There’s nothing like the warm, nonverbal exchange that occurs when it rains, as expressed by walking people—passersby. I watch as they move to and fro, bundled up in nice warm clothes, only to occasionally tilt their umbrellas towards me as if to “flex” their huge umbrellas, showing them off, to say hello.

Mine is twice as big as yours. I notice that you’re carrying a bag and hustling towards the bookstore, perhaps to return your rental books that are due tomorrow, fearing a fine. You probably received their warning email. Maybe we should exchange. Umbrellas, that is. I feel a sense of sympathy for your books, as they’re in no need of this rain. They’re made of waxy, smudgy paper, after all.

I watch as others walk and twirl their umbrellas, shaking off the raindrops and dispersing them everywhere as if to say, You get wet, and you get wet too. There’s an artistic grace and elegance to these actions; there’s a sense of youth that makes me smile as I’m forced to trail behind them, music buzzing into my ears, for I am the one carrying the bag with textbooks. Maybe you should walk faster, I think to myself. I have places to get to, and oh, how I despise—I mean, adore—this rain. My new shoes, which are white, are crying as if what fell from the sky wasn’t water but rather the ink from ballpoint pens, marinating my once-white shoes with muddy gray tones.

A short distance later, I bypass those before me by speeding up my pace, never once making eye contact with the individuals before me as I manage to make it to the SCU bookstore, the Bronco Corner, before closing time. Settling under the awning, I close my umbrella, watching as the rain softens, only to observe individuals who couldn’t care to bring an umbrella, couldn’t care to buy one, or didn’t see the need for one, some skateboarding despite this rain, strolling and laughing like me.

Even in variety, there’s unity.