Off in the distance, I have just caught sight of some people on this otherwise deserted beach. To my delight there’s a little girl who looks to be around my age. She is standing on a big towel in front of a weathered grey bathhouse. Perhaps she is someone who would like to play with me? As I begin running towards her, she looks familiar. I can see that she is bending over to pick up a T-shirt. Then suddenly I realize that she must be me, since I am the only 10-year-old redhead I’ve ever known who is so easily burned that she has to wear a long-sleeved T-shirt on a hot day like this.
What a wonderful opportunity, then, to watch myself as a child, lost in play on a clear day with such strong reflections from the sea. The trouble is, as I zoom in to observe her more closely, her face dissolves behind a coarse grain of fabric. She seems to be stuck, at a loss to get into or out of her T-shirt, and I awake in a panic. Will I never be able to look back and see her again, up closely? Is this the only way to protect sensitive skin from solar radiation, or to protect one's integrity from exploitation by an intrusive lens. Shame on me and the old woman on the Indian reservation?
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