a little coffee

Today I did the most fantastic, silly and joyous thing I’ve done in my year and a half in Chicago.

Storms had been threatening all afternoon. I was oblivious to the fact that it would rain in the 98-degree heat so had no jacket or umbrella with me. By the time I left work, the sky was already a dark blue-grey charcoal color but I thought I could make it the the El, about a 15 minute walk away, before getting trapped in a downpour. It had already started raining a good, solid rain when I left but just steps out the office building the rain slowed to a drizzle. Ah. I could handle this. A nice refreshing drizzle. About three minutes later, just as I’m winding my way down Wacker, which is completely exposed because it snakes along with the river, a deluge bursts from the sky with absolutely no warning. The wind whips up and rain dumps on me in solid sheets. In five seconds my underwear is thoroughly soaked and I can’t see more than a foot in front of me. I duck under the nearest overhang, where a couple other passersby and a small family with two terrified, crying children are huddled. The father and grandmother hold two umbrellas to protect the strollers, but the wind jerks the umbrellas back and forth and the kids get spattered with rain anyway.

I wait there a couple minutes, hoping the rain lets up just enough so I can see, but the wind only howls harder, tries to carry away an outdoor service station, used by the South Water Kitchen. I attempted to push it back, but the weight of it, besides the force of the wind, was too much and it just rolled down the sidewalk until it crashed over the curb and fell into the street.

I was growing impatient. I’d been waiting out the rain for a few minutes and a couple people had run by. If these people can handle this, than I can. So I plunged into the deluge.

Water blew into my ears and ran off my nose. The heavy raindrops stung my eyes. But walking down Wabash, I started to laugh. The normally hectic streets at rush hour were so still. I could only see blurry shapes in front of me, some people huddled under overhangs. But traffic had stopped. Except me! Here I was traipsing through the streets, splashing through puddles with mascara running down my cheeks. I had at least four blocks left to the El. I briefly considered paying a surprise visit to my friend, Daddy Balderama, to steal his towels but realized his home would be the same distance to the El. So off to my home I decided to go.

Once I made it to the Clark & Lake stop (without slipping, quel shock!) the rain had alleviated some and a few braver souls were emerging from their hiding spots, relatively dry. I was a puddle with legs. Standing on the train platform water rolled off me. People passing smirked when they saw my hair plastered to my head, my saturated, transparent white cardigan. An older lady offered me a wad of paper towels to dry off with. So at least my face wasn’t dripping.

The train pulls in and it’s one of the few times it isn’t bulging at its rusty, metal seams. There are even seats available, but I stand because I don’t want to leave behind any puddles. The water steadily falls off me, from my soaked messenger bag to my jean skirt. The cold droplets pelt my ankles. I leave behind a small river that runs up and down in the grooves of the walkway as the train breaks.

By the time I leave the train, about twenty minutes later, walking strangely because my skirt chafes against my legs, a chill is setting in and my dry face feels like it’s cracking. But I walked home with this happygiddy feeling like I was ten again and outside my house with my brother and sister, splashing in the puddles that collected at the end of our drive way. We were silly, laughing and yelling and running around in our bright swimsuits while rain poured on us.

If only I had my swimsuit today.