Rainy Season -- Day 20 (Seventh day of sun)

Last entry until it starts raining again.  Have so much to say.  So much to write.  Also have splitting headache and bad stomach.  Want to write essay on magic and fantasy in caribbean literature.  Musn't forget so writing down the intention here.  Can hardly think of anything other than my own personal discomfort and...

Her Legs.

Those legs deserve their own line.

Rainy Season - Day 7

Four men.  Two bottles of rum.  Six hours.  Countless stories.  This might be the closest to true Caribbean I'll ever see in Belize.  All we need now is a cricket game, but don't think the weather will cooperate.

Yo ho, yo ho.  A sea chanty in the chanty town.

Rainy Season - Day 6

Woke up this morning to a completely silent house.  The rain had lulled everyone to sleep, even the dogs.  Even the birds outside.  Even the frogs had gotten their fill of singing and dancing.  I pictured them drunk in the drains, huddled in the mud with their squashed, groggy faces.  Sticky tongues only reaching out every so often to test the air for signs of rain.   Yup.  Still there.

I don't blame them.

All the doors in the house were closed too, including the room now occupied by my roommate and, at least this morning, his girlfriend.  We've got somewhere to be in half an hour.  I don't even hear them stir.  In my mind I can see through the door.  I can see the two of them piled like laundry on that tiny bed.  I can see them occasionally rolling like the clouds outside.  I thought about locking, but then thought, 'let them have it.'  Everyone deserves a morning like that every once in a while.  Everyone should get to enjoy a little together weather.

I don't blame them.

Now these two are something else.  A grown man, almost.  Only a few years younger than myself.  Same for her.  But both playing like children, getting each other soaked and making the rain feel a-fool.  I wanted to ask just how old he was, as if making sure, when I saw him open the door a crack and fire three or four shots from a squirt gun.  Then, still grinning, he closed it behind him and put his weight against it.  A moment later she, his playmate with a face full as the moon and a smile like sunlight on droplets on forest leaves, bursts through the door.  I don't need my imagination to see the wells at her shirt-front and and her swollen pants back.  All soaked.  All clinging closely to dull copper skin.  I see her hips and her thighs and the rest of her curves rolling like those hills down south.  Down...south....

Yeah, go deh bwai.  Squirt away.  Splash and spill and spray away.  Whatever will get her wet.  Pull her hair, and lock the door.  Whatever you can do to drive her crazy.  Whatever you can do to make her scream your name.  Go deh bwai.  Go deh strong.

I don't blame you.

Rainy Season - Day 5

Its only been five days and already I can feel the rain on the inside of my skull, making my head soft and moldy.  I'm tired of spending all day with the sound of rain in my ears.  Sure, it was nice at first.  I was thirsty at first!  Now everytime i hear the rain, everytime i realize I can't go outside without an umbrella or closed to shoes, every time my head gets wet or I wake up dreaming of waterfalls and really needing to piss, I just want to scream.  Scream like rape and murder so that people come looking for me.  Maybe they'll bring an umbrella.  Maybe they'll bring back the sun.

Listen to it?  Plink! Plonk! Plat-Plat-Plat!  I haven't been thirsty for days.  Rahtid.

I had to get out of the house today.  I had to get out of the city!  The water rushes through the drains and once, when I was a child, I would be riding in them like a luge of morass.  But right now, I'm old.  Still young by some measure, but I don't like the way it makes my knees feel.  I don't even want to take a walk in  the rain the way i would do when I was only a little bit younger.  Damn city too small for a city.  Damn trees and shrubs too happy to hear from the long absent rain.  Damn sidewalks that feel like I'm walking on rotten vegetables.

I'd drive, but I'm afraid of the wet road.  Instead, i think I'll put my life in someone else's hands.  And while someone else drives, i'll watch the sky.  Just drive.  When the clouds stop looking like tarnished silver and start looking like something i'd like to scoop up in my hand and press into my mouth, then we can stop.  And we can make grass angels.  And count bugs.  And dread going back to the rain.