We needed the rain around here, as you can see.
On Friday the remnants of Tropical Storm Isaac roared through Kansas City. Wind and rain and grey skies covered us, and I was glad we finally had some relief from the drought.
For a moment, while the wind blew and the sky turned dark, it felt like I was in Puerto Rico. I have lived through tropical storms before. Tropical storms were a part of my life in Puerto Rico. So were hurricanes. In the countryside, where I grew up, power outages and water outages were even more common; every time we had a good rainfall or strong winds, we wondered if the power or the water were soon to go. When these things happened, my parents and I would sit in the front porch, the wide, gateless, front part of the house where the dogs lie down next to our metal rocking chairs and survey the property. We would sit there and just talk and wait. If it was night, we’d look at the stars and the occasional pair of headlights headed into town. We’d lower our voices a little bit and talk. It was never completely dark out there.
After the drought we’ve had this summer in Kansas, the rain feels heavenly. Friday;s rainfall reminded me of the Puerto Rican rain and the coolness that would settle in the air after the rain. The overbearing island heat would make way for the cool breeze and for the greyness after the rain. For a second, Kansas City felt like that. For a second, I felt like someone had superimposed the landscape of my hometown to the landscape of my current homecity. For a second I felt like I was home, here and then, here and now.
Some days I still feel the urge to sit on the balcony and just look out. Our Kansas City apartment faces trees and a parking lot; in between the trees you can see the Medical Campus and the new Holiday Inn they built this summer. Once the leaves fall, you may be able to see the Taco Bell and the lights coming from the houses of our neighbors. When you sit on the balcony you can hear the roar of air conditioner units below, cars going up and down the street, ambulances, or the chatter of neighbors. Some days you can only hear the breeze. I remember sitting on my parents’ front porch, which used to be my front porch, and just look ahead and see green, grey, brown, blue. (I see these colors in Kansas City too, but it’s different.) I’d hear horses. I’d hear cars. I’d hear a stray voice in the wind. Sometimes I’d hear music in the distance, traces of a house party in the nearby hills. I’d hear buzzards.
I am a city girl. I love living in a city. I wrote a whole dissertation about New York City as a homespace. But I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for my upbringing in Puerto Rico. Growing up in the country has affected who I am in ways I will never fully account for. I am a country girl too.
This is not a nostalgic post. This is a post of remembrance.
