The Runaway

“Que lejos tú, 

que lejos yo, 
los escombros de mi vida se deslizan por la lluvia 
recordando a Penélope”

          Willy’s guitar strung harmoniously with the raindrops crashing into cold steel.  The tren urbano was surprisingly emptier than usual, especially considering the fact that it was morning in the middle of a busy week.  Still, I preferred it to be like this; there is a sense of calmness that emanates from the soft, mechanic rustling and the gray, cloudy outlines that somehow accentuated Puerto Rican mundanity.  With one ear with earphones on listening to Explosion in the Sky, and the other ear listening to Willy’s soulful crooning, I directed my attention to the train's corridor.  The few of us who accomplished in gathering all the multi-verses’ strengths to abide by our accustomed responsibilities were positioned in the same places, observing at the same things, and striking out the same faces.  Some of them were familiar, some of them were not, but truth be told, we formed a collective anxiousness striving for the day to be over already so we could head back to the coziness of our messy beds.  With this rain, who wouldn’t?  

           Looking back through the dampened windowpane, the rainfall deepened amongst the convent of autumn trees; one could almost sense the petrichor roaming around the gloomy air.  The Las Lomas station was just right around the corner as I started pondering about the things most university students always ponder about, and that is the implementation of a social pedagogy centered around Foucauldian consciousness with a hint of bell hook's paradigm of academic inclusion.  Either that or the dread in keeping up with the classes.  I'm betting it is the latter.  It is probably the latter.  It is definitely the latter.  With two weeks left of university, the exhaustiveness of it all was at its peak. The feeling is bittersweet, however, when it is one's last year in la iupi: The unique experiences developed and harvested outweighed all the stresses spawned right out of last minute essays and faulty bureaucratic shenanigans.  Most importantly, though, were the great people met, especially in an institution grounded on rich history and eclectic personalities.  The pillars of knowledge such institution firmly took pride of, and advocated, were unquestionably present thanks to these forthbringers of hope and unity.  The sights ever so beautiful (even when swayed by the asymmetric dance of thunderstorms), the creatures kindly roaming around the crooked sidewalks, the cheer bliss evoked by the tuna and the countless of other talents in los teatros; indeed, la iupi will be one hell of an experience I probably won't ever forget.  Though this has been a striking, introspective year guided by numbing uncertainty and sieges of emotional purgatory, I genuinely hope, no, I genuinely implore that these memories serve as a vessel towards a safer shore; towards an archipelago of new beginnings and mended hearts.  Admittedly, desperation had never taken a toll on these withered hands as much as now, and time proved itself once again to be the adversary of the flesh and of the mind.

But I hope.

          The train picked up speed, just enough to get a minuscule glimpse of feeling the thrill of the rush swiftly teasing one's body with its peculiar warmth.  I looked from the windowpane to the train's corridors: The same positions, the same looks, the same faces.  The motionless in motion.  Willy's crooning was no longer present and the chitter-chatter of various, colorful voices started to arise along with the flicks of local newspapers, giving life to this otherwise silvery morning.  I gently stretched my neck from side to side and clenched one hand to the coldness of the train handle.  Getting hungry, I immediately began to think about the crisp, buttery toast served in the merenderos, particularly the ones from good ol' Johnny: Simple and homely, just the way I liked them.  Just the way I liked the seas and the skies, just the way I liked the moody blues, just the way I liked the sun-kissed pavements of sociales, just the way I liked the rain channeling through my limbs as I exited the cig smoke-ridden doors of Club 77, just the way I liked the youthful vibrancy stemmed from huma, just the way I liked quirky but genuine midnight conversations, just the way I liked the discharge of metaphors and narratives oozing out of the very clamors brought forth by the disarray, just the way I liked honest imperfections, just the way I liked the late night movies with the family, just the way I liked y--

          "...no sé mamita pero chequea por la mesa a ver si está ahí.  Cuando lo encuentres me llamas pa'trás, okay?  Te amo".

               "...quizás sea la inevitabilidad de los resultados de estas elecciones que el pueblo caerá nuevamente en una sumisión profunda.  Culpan a los mantenidos, culpan a nuestros universitarios, culpan al gobierno y a la administración, pero a la hora de la verdad rechazan en mirar la complejidad que existe dentro la situación social de Puerto Rico..."

         "...es que estaba pa'l de difícil, mano! Sé que Orgánica no es nada fácil pero mano con este examen me colgué full.  Y la cosa es que el profe..."

               "...en la brega.  Pero con la gloria del Señor todo me saldrá bien.  Y tu nenita, ¿cómo está?  La vi ayer por faibu y está de lo más chula, ¡Dios la colme de bendición!  Y nenita tiene de nada, ya debe tener sus quince, me imagino muchacha.  ¡Ay bendito, si ya nos estamos poniendo viejas y escriquillás!  Bueno mija aquí..."

--UNIVERSIDAD--

Taken by Carlos V.

Rise & Fall

Rise & Fall by Daniel Enrique Montes

She struggled to make out what it was that the silhouette outlined in the horizon as the craft hovered upstream. It looked like a towering colossus of sorts but as she came closer she saw that it was the top of a clock tower with overgrown weeds snared about it curling up its columns like tendrils devouring the shattered bells behind the rusted bars of the openings. 

Ponderously she took a book titled “The Fall" out of her coat pocket and opened the page that she had placed a maple leaf in as a marker. 

 “I can hear rain falling in torrents, unsuspecting mud soaked sneakers shuffling through the hallways as the river shifts off course ready to envelop this once proud metropolis of learned erudites, thunderclaps boom and echo as lightning strikes the parrots in their arboreal homes.”

As the sun began to illuminate the water with a mellow yellow glow a light drizzle began to fall causing ripples to form on the surface, countless spheres expanding in every direction. She then removed all her clothes her bare form glistening in the humid morning air as she adjusted a breather mask on her delicate face. A loud splash later and she was gone submerging herself into the unknown depths leaving only a trail of bubbles above. 

Mientras descendía iba observando aquellas viejas ruinas que se extendían en todas las direcciones. Directamente opuesta a la torre se encontraba una plaza frente a una estructura con arcos y columnas que tenia el techo caído. Al nadar encima de ella pudo ver un enorme escenario frente a varias hileras de asientos. Bancos de peces se paseaban a su alrededor mientras continuaba su exploración por los pasillos de aquello que una vez fue un centro del conocimiento. Se acerco a una puerta que estaba cerrada y por curiosidad decidió abrirla a ver que había del otro lado. Al entrar a un salon lleno de ordenadores antiquísimos pudo ver varios esqueletos con ropa y mochilas en la espalda. Tomo varias fotos con su cámara sumergible y floto delante de uno de estos fijándose en la expresión vacía que yacía en sus ojos huecos. De repente pudo ver que en uno de los bolsillos de la chaqueta de aquel cadaver se encontraba un viejo teléfono móvil que tenia un protector a prueba de agua. Lo cogió en sus manos pensando que quizás ahi se encontraban algunas respuestas de lo que había acontecido en aquel lugar hace tantísimos años. Luego al sentir un breve toque de melancolía salió de el salon decidida a regresar al mundo de los vivos del cual había venido que se encontraba encima de aquel rio que en el fondo tenia infinitas piedras. 

As her head emerged on the surface she traced the horizon with her stare seeking the craft which had brought her there. She spotted it hovering calmly next to the clock tower and began to swim in that direction. Unknown birds circled above the mid-day sky as she clambered atop her vessel. When she was putting the phone in her bag for later inspection she noticed the faded letters in the title of her book were now glowing gold and that it now spelled out “The Fall of Rio”. Puzzled she opened the cover and saw that all the print inside was now glowing like the title and she began to 
read the introduction to see if anything had changed :

“Herein these pages is contained the chronicle of the fall of Rio. Not the Rio where tourists tanned topless on the beach to the sounds of samba but the Rio where students from all walks of life came to find a measure of themselves. The Rio where they made connections that lasted lifetimes, where they joined forces to forge a better future. The town where music and art painted the walls and literature paved the roads. The spot where magic was born again and culture re-invented itself with 
every passing generation. The place that is and always will be in our hearts fueling our imagination. 

Why you might wonder was this placed drowned, scratched off the map , forever to be buried in time?

Though some truths are ephemeral constantly evolving with the nature of reality there is one that has proven to remain constant : Freedom is an enemy of the state. 

It all started minimally and covertly with the placement of cameras in every corner of the university.
Then they began to station security guards in the corners of “El Teatro” so the open minded students could not connect and share their insights. As time passed the government of this subdued exploited colony began to become increasingly more Orwellian. The inspiring thing about it  though is that us the people did not submit. The more rules they placed the more rules we ignored. The freer we became the more control they tried to exert. Long story short, when all the cards were on the table and they saw that they could not break our indomitable will, they used the H.A.A.R.P. weather control system to literally drown the opposition whose base had always been the unrepeatable town of Rio. And to this day the rain does not stop because they know that if it did, the town would rise again to liberate a nation of free thinkers that would shake the very foundations of the planet.”

Tears ran down her cheeks upon reading those last words when suddenly she heard a very loud crowing. Looking in the direction of the sound she saw that perched on top of the tower was a majestic rooster it’s spread wings gleaming in that sunlight which will always disperse the rainy man-made clouds to make way for the bright skies of tomorrow. 

There's Rain in the Forecast

" Bring a change of clothes tomorrow" he texted." I have a surprise for you"  He didn't text after that.  Recently we had some misunderstandings, a few fights, and he wanted to lighten up the mood. He wanted to make up for the sour moments we had lately. I wasn't too upset over them. I knew college had us both on edge, we'd been stressed with finals,  family feuds and we really needed a moment to relax.
The next day I went to the UPR and I completely forgot about the change of clothes. Always so scatter brained, always distracted. I walk the broken side walks of my university always looking down. I enjoy following the cracks, my eyes trace them like the veins on the forearm of my favorite campus, they lead me to the student center. He's waiting for me there, and just as I am approaching the building it starts drizzling. The food court is on the first floor. The computer room, the musician corner. Sbarro's. Pollo Tropical. Burger King. Church's Chicken. The wooden stage in the open balcony graffiti'd with cheap philosophy and dick doodles. This is not where I go. Instead I head to the second floor which has been closed and abandoned for six years. That's my spot. The murky ruins of a once functional facility  is now my solace. The side entrance by the stairs is boarded up, but the barred window isn't. I slide between the wooden board and the iron bars easily. I am a slim figure, I could make for a great spy. I walk towards the end of the hollow hallway to find him. I love the quiet dark echos of this place. It's a comforting secret, an oasis of dirty debris and rusty desks. It's my favorite labyrinth, it brings me peace, I feel protected like a child inside a pillow fort. I see him standing by the leathery mustard-colored couch. Immediately he notices my empty hands.

" I told you to bring extra clothes!" He whined. I didn't think he was serious. He greeted me with a kiss and a hug, his face lit up as he saw the skies darkening. The metal frames of the half constructed windows rumbled with each thunder.The drizzle intensified into full rain. A downpour of frustrations swayed around us as we watched from the balcony of that abandoned floor. He told me we were going downstairs. We jumped through the side of the balcony, slid past the iron bars  and we made our way towards the rain. It was insanely crowded the way the Caribbean students gather so as to not catch pneumonia. The sighs of frustration and the murmur of the heated crowd was dense and it hurt my ears. Crowds hurt my ears. I can't breathe near them, so as I closed my eyes to forget about the noise and he took my hands and pulled me outside.

I looked at him. He gleamed with such joy. He kissed my lips and held me in position.

One, two, three, four five six... 

One, two, three, four, five, six...

He tried for many months to teach me how to dance. It seemed like all his efforts revolved around this moment. Dancing in the rain. Dancing around the forming currents leading us down the road, under the trees, into the dirt. He took my hands and my waist and he spun me around. There was no music. There was barely any sound other than the rain's white noise and our winded breath. He moved my hips and kept telling me to let go, to not be so stern, to feel the rhythm, the heat of the steps. I danced like I never had before. We danced under the cold rain and the ever growing rivers that flowed through the side walk's veins.We swam in the flooded air and it was paradise. I sat down in the middle of the concrete sidewalk as the downpour kept falling. The water was cold, but the current was consistent. Like the nozzle of my stress had finally been opened and spread. The rain was all of our troubles gathered into one beautiful manifestation. You could run away from it, or you could dance under it. Either way it's the drastic changes in temperature that gets you sick, not the rain itself. 

After about an hour, we walked back to the student center. I was freezing. He had been right. I should've brought a change of clothes. We were on the first floor, he said " We should go upstairs to take our clothes off and squeeze as much water out of them." I said no. No babe. I know myself. I knooow myself. I won't go to class. You won't go to class. If we go upstairs you know what will happen. He said " No. It won't happen, I'll make sure of that. ". I squinted at him, icy goblets dripping from my eyelashes. I was skeptical, but I was cold. He assured me " We won't have sex, I promise. It will just be to dry ourselves a bit, because otherwise pneumonia is definitely going to follow. "

I have nothing against sex. I love it. I really do. But I know my weaknesses. My passions. My distractions, I know in my head where my priorities lie, but in the heat of the moment, my body tends to forget.And I really need to pass my classes. I can't skip any more.

I told him, okay. Let's go upstairs to dry ourselves. We really are drenched. We went and sat on the mustard-colored couch. I took off my pants and my shirt and I twisted the hell out of them. The problem wasn't so much the water anymore as it was the breeze. I trembled in my underwear. He sat next to me. He hugged me. He rubbed my arms so the friction could comfort me. He held my waist. He held my jaw up and he kissed me. He kissed me some more. He kissed me deeper, both of us in our underwear, both of us cold. He pressed me against him and kissed me hungrily. I pulled away from him and said no. No, you promised. He said "Just let me kiss you.." And he moved towards me. He held my head in place and pressed his hungry mouth on mine, his hands grabbed my arms firmly, slowly pushing me to lay on the couch. I didn't want him to feel rejected, but it made me uneasy. He broke his promise. And I said no.I kept saying no and he kept going.I didn't struggle too much against him. I told him no, but somehow it seemed to turn him on more. He passionately pressed me against the couch and pulled off my underwear. He kissed my neck and pinned me down, his hand started feeling me, exploring me, he already knew his way around me. He knows what I like, he knows the rhythm I enjoy, he knows the pressure that drives me insane, physiologically he plays me like a piano masterfully. But I wasn't in my body anymore. I wasn't responding to his touch the way he wasn't responding to my requests. I asked him to stop one last time before he spread my legs and let himself in. I turned my face away from him. I kept quiet, and secretly hoped he'd finish soon. The rain that was left on his hair dripped on my face. It wasn't cold anymore. He pushed into me rhythmically, his breath on my neck was warm and heavy. The sweet rain now replaced with salty warm sweat, at least I wasn't cold anymore. I closed my eyes and bit my tongue and I tried to breathe easy. Then he finished. And he looked at me. His eyes widened. His face froze into an expression of overwhelming panic and disbelief. Almost as if he had woken from a nightmare. Rapidly he gathered himself and he sat away from me.

He hid his face in his hands. "You're mad aren't you.." he murmured through his shame.
Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I said. And he started to cry. " I'm so sorry.." he repeated. " I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I don't know what came over me.." he said as he sobbed. The rain, and the sweat now co-joined by tears dripping from his trembling lips. I put my arm around him to try to comfort him and he pulled away from my touch. " No... Don't" It's okay...I said. It's okay... It's okay...It's okay...I comforted him. I snuggled him into my arms. I told him it was okay. I held him close to my now tepid and confused body. I tried to not make him feel judged, or condemned, or abandoned or hopeless. I didn't really struggle after all, right? I mean I just laid there. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I didn't push him away. Maybe psychologically I did want him to? Maybe I should've been louder, fought harder, maybe if I had, I would've gotten through to him. I mean, he loves me. I should've raised my voice. Been more assertive. I should've pressed my point further into not coming up to the second floor. I mean, what kind of message did I send him by agreeing to come up to an abandoned floor in a building for us to take our clothes off and "dry" them. I'm so naive. I should've known better. I should've stood my ground. I let him take over.

It was my fault.

I stayed with him. Comforting him from the experience he had just gone through. The cold slowly rushing back. I joked around to make him laugh. I kissed him lightly on the lips and smiled. I told him I loved him. The rest of the afternoon I spent it there with him. Trying my best not to ruin the wonderful rainy day he had planned for us.

Needless to say I missed my class.

I put it out of my mind afterwards. But I started to avoid being in isolated places with him. I'd invite friends to hang out with us. I'd leave doors open. Automatically, these habits formed in my brain without my know-how. He wasn't violent. He isn't violent. He is a kind soul who gets confused sometimes.

I wasn't afraid of him, I promise.
But I haven't danced in the rain since.

Zapatos Entripaos'

Foto por Jean Alberto.

"Son las una y esta universidad está vacía," decía una de las dueñas de las famosas Veggies de Humanidades mientras me entregaba mi comida. Le contesté: "Quizás eso se debe a que la semana es extraña," refiriéndome a que la misma es corta porque Acción de Gracias está a la vuelta de la esquina (la esquina siendo en este caso dos días). Hoy las cosas han estado tranquilas, ya muchxs de nosotrxs terminamos los procesos de pre-matrícula, lxs profesorxs están terminando sus clases y los que no estamos es porque simplemente no vimos el por qué invertir el tiempo en una semana como ésta. La mejor parte de las temporadas lluviosas es la parte en la cual me doy cuenta que sudo menos, pero no puedo decir eso ahora porque en esta isla, más lluvia es igual a más humedad, y más humedad es igual a más sudor*. Pero aún así, no me quejo (mucho) porque prefiero la lluvia y el friíto ocasional que el calor imperante que se da en gran parte del año.

Los cons del asunto son más y me voy a enfocar en los que probablemente suenen más jocosos:

1. Se mojaron/mancharon mis Converse blancas. Suena como un #firstworldproblem y en cualquier otra ocasión hubiese estado de acuerdo con esa aseveración, pero se mojaron, mis pies también y momentáneamente se me quitó la felicidad. Después de varios minutos me doy cuenta que no puedo hacer nada al respecto y trato de olvidarlo.

2. "Loca, mi pelo," y todas las tragi-comedias de las chicas (y algunos chicos) que se pasaron la plancha, el blower o se hicieron algún tipo de tratamiento en el cabello el día antes y ahora están en el medio de un episodio huracanínico. Y sí, huracanínico porque son tan malos que tuve que inventarme una palabra para ellos.

3. Yo soy una persona que le gusta depender mucho de la música para correr su día, y cuando llueve, me siento un poco obligado a buscar canciones que vayan acorde al paso del día. Admito que este tercer punto no es realmente un con ni una queja ni tiene realmente una connotación negativa, pero pienso mucho en esto en días como estos, cuando las noches comienzan a las 5:30, los salones están relativamente vacíos y todxs tenemos ganas de convertir los días en clichés de series de televisión (a hot beverage and some alone time with a book, movie or person).

Dentro todo, creo que hoy (lo que queda del día) me convertiré en un cliché aunque sea al menos por unos breves momentos.

-JR.

Rain Checks

It was raining like the sky wanted to meet the ground, but was unable to reach those final inches. The rain came up to our knees; our jeans were clingy and cold. It was dark everywhere. The sky was pitch black despite the fact that is was technically 2:30 PM, but today was one of those days that the sky refused to abide by our rules. It was surreal like nature was finally adjusting the Impressionist movement, getting into our heads and shoes.

I’d remember this day for years to come. (Three and counting.)

My friend with the red head from Ciencias Naturales. He had a reputation from a Facebook page called Confesiones UPRRP, which was a page where people could anomalously post ridiculous shit and get away with it without a lawsuit. Someone had admitted to wanting to get in his pants (he was amused, but never took the offer). At the moment he was hiding with me under my umbrella as we trudged through literal darkness. We were two of the few brave souls heading for a freezing-cold air-condition classroom. We were prepas and the concept of skipping a class was one of those unthinkable sins we hadn’t yet learned to properly disobey. Like young chicks, we waddled through the river that stood between us and the infamous rampa of the DMN general studies building that was apparently used to pick out the freshmen from the rest for the dying tradition of humiliation via the prepadas, where’d they make you dance la peluda while bathing you in Barbasol, and the most that the older students would tell you to do was to bring a towel.

This was also the adventure that would inspire me to buy $33 black plaid-print rain boots that are now away in my closet. These days, I find a good toss in the dryer usually does the trick for wet fabric shoes and that a few hours of freezing cold is better than feeling like your legs are on fire inside two rubber ovens for a whole day. But to this day, the thought of fearlessly walking through the puddles my regular shoes would have to cautiously dance around still gives me an exhilarating feeling of power that’d fling me back to my childhood days of shameless running through the rain, splashing through muddy puddles and getting so sticky with that my mother would have a fit when she saw my sister and I come home in triumph, having made the untamed otherworld of rainfall our playground, despite the actual one being literally next to our house. A happiness still waiting for me to reclaim it.

I’d like to add that the umbrella itself was doing virtually nothing to shield us from the assault of cold pins. Perhaps the gesture was more symbolic than anything, holding onto a tiny bit of protection amidst the relentless storm that, little did we know, would make the perfect metaphor for what our new college life would hold in store. I think it’s a good thing we didn’t know that back then.

Despite all the odds, we made it through the literal river and made it up the ramp of the building. When we got to the air-conditioned freezer of a classroom, I took off my socks and did my best to keep warm. I think we were grinning half the class, making jokes with our friends about our little odyssey while our professor shushed us as if we were in high school.

Today, we still are wadding through our own ríos in Río Piedras. He is pursuing his passion for environmental sciences, and I am striving for a life surrounded by literature and culture, local and otherwise. We are still moving, we have yet to be dragged down in a way that didn’t allow us to get back up, despite our dirty jeans and hands getting up from the rushing water.

And I doubt that’ll ever happen for good.