The rain finally came today. Not much, mind you, but enough to raise everyone’s spirits. Rainfall has been rare in my part of Texas lately. We haven’t had any significant precipitation for four months now. There was enough rain to soften up the baked soil of my yard and make walking barefoot through the St. Augustine grass without pain possible. There was also enough rain to get water flowing steadily down the sides of the streets to waiting storm drains. I stood at the end of my driveway and watched the water rush by carrying all manner of tiny debris. As I watched, I couldn’t help but think back to the last time it rained enough to get water moving like that.I was in a hurry. I was also mad at myself. I should have taken care of this the day before but didn’t. Now, because of my procrastination, I had to go out in the pouring rain. I only had 30 minutes for lunch and really didn’t have time to run an errand and still manage to eat something before my next class. I was on my way to a mailbox stationed in the parking lot of what was once a small shopping center a few blocks from my campus. The shopping center had been closed for as long as I could remember but the mailbox remained. It seemed to be the only thing still alive in this neighborhood full of rundown trailers and boarded up buildings covered in spray painted gang signs. The scheduled pick-up time for this mailbox was 2:00 p.m., and I needed to get my utility payment on the road immediately in order to avoid a late fee. If all went well, I could get the bill mailed and still make it back to school in time to wolf down a sandwich.
I managed to get my utility payment dropped in the box without incident. However, on my way back to school I found myself stuck behind an ancient van that was belching an inordinate amount of noxious black smoke. As the van pulled up to a stop sign, it died. The driver tried to get it started several times without success. I groaned as I saw the driver hop out of the van and pop the hood. As I prepared to pull around the van, I looked to my left and saw a young girl sitting on the curb. She looked to be nine or ten years old, about the age of my youngest daughter. The girl was a bit scruffy looking, but seemed to be happy enough there on the curb, splashing her feet in the water that flowed along the edge of the street. “I wonder why she isn’t in school? What is she doing out in this rain?” I remember thinking. It was at that precise moment the little girl produced a bar of soap and began to wash, using the runoff as her bath water. Surely this wasn’t what it seemed. I continued to watch as she lathered up her face and arms. I was startled at that point by a loud honk. A car had pulled up behind my truck and had lost patience with me just sitting there staring, from his point of view, into space. The old van that had been blocking my way was now gone. Apparently, the driver managed to get it started and had driven away. I had failed to notice. I drove slowly away through the rain and toward my school. I did not get back in time to have my lunch, but it didn’t seem to matter. I wasn’t hungry anymore.
I thought of that little girl as I watched the rain water run quickly past my driveway today. I wondered if she had needed to repeat her street bath this afternoon. I wondered if she had been eating regularly. I wondered if she was okay. I pictured my nine-year-old in her place and felt my stomach knot up. I thought how the same event has different meanings to different people. Rain, to me, had come to mean I could skip watering the grass for a day or so. Rain, to that little girl, had come to mean a chance to wash the dirt and grime from her little body. It is strange and sad to think about in this way. After all, it is the same rain that falls on all of us.
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