Whenver it rains, I always hark back to the days of yore when I spent my days living to learn and loving the hallowed, mildewy halls of Dacusville Elementary. I recall leaping from the car, barely grazing the puddle that sat waiting for me right outside the car door. Cloaked in my hand-me-down rain slicker of khaki and navy blue (which I still have), that was far too big for me then (but I wore anyway because I felt decidedly grown up and mostly found the colors to be quite dapper =)), I dashed inside as my backpack jostled from side to side. Inside, I did the tip-toe sashay down the halls just so I could hear my feet quack and squawk, much to the chagrin of teachers rushing us down the halls.
And on rainy days, you sat at your desk and watched the rain trickle down the windowpane, sad because you knew your recess had been stolen by the Gods. In third grade, I learned about tributaries and deltas that all led to a great open sea. I applied this to the waterways trekking south on the windows, as I labored over mad minute times tables and an endless barrage of worksheets. That smell never leaves me, the smell of rain that almost smells like freshly vacuumed carpet, but with a staler odor. It’s more like pencils freshly sharpened, and was never a good mix with the wafting aromas slithering through the halls courtesy of the cafeteria.
But mostly I think back on how when it was time for recess, anxiously I wriggled in my seat, primed and leaning on my desk in the seated position with my right arm stretched high and waving, “Pick me!” I want to tip toe around the room, quietly thumping my friends on their heads and then dashing away before they can hear me giggle. And moments later I want to stand at the front of the classroom with my hands clutched behind my back swiveling from side to side with a most obvious grin as Mrs. Hunnicutt says, “Heads Up Seven Up.”