A Woman and the Rain


What is so interesting about rain? The clouds? The water that knocks on the window? And the drenched ground? The smell of wet soil? The rancid smell from the canal? The lightning in the sky that looks like a blitz of camera flashes? What is so interesting about rain?


The same questions run around my head every time I see that woman with two braids. She is my colleague at work who is busy brewing black coffee, with two full teaspoons of sugar and a half a teaspoon of creamer. She hurriedly brings her coffee cup and sits in the same spot on the couch next to the window. What for? For the same reason is to watch the raindrops.


She holds her hot cup near to her chest, breathing in the smell of the coffee, which fills the room. She keeps staring at the window. Sometimes she shuts her eyes to hear more clearly the sound of water that drops from the sky. Sometimes it really slow but, lately, the rain has fallen really hard. The water droplets break so hard. Don’t ask me anything about how much rain has fallen lately. I don’t give a damn about it. All I know is that the rain is harder than before. I don’t like rain; I hate it, and it’s scary. But, not to that woman. She stops everything just to watch the rain.


Me. I will frown and hold myself tightly so I won’t be shocked when the thunder claps. Of course, it never succeeds. I keep jumping from my position, whether I stand or sit, when the lightning strikes. Spontaneously, I shut my ears so tight and press my body against the wall. As soon as I see the lightning flashing in the sky, I will run and hide. The sound and the light are chasing me, and it is me who has failed and keep allowing myself to be shocked.


I’ve never like rain. The water brings me fever and headache, while my feet become itchy. I don’t like rain that flooded my neighborhood. Although every year there is more roadwork, it is only last for months and, as soon as the rainy seasons come, the road will be pot holed! The holes are everywhere and water fills in and they are flooded. Not to mention the smell. It’s like every smell that humans want to hide from and it reappears when flood comes. It’s a rancid, stinky smell of waste that becomes the fragrance of the neighborhood.


But that woman, she is sitting pretty holding tight her coffee cup and her eyes staring far away from the window. Sometimes I see her wiping tears while watching the raindrops. Other times, my colleague told me that she runs to the backyard and dances in the rain. She asked everyone to join her and play around under the heavy rain. Mad! She’s losing her mind.


She glances at me. I hide behind the bookshelf.


“Dio. Come here. Join me. The rain Dio… it’s so calm.” She call and waving me. She shift and give me a space next to her.


I shake my head and say,” I don’t like rain, ma’am. I hate the thunder, it brings me a heart attack.”

She gives a quick smile and moves back to her position, throwing her sight far from the window. Her fingers press against the glass window which is now wet because the canopy no longer holds the rain. I am sure I saw her wiping the rain. I really want to ask why rain is so meaningful to her, but the questions stuck on my tongue. She is my boss and I am the newbie at work. My question is too personal.


The rain stops. She moves from her spot and comes toward me at the dining table, which is also used for meetings. This office is just a big house that belongs to her. She sits right in front of me.


“My father was struck by lightning as died while he played golf. He had no time to run. My son was electrocuted and died from a broken power cable because of the lightning. My husband left me in the heavy rain after the funeral of our son. I’m not in love with the rain; I am celebrating my pain with it.”


She moves away and closed her room behind her.


February, 5 2013


Tinggalkan Balasan

Isikan data di bawah atau klik salah satu ikon untuk log in:

Logo WordPress.com

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Logout /  Ubah )

Gambar Twitter

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Logout /  Ubah )

Foto Facebook

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Logout /  Ubah )

Connecting to %s