Its 10 am, I’m at work and it’s raining.
I have a love/hate relationship with rain. I hate when it rains if I’m not home. When I’m home, I can wrap myself in a blanket from my head to my toes and cozy up to my pillows and binge watch something on Netflix. However, when I’m not home, I find myself disgusted with the rain. Parts of my body itch for no particular reason, I visit the bathroom more frequently even when I’ve had nothing to drink.
But my biggest displeasure of the rain is mud.
If I should have a nemesis, mud would be it. Is it just me or does the sight of mud triggers your number 2 senses?
I believe mud is the stepsister of p**p. More importantly, the step sister of cow poop.
Some of you may say, “She must have had a bad experience with mud?” Guess what you’re half right!
I had a bad experience with a cow.
It was my grandfather’s cow named Bessy.
Sidenote: I think Bessy is the universal name for every cow.
I won’t go into that story. Long story short, I was twelve, Bessy made a sudden aggressive movement, I ran, tripped and was faced down in cow dung (p**p).
On the other hand, I’ve had some fond memories with the rain.
My favorite moment, “The day Nick decided to rescue me from the puddle”. Of course, a puddle is an understatement, it was as if several fire hydrants were broken in the middle of New Kingston. (For those of you who are not familiar with New Kingston, it is the corporate city of Jamaica)
It was a Wednesday afternoon, the rain had drenched the city earlier, the skies became clear and the time to head home descended. I quickly changed out of my stiletto heels and into my flats. Underestimating the amount of rainfall earlier, Nick and I proceeded to walk into the direction of the Pegasus Hotel in order to beat the crowd to catch the number 127 bus to Spanish Town.
However, upon making it to Triple Century (local restaurant), we were faced with ample amounts of water which threatened to wash away our feet if we dared to cross. Our dilemma escalated when we saw the 127 approaching in the opposite direction of where we stood.
‘Oh fudge! I won’t be able to make the bus. Now, I will be stuck going to Half Way Tree’, I thought to myself.
Mentally preparing myself for the epic bus battle in Half Way Tree, Nick blurted out, “I have to lift you and carry you across!”
“No, no, no. Me ago drop if yuh do that,” I exclaimed.
But the determination on his face told me that today was the day I was going to be carried.
Noticing the bus driving away, I bargained, “Let it pass. I’ll catch the other one.”
“The stoplight is red, we can make it. Just let me carry you across,” he said clearly annoyed that I wouldn’t trust him.
“Alright,” I said in defeat. I’ve learned not to argue with him. Once he makes up his mind, I just have to support it.
He attempted to pick me up but I protested as I saw flashes of me falling out of his arms and into the middle of the street.
The stoplight turned green and the bus proceeded to drive away. Secretly relieved that Nick’s plan was foiled, it was soon short lived, the bus was held up once again at the second stoplight between Barbados Avenue and Knutsford Boulevard.
Before I could even take a breath, Nick scooped all 145 pounds of me into his arms bridal style and carried me across the puddle and the street.
This act caught me by such surprise, I was amazed at my ability to not pee my pants in that instance.
I was so focused on not falling, that it took me a few seconds to realize on-lookers were applauding and cheering Nick’s brave and selfless act.
We ran towards the bus and boarded before the second stoplight changed to green.
Onboard, the driver along with a few passengers lauded Nick for his gallantry.
Finally seated and grateful that the Half Way Tree battle was postponed, I couldn’t help but smile. He was my knight in shining armor….My Superman.