The first night in Madrid it rained enough to last the whole trip. Out at dinner, the constant downpour hit the streets at an impressive rate, cleaning the sidewalks outside the second floor window. My friends and I sat at the head of our table, whispering under the dim lights that swayed above our heads, scanning our food with the beam from the lightbulb. I remember everything we talked about that night, from dissecting a funny comment made by a teacher who knew more about a few boys than they thought she did, to how it seemed every restaurant we walked past displayed a butchered pig leg, gleaming and glorified. Students and chaperones descended the staircase, then shuffled through the narrow hall to the front door, taking a deep breath as if to enjoy the last moment in dry comfort. However, my friend Carolyn and I did not wait for them. We pushed through the door and escaped the suffocating smell of fresh meat, and ran right down the moonlit sidewalk, letting rain soak our bodies and our peers disappear behind us. No one yelled at us to ‘wait up’ or ‘slow down.’ They let us appreciate this thrilling moment with complete freedom. Sometimes we’d stop and let our shoes slip and slide on the smooth, wet rock, but we never fell down or completely stopped. We weren’t thinking about how late it was or how exhausted we were, but only about the beautiful simplicity that was the current weather. Turns out we ran a block past our hotel, but nothing could put a damper on our night. We only laughed harder.
How the Rain Made Me Feel
August 1, 2016