It was teeming out, me being the only one in 80 degree heat in boots, looking as if I was about to go fish, my favorite card game as a kid by the way, along with my trusty umbrella that belongs over a picnic table.
As I swim up 5th, there’s a little Latino boy in front of me getting drenched, but still walking as if he’s strolling a beach, appearing unaffected by the downpour.
I sidle up.
“Hi. I’m going your way…why don’t you walk with me.”
Yes, Joan of Arc was on the case…if only with an ark.
He looks at me, like a chubby Shetland pony, water rolling down his cheeks, by this time, truly wet, so you can almost see his thoughts gearing towards…lady, like what’s the point…however…
he smiles, showing me a space between his teeth one could drive a Chevy through, and asks if he can carry the umbrella for me. I hand it to him, take his arm, he coming up to my shoulder, and we make our way together while he slowly drip-dries.
When I reach my destination, it pains me to leave him, but he’s all smiles leaving me with three or four gracias Señoras, as he proceeds to get wet all over again.
I realize, even soaked to the bone, this young lad knew life was much better here than wherever he originally came from.
When you think about it that way, what’s a little water after all?
God bless Amedica.