting to just move on, Umoja muttered “Maybe.” and started on her nap.
Umoja plopped on the court next to her mom as her mom intently watched the news. Absentmindedly her mom asked, “How was the beach?”
“Fine, I mean pretty fun. I’m exhausted.” Umoja says.
“Well I’m glad you had fun baby.” Her mom said obviously not listening to her. Her mom’s eyes were glued to the news program getting more and more upset. “Can you believe this guy Umo! He has the nerve to say racism doesn’t exist because he doesn’t see it. How would he know! He thinks he just so happens to have the particular skin that ops you out of experiencing the burn of of racism! This guy. Anyway, you hungry Umo? her mom says, getting up before Umoja can answer with a “So hungry.”
Feeling deja vu, she followed her mom into the kitchen to help make dinner. Umoja’s brother ran into the kitchen, “Did you get burnt!?” He yelled, laughing. Umoja stopped herself from saying the usual, saying, “No, you know I don’t get sunburn.”