Rainy days

              

I was sitting in the chair of my dormitory in  Yale , wondering what I could do about my mom’s cold which I assumed she  had  from the phone, when I looked out the window and realized it was raining heavily.

 I was suddenly called by the memory I have forgotten for a longtime when I was about three.

I was raised  by my grandparents, and lived really far from town until I was four. It was the same sort of rainy day just like today’s in New Haven. Unluckily, I got a fever and my grandmother had wanted nothing to do with it. She called my mom and told her my worsening situation with my mom’s voice shaking. My mom is a calm person but she did become uneasy this time. She looked out of the window and scratched her head as the rain had reached up as high as people’s knees . She muttered to herself for the hospital is really far away from our home, until her eyes suddenly lit with childish glee as she remembered our motorbike which is the only family vehicle . She then quickly well-equipped me with warm thick clothes and fixed me on the motor while she only threw the thin wraps around herself. As the rain was so deep that she couldn’t drive the motor, she waded barefoot with me sitting on the backseat. Almost hours later, when we finally get to the hospital, I noticed that her lips were pale, almost grey, with no pink color at all. She rose from the rain, supporting herself with the handrail, with her hands trembling, her brow wavered, and  her own breath in fretful gasps.

This is was the moment I recalled from the very depth of my memory. People get really busy working and complaining about their lives in sunny days. Only on rainy days will people carelessly revive the happiness they have nearly forgotten.