Where It Rains in December

It rains in December where I come from. Not the kind of rain that makes your eyes sad, but the kind that drips warm water on your head. As a kid I remember loving the feeling of warm wet sidewalks on my bare feet, then walking my feet on the grass, thin but wide blades of grass.

I felt that rain last night. My little sister called me from home, Brasil. She played me a beautiful song by a artist named, Vanessa da Mata. As the melody streamed across the oceans and peered out from my laptop, I felt as though it played a whole reel of old movies through my soul. It came into my chest and out my back. In those few moments I could taste the salty sea on my sun kissed lips. My nose could smell the fried snacks of coxinhas and pasteis in the hot air mixed with cigarette smoke. I could hear the music blaring from the cheap speakers along the store fronts and in the background I could hear the sad song played loudly from the gas truck announcing to the neighborhood that if you needed a new propane tank for your stove you better rush to the door. I never understood why the song had to be sad. And Portuguese being spoken all around me, I could hear it, it sounds more like a song. In the background, Vanessa was still singing the beautiful melody, her voice so soft and full of longing... Brazilian music is happy, nostalgic and full of sorrow all at once. I could still feel the December rain falling all around me...

It's a strange thing, really, not only to live far from home but far from family. I just put my Penelope down for the night. I wonder for a moment if she will know what rain in December feels like on her face...I remember that I cradled my little sister many a times in my arms. It's strange to think that you can spend every waking minute with your parents and siblings because you have no choice, then as adults hardly ever see them. My sisters still haven't met my baby. How could this be? All of my formative years were shared with my sisters and brother, yet somehow this part of my life cannot be adequately shared. My baby still has no idea what her aunties' kisses feel like on her cheek and how I just know they would know how to make her giggle...

Vanessa stopped singing and just like that the rain in December stopped. My eyes, though, still had big raindrops on them...