Like rain on a tin roof

Rat-tap-tap-tap. That sound evokes the earliest memory from my childhood that I most vividly remember. Most people will associate a smell with a memory, like the aroma of sofrito simmering quietly on Mami's stove. Or the clean scent of her Maja powder that she would dab on her face to dull the oily sheen that was ever-present from the hot Puerto Rican sun. Those are memories for me as well, but not the first one that was etched into the little crevices of my brain. Rat-tap-tap-tap. That's the sound rain makes on a tin roof. Not a submissive pitter-patter. But a persistent tap that just forces me to confront the fact that I might as well deal with it and make the best of the next half hour.

Mami was in her mid-twenties when my dad sent her back to Puerto Rico to go to college. He was going to remain in New Jersey and work to support us so she could fulfill her life dream to finish her education. I was about two-and-a-half and quite the talker and entertainer. We moved in with my uncle and his family, Tío Yoyo, Tía Mimi, and their two children Katy and Noel. My cousins were around my age too so you can imagine the laughter and screams that filled that household as the three of us would get together and play. My grandmother, Abuelita Chon, lived across the driveway in a little wooden house. I remember going to visit her all the time and she would always give me a Malta, my favorite beverage in the whole wide world. To this day, nothing takes away my thirst, after a hot day in the sun, like a nice cold Malta flowing from the long-neck brown bottle down into my long-neck brown throat. Mmm, it makes me thirsty just writing about it! My cousins and I would play hide and seek, only we didn't call it hide and seek because we only spoke Spanish. One of us would say, "Go hide and I'll try to find you." No counting, just waiting, hiding, giggling, squirming. When it rained, that was really the only game we could play. Somehow we always ended up in the back room where my mom and I lived. That's the room that had the tin roof. The rain song always lulled me to sleep. It was like magic. Hiding, I would end up under the bed, or inside the hamper, then in a split second I would find myself on top of the bed, and the rain song would slowly weigh on my eyelashes until I could no longer resist. Surrendered.

When it stormed, the sound was deafening, but not scary. A shrieking excitement would overcome us and we would jump and run, waving our arms in a crazy dance routine. But as the storm would pass, that rat-tap-tap would convince me once again that a nap would be a wonderful idea.

I remember hiking through the creek behind "la finca de Tío Cheo" (Uncle Cheo's farm) with mami and my cousins. I remember fussing because it was hot and I didn't feel like posing for a picture to send to Papi. I was standing on a rock and was wearing my pretty white and red dress. My golden locks were combed and my lips were pursed into a pout, hands on my hips and eyes flashing. Another time, I remember irritating my mom while she was outside hanging freshly washed clothes on the clothesline. She sat me down in time-out, probably wondering how much longer she could stand being away from my dad. I remember sitting there, watching the ants crawling down my legs, crying and yelling at my mom. She didn't realize that I had sat on a nest of red ants and they were feasting on my skin like if it was "caramelitos". Surprisingly I was obedient and didn't get up until she came over and frantically swatted them away. Welts and bites, tears and whimpers. She soothed me with hugs and kisses and made me feel all better. But I still remember those ant bites. Funny how we don't forget.

All those memories. Fun, happy memories. Memories from my childhood. The rat-tap-tap of rain on a tin roof. I had the opportunity to experience that sound once again last Christmas when we went to the Dominican Republic. Mosquito nets, flying insects, hot, humid, happy. As I lay in bed and listened to the raindrops colliding with the metal, I was transported back in time to another island nearby, when a child blissfully closed her eyes and surrendered.