2 of September

Today was the true initiation of my family to the Mexican Yucatan, when the biggest rainstorm I have ever been in hit Playa. The thunder is so deafeningly loud, I can’t even begin to describe the crashes- one can only see it to believe it with storms like this one. At recess I played futbol with the boys in the dumping rain and I can honestly tell you it was one of my favorite times here so far; I never want to leave this place. Alma commented that Albert has a crush on me, which is unfortunate because I saw a fun friend in him- I really hope this development doesn’t complicate things- especially the skim boarding lessons he promised me. It is still pouring buckets outside, and the entire classroom is soaked. There is nothing like the scene this is: the grimy linoleum floors have two inches of rainwater pooling in the places the floor sags. The wooden desks are splattered with water, and the walls are crying rain, streaking cleanliness into years of dried rainwater and dirt and kids. Our soccer game was cut short when we realized the shutters were out in the classroom, so we ran in from recess and frantically pushed the shutters down, which were letting in inches of rain by the second. My school bag, binder, and sketchbook are soaked. I set my sketchbook open on top of the lockers to dry, but nothing is as in need of a good towel-down as I am. My bright red bra is clearly visible through the white fabric of my shirt, and my long hair hangs in wet locks down my back. The strange is that everything in the classroom, which was so thoroughly drunk on rainwater, is drying pretty quickly in the humidity. I have math now, and I’m not paying the slightest attention- I’m too drenched to care about algebra, except for the test the teacher passed back. It says I got a 10, which is a Mexican A plus, and volumes above what anyone else scored. Thank you Mrs. Secrist of Orange County School of the Arts for the math education I got last year!

Santos’ girl, Clareta, left for Rhode Island on Sunday, and for some reason, it bothers me. I guess I feel bad for Santos.

After school, Kira, Aidan, and I sauntered off on a leisurely stroll down the beach. We splashed, or more specifically, I splashed, through the glassy rainwater waves up to the volleyball courts past the Mamitas club and explored around where the sand curves into oblivion. Turns out, there’s another hotel on the blind side, flanked by sail and motorboats on buoys in the temperamental, wish wash, stormy waves of the rainy season. Three miles down, the beach folds into the tip of the crescent with rocky outcroppings naturally breaking the waves. Our trio skulked back up to the white gate of Calle 44 and within moments of arriving, had taken a dip in the overflowing, rain-filled pool. There is literally no edge of the pool with all the recent rains, it’s all infinity edge.

I’ll blog again soon!


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