Rain

Just minutes before the final school bell rang, rain suddenly fell in heavy sheets, making sizzling sounds on the zinc roof. Upon real iz ing that I had left my umbrella at home, I wondered if the bus driver would come and wait for me at the gate.  I sure hoped so!

Unfortunately, when I came to the foyer, there was no sign of the bus.  My instincts told me that the driver must be waiting for me at the same old junction, a good distance away.  Biting my lower lip, I ventured into the rain, striding in the direction of the junction.  The icy cold needles pelted down on me and I was soaked to the skin.  The uneven parts of the road were flooded and while trying to avoid bumping into a run ning boy, I accidentally stepped into a deep puddle of water.  

Just then, my cell phone rang, so I quickly fished it out.  The caller was my bus driver.  I swiped my finger across the screen to answer it, but the rain made it too slippery.  I tried again and again.  The ringing soon stopped.  The driver, who was quite impatient, might assume that my not answering the phone was an indication that she could leave me behind.

Seized by panic I tried to call her back, but alas under the pouring rain the phone screen failed to respond to my touch.  Again, I stepped into another puddle of water, adding further woes to my shoes and socks.  Frustrated, I came close to cursing my bad luck, but then I saw the familiar shape of the bus, parked at the mouth of the junction.

Wet and shivering, I heaved my rather large frame onto the front seat.  The driver, looking at me with a matter-of fact expression, asked rather sarcastically what had slowed me down.

I wanted to spit out a series of choice words that had been welling inside of me, due to my rather damp disposition—I was not in the mood to be toyed with!  Thank fully, the more rational side in me caught myself from doing exactly that.  Instead, I found myself muttering something to the effect, “I’m too heavy to run in the rain.”

The woman broke into a wry smile, turned on the ignition and the bus shot for ward as if trying to outrun the rain.

Along the journey home I kept feeling colder and colder.  Apparently the driver had turned the air conditioner, as usual, on full blast.  I wanted to ask her to turn it off since I was thoroughly drenched, but the look of her stern face changed my mind.  

Although just as soaked as me, the students didn’t seem to be all that dis turbed by the rather strong air conditioning.  Maybe it was because they were too busy laughing out loud and singing snatches of Iban pop songs at the top of their voices.  Despite not understanding a word of the lyrics, I was infected by their joy and youthful abandon.  Their singing also distracted me somewhat from the discomforting cold.

Rain continued to pour, causing rivulets to stream down the windscreen.  Then I had an idea, so I opened the front compartment of my knapsack and pulled out a fistful of tissue papers.  I quickly patted my hair dry; however, the rough, jerkiness of my action tore the damp tissue paper and left my hair speckled with tiny bits of tissue.

The bus driver, unfortunately, noticed it.  She giggled and made the comment that snow had finally fallen in Miri!

I ignored her.

The bus rounded another bend as the air conditioning continued to blow through the louvred opening as strong as ever.  I hugged myself tightly, my teeth clattering, wondering how long the torture would last.   

After dropping off several students, the driver finally turned to me and asked, “Don’t you feel cold?  I’m going to turn off the air-con.”

Filled with relief (and utter gratitude), I eked out a smile and said through clat ter ing teeth, “Yes, by all means!”
When I reached home, my damp shirt and socks had become half-dry, if not frozen, thanks to the rather strong air conditioning.  The moment I flipped on the light, my nose twitched and I let out a loud sneeze!

Next time, I plan to carry a spare umbrella in my bag, just in case, and maybe a poncho, too.