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.