It was pouring down rain the other night when I headed for home. It was one of those downpours that we rarely see in Madrid: thunder, lightning, giant drops, water pouring over low sidewalk curbs as it finds its way to the gutter. From under my umbrella, and with my pants rolled up slightly, I was enjoying the whole thing. I walked down the sidewalk breathing in the wet smells, skipping over puddles. No one else was around, of course. Even the neighborhood winos had found another place to drink, leaving their bench to drip alone. A few cars drove by slowly, not used to driving on wet pavement. I tend to sing when I find myself walking alone.
Finally I reached the metro station. Had I tarried any more I would have missed the last train that night and been forced to take a bus. But fortunately when I arrived at the station, a sign flashed "9 minutes" until the next train would come by. A group of German boys were standing near me. They seemed too young to be college students, but I couldn't figure out what high schoolers would be doing in Madrid this time of year. Across the tracks, an old man in a black suit was singing old spanish love songs. It would have been endearing if he hadn't seemed so odd. Something didn't quite fit, as if he were a caricature of himself and were wearing an old man's costume. A red paper flower decorated his lapel, sunglasses covered much of his wrinkled face, leather gloves on his hands. He sang out to the metro stop, pausing only to say "rubia!" approvingly as a blonde girl joined us on the platform.
Though underground, the rain was still obvious. It decorated people's clothes and dripped from their umbrellas. The floor was wet with a multitude of footprints, as if someone had mapped out the steps to some underwater tango. Deep from in the train tunnels I could hear the sound of falling water as it made its way underground.
The train finally pulled up as we loaded in. There were seats for everyone as passengers were sparse that night. We pulled away, out of the station. The train clacked away through the darkness and arrived at the next stop. People got off, people got on. One of the doors seemed to be stuck and people had to use a different one. Again we took off and arrived at the next station. This time none of the doors in our car opened. The german boys panicked and ran to the next subway car, even though that wasn't their stop. Some other passengers used the emergency button to let themselves out. An old Caribbean man seated in front of me started to get nervous, eyes going back and forth between the locked doors. A security guard got on the train and helped to close the emergency exits again. At the next stop none of the doors opened in any of the cars. Up and down the train, emergency doors were used. The conductor didn't bother checking if they were closed again when he left the station and we found ourselves flying down dark tunnels with the doors wide open. One asian passenger was fascinated by the whole thing and peered out of the doorway the dark shapes whizzing past us. Then she took a picture. The security guard cursed the subway system, the city council and the mayor. The Caribbean man decided to freak out and declare that this was the end... something about the train going to flip over and kill us. But most of the passengers seemed bored with it all. Just another night in the city. Finally the conductor announced that the train was suffering from electrical problems due to the rain. We all got off at the next station and waited for the replacement train. Who knew that a storm could cause traffic underground?
I didn't mind though. I wasn't in a hurry. I eventually found my way to my subway station and back to my house. That night I lay in bed, listening to the rain pattering against my window. A few hours later, I was woken up by large hail stones pelting down on the city. I got out of bed and opened the window. I stretched my hand outside until I caught a few pieces of ice. I rolled them around in the palm of my hand until they melted away and crawled back into bed.
5 months ago
