It's rainy.It was a great feeling, getting out of school in the middle of a torrential downpour and knowing what waited at home. I'd feel my grandfather's 1983 Chevy Caprice sloshing through the wet roads, the wipers trying to keep the buckets of water off the windshield and the condensation slowly collecting around me. Gramps refused to turn on the AC, as he would waste more gas and he forbid me from rolling the window down in fear that the drops would damage his near mint interior.
So I'd lean my head back and close my eyes, with that awful feeling that you're breathing old air in, making you nauseous. Maybe I should mention my grandfather is a taxi driver, so besides me and him there were about 5 other people breathing in that car. But, just a few minutes longer, and I'd see my house peeking out of the green scenery. The car slowed down approaching my driveway, and I'd get out quickly so he could continue on his work route. Behold! I knew she'd be there. My mother swaying gently in the porch hammock, her eyes closed listening to the rain pound on the metal planks covering my garage. Ever so quietly, I'd sneak behind her and drop my book bag loudly next to her and raced inside to take my uniform skirt off. I'd hear her scuffling with her flip flops and clapping, yelling loudly "Que llueva, que llueva!!" (let it rain, let it rain). I'd rush back out barefoot, uniform polo and shorts on - flashing past her out into the big yard. She'd chase me, quickly too, around the mango tree and through the passion fruit orchard to my grandmother's porch.
The mud squishing through my toes, my grandmother sitting on her balcony hosing my mom and I down. Laying on the soaked grass, looking at the raindrops speeding towards me and hitting my face like tiny needles...and my mom would stand over me and look down. She looked so young with her hair and face wet, tiny drops would fall from her nose and bangs onto my face...she'd tickle me. My grandma voicing her concern that 'the baby's gonna get sick', while I rolled my eyes knowing my mom was about to bring me inside to dry.
I'm having a hard time deciding if it's my mom I miss or days like those. I guess it can be both, really. We're not as close as we used to be, and it saddens me. When I'm with her, she always looks like she has so much to say, and I in turn make it obvious I don't wanna talk much. I make the silence between us uncomfortable and keep conversations light...why? This was the single human being I had the tightest bond with. Why can't I be who she needs? Why can't I be who I used to be? The other part is of course, how it's normal to miss one's childhood, specifically when it was a happy one. Rainfall would never just be simple rain falling around me. Every new city I'm in, rain brings echoes of my squealish laughter and the sound of my mom's feet splashing towards me. Every storm that reaches me, reminds me of the glorious times I had as a snot faced little punk and how many years it's been since I was Yari with my mom.
Maybe I'll go to her place next rainfall, and I'll try to make conversation this time...I'll hold her hand as she walks down the steps to greet me. I'll play a little gentler with her and speak a little louder into her left ear. I'll bring the tylenol for arthritis and sit down and have coffee afterwards. I'll be her baby, she'll be my friend again.
I'll get ready for the day, when it's just me walking in the rain, when she'll be gone...but she'll be right there under my umbrella with me. Nudging me on, telling me to splash more and think less.
"There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one." Jill Churchill
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