That afternoon, it rained so hard that Bobby thought it wouldn’t stop. Plak. Plak. Plak. Plak. Plak. He could hear all of them and imagined them plummeting on the roof above him though he could see from his window that they really plummeted from the sky. But he thought rain falling on the roof and making sounds like Plak Plak Plak are grander than those fallen on the ground. And he was more interested in listening to the Plak Plak Plak hitting on the roof above his bedroom than imagining the sound it made as it hit on the ground because that would mean going outside the house and inching closer to the ground, ears nearer to the ground, in order to actually hear the sound it made. So he stayed tucked in his bed instead and watched the ceiling in case it gave way, and that was again part of his imagination from the rain pouring hard from the sky which made the Plak Plak Plak sound above his bedroom.
Suddenly, he changed his mind. He freed himself from the sheets that covered his body and walked towards the window. He looked outside and looked closer at the ground where the rain would hit last because he thought that some of the rain should have hit on branches, and leaves, and electric posts, and wires, and clotheslines, and clothes, and airplanes, and trucks, and cars, and steel bars, and cellars, anything higher than the ground. So, he concluded, the rain should hit the ground last.
He went out from his bedroom and headed outside. He did not have any slippers on and he did not mind. He liked the idea of feeling the floor with his bare feet. He felt it prepared him for a colder ground outside. He rolled the glass door in the entrance facing the big sofa and the back of the television. Finally, he was outside.
He trudged on the cemented floor until he reached that part where the concrete floor ended. He felt a sudden excitement from the idea of hearing the kind of sound the rain would create when hitting the ground. He lowered himself until his ears reached the blades of grass growing on the ground. He listened.
Darn! He could not hear anything from there. Instead, he heard the loud Plak Plak Plak of the rain hitting on the roof shading the entrance door. He listened harder. No. He could not hear anything at all except the loud Plak Plak Plak of the rain hitting the roofs.
“Bobby! Where the hell are you? Bob—“ His mother shrieked in horror when she saw her son drenched in the rain. “Bobby! Get back in here or else I will have to lock you up again in the cellar, you stupid son of Edgar Perez!”
Bobby obeyed and quickly sprang up to his feet and ran back inside the house where he would be given another hard smack on his butt and a night stay at the cellar for being a stupid eight-year-old son of his father.
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