Soaked

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Today, I woke up and stared out of my window. The day was gray with a dark green hue. Rain was falling steady. I was still in my apartment glancing at the neighboring building’s fire escapes, which were shiny, black and wet, avoiding the thought of walking to church. The rain did not let up. I then put my poncho cape over my skirt, blouse and backpack. I looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame–not Esmeralda. I took my umbrella and walked down the stairs, careful to not allow the hall door to slam and wake the neighbors. When I shuffled through the lobby, my friend, one of the building managers, saw me and laughed. I looked ridiculous. I wasn’t feeling the walk– I let out a half sigh when I was unwrapping the Velcro of my umbrella. He told me it was a beautiful day. I gave him a half smile and managed to pop my umbrella open. The truth is– the East Village looked like magic today. The rain made all of the plants look greener than green. The lighting made the city look like it was dressed for a party. Stunning. It took me 40 minutes to get to the church. I was waiting at the intersection to cross and walk into the church on the corner. My hand clutched my skirt which was absolutely soaked. There was water in my boots, my socks were wet, my hair was wet–I basically looked like I had just gotten out of the shower. I was laughing so hard when I reached the doors of the church. Someone could wring me. Despite the weather, it was a perfect day. The air was cool, the rain was lovely, and I was reminded of how amazing it is to be alive; feeling, walking around (the squish, squish of my boots)– Rain reminds me of the things we see as slightly inconvenient that make us grow, that cleanse us, that make us feel. Rain is kind of like love; tiny drops fall and break, but they fill oceans that go on for miles; they revive dry streams and refresh a still lake.

“The magic of purpose and of love in its purest form. Not television love, with its glare and hollow and sequined glint; not sex and allure, all high shoes and high drama, everything both too small and in too much excess, but just love. Love like rain, like the smell of a tangerine, like a surprise found in your pocket.” Deb Caletti

Delilah (radio host) just started playing Dan Hartman’s “I can dream about you” song for this adorable guy who called in. It’s time for bed.

xoxo.

[Images from Tumblr: Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi: Anushka Sharma]

Published by Gabriela Yareliz

Gabriela is a writer, editor and attorney. She loves the art of storytelling, and she is based in NYC.

One thought on “Soaked

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: