Noreen Aberdine

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Noreen Aberdine and I lay on the beach. Because of her, the air around us does not smell like the ocean but like jasmine, coconuts and cream. Her skin is fair all but where her cheeks, collar bone and arms are exposed to the sun. Ms. Aberdine has auburn hair, a shade darker than the flowers on her swim suit top. It stands tall and shimmers like the turning waves in the skyline behind her. Ms. Aberdine and I lay on our stomachs next to one another. She turns her left cheek to rest on the sand. Her dark brown eyes gaze to her right, right at me. She reaches out to brush away a grain of sand that had stuck to my forehead. She moves her hand from my forehead to my temple and then behind my ear. She lifts the sunglasses from my face. I look straight ahead at her, vision fuzzy, both of our cheeks pressed against the warm sand. Ms. Aberdine says nothing, lifts her head, resting herself now on her elbows with the glasses held in both of her hands. She winks at me, lifts the strap of her suit top to her shoulder and places the glasses over her eyes.