It Never Rains in Colombia

by W. H. Benjamin

  “Sir, may I go to the bathroom?”

  The teacher nodded.

  Mei hissed, “That guy really needs a good slap.”

  Harlow walked slowly to the girls’ bathroom, trying to cool her hot temper before it got her expelled.

  On the way back to class, she felt as if someone were watching her and turned around as Roberto appeared, slinking out from the corner behind her. “You!” he shouted, and rushed toward her with a strange look in his eyes, his brow furrowed in what seemed like concentration, then she realised it was anger and darted away running as fast as her legs could carry her. The truth was he was much bigger than her and she had punched him, discoloured and bruised his perfect face and made the skin around his eye look like an ugly vegetable.

  It felt like her heart would burst from terror when she heard him running behind her. What kind of psycho is this guy? she thought. Suddenly, he seemed so big and powerful and she felt stupid for punching him, imagining his fists battering her delicate face in retaliation.

  Why did I like him? This psychotic maniac.

  He shouted in fury, “Why are you running?” Sneering, “Don't run. There's nowhere left to go.”

  She wanted to cry bitter tears, realising she'd reached the end of the hallway and banged against the emergency exit door handle, pushing down desperately, shaking it in frustration. Turning around, her heart beating rapidly in fear, her head whipped around the empty hallway looking for help. Everyone was in class. He reached her and she closed her eyes, waiting for the hard blow that would knock her out, shielding her face with her arms, eyes closed.

  “Where are you going?” he asked breathlessly.

  She couldn't see his face. He grabbed her arm and she shuddered at his touch wanting to cry, she kicked him in the shin instead.

  “Owww”, he cried in pain, jumping back in surprise. “I don't hit girls,” Roberto exclaimed, hopping on one foot and grimacing. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “Oh,” she replied, lowering her arms, feeling foolish when she saw the gentle, apologetic look in his eyes. He looked embarrassed.

  “Sorry if I scared you. I understand if you don't trust me at the moment. I was out of order the other day.”

  He walked her back to class.

  “I didn't mean to scare you,” he said ruefully.

  She shrugged, speechless.

  “Here,” he said giving her a black gift box about the size of her hand, tied with gold ribbon and topped with a bow. Disgusted by it, she thought, What does he think, he can buy me a gift and I'll forget?

  “It's not what you think,” he said, reading the look in her eyes, the anger, the evident distaste. “Please, just have a look.”

  Harlow began to tug at the bow.

  “Don't open it now,” he said as if realising something. “It's just to say I'm sorry about what happened …” he trailed off.

  “Why? Why did you do all of that? I thought we were friends, if nothing else.”

  Roberto was silent for a while. “I don't know what came over me. When I was younger. I didn't really have any friends, I guess,” he said lamely. “I've never known a girl that I could just—that I felt so comfortable talking to, like I could just be myself and not this ... this person that everyone wants me to be.”

  “I can't imagine that,” she interjected. “Everyone has friends.”

  His face fell. “My family moved around a lot when I was growing up. I was really shy, so it was hard to get to know people. That first week when no one really talked to you, it brought back a lot of memories. I started off by trying to be helpful, but I guess I let things go too far. I took it too far. I'm really sorry about—.”

  He can't even say it? she thought, feeling a wave of humiliation come crashing down around her. “My letter?”

  “Yes.”

  There was so much she wanted to say, to shout at him, insult him, to answer coldly, Well, it was a joke anyway. I never liked you. To ask, Did you ever really like me? But she couldn't bear the answer. It was clear. Why rub salt into the wound? He'd made it obvious, he even said: “Why would I like you?” It didn't matter if he apologised one hundred times. It still hurt.

  Roberto was preoccupied with trying to read the emotions that flashed by in her eyes as he spoke. He tried to lighten the mood by telling her stories about living in France, his childhood in Kenya and being caught in a rainstorm in Cali, Colombia. It was the only thing that made Harlow look up in surprise as they walked. She looked over at him incredulously, with a shy almost childlike curiosity. “Floods, wow. I thought, well, I assumed, that it never rains in Colombia.”

  Roberto seemed taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing.

  Harlow continued, embarrassed, as if to reassert her geographical knowledge. “I've heard all sorts of things about Colombia. I've heard about the Farc, the kidnappings, the peace talks, the stories about Pablo Escobar and his drug trafficking. I've heard good things, you know, about its natural beauty, the beaches, the Jaguars, and even about Shakira, but I never once thought that it rained there, not to the point of flooding,” she amended, feeling silly. “I never thought about it as a real place. It always seemed so far away.”

  “Trust me; it rains more there than in London. It's a different kind of rain, more powerful, tropical, a wild kind of rain that drenches all your clothes if you go out in it. A humid, hot rain that washes the streets. Not like this chilly London mist.”

  Harlow nodded, considering that like pain, the occurrence of rain was universal, something that everybody experienced and remembered in different ways. There probably wasn't a country in the world where there was no rain. “I thought it was sunny there all year round. Sunshine and beaches,” she said thoughtlessly.

  “Things aren't always what you think they are,” Roberto said, glancing quickly at her. There seemed to be more meaning in those softly spoken words than in anything he'd said so far. With his stories, he'd unwittingly sketched a picture of a lonely, vulnerable young boy, a boy who'd always been the stranger, the new kid; everyone's acquaintance and nobody's friend. A boy who remembered the seasons and sprawling cities of Colombia more than he could ever remember the words in the local dialects of the new places his parents moved him to. He was a portrait of insecurity painted over with layers and layers of charm, good looks, and what seemed to be easy confidence. When all he really felt was detachment, he remained emotionally disconnected from everyone he met, thinking by force of habit that any relationship he formed would never last.

  Finally, they reached the doorway and went back to history class. As he opened the door for her, Harlow saw Roberto as more than just that boy she had a crush on, she saw him as someone she felt connected to.

  Mei gave Harlow a strange look when Roberto trailed into the class after her. Harlow took her seat, quickly stuffing the black box into her bag.

  “Are you okay?” Mei whispered in between Mr. Hargreaves's sentences.

  Harlow realised her face was flushed from running and everything else, the sweat barely off her brow. She nodded quickly to Mei.

  Mr. Hargreaves went on talking. “Harlow, Sarah, Harold, Emma, and Ngotsi.”

  She looked up in confusion as Mr. Hargreaves went on, “Group 2. Elizabeth, Christian, Patrick, Mei, Jonathan, Group 3,” he continued.

  At home, Harlow sat on the sofa carefully untying the gold bow. When it unravelled, she lifted the lid. There was a white cushion with a pink phone. She lifted it out and found a card underneath:

  “A little bird told me your phone broke, so I thought you might need this. I put my number in. Call me : ) – R.” As if she hadn't been confused enough, now she didn't know what to think.

  What does he think, it's like 'Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?,' phone a friend?

  That Thursday, her group met in the library, classes were cancelled to allow for group preparations. She'd swapped groups. Harlow made her way to the library, and for once she was on time. She found Mei and Jonathan sitting in the oak-panelled g
roup study room around the giant mahogany desk at the centre of the room. It took up almost all the space. Mei and Jonathan were already deep in conversation when she came in.

  “Hey, guys.”

  She took a seat next to Jonathan on the left side of the table. “Where's Patrick?” she asked absent-mindedly.

  Jonathan scoffed, “I don't think he's coming.” Harlow was not surprised and she knew she wouldn't miss him. From what she'd seen of Patrick, she'd gathered that he was lazy and normally quite arrogant.

  They began brainstorming for the history presentation and Patrick came barrelling in halfway through Harlow's idea.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said in a lilting Irish accent. He turned to Harlow, “Hey, Champ. Sorry, did I interrupt you?”

  Ever since the Heavenly Ball, she'd been referred to as Boxer, Prize Fighter, One Punch, and K.O. as well as Assassin.

  “So what's the plan?” Patrick asked taking a seat across from her.

  “Well…” Mei said, and she began explaining their ideas.

  He listened politely, then shouted; “Snore. Scrap that! If we want to send people to sleep then that's what we should do,” he continued, cutting her off mid-sentence. Mei was left open-mouthed, like a fish choking on air.

  “Do you have a better idea?” Harlow asked.

  “Yes, Assassin, I do, and it will blow your mind.” He simulated the explosions with his hands and added off-putting sound effects.

  She rolled her eyes at him, giving Mei a look.

  After the group meeting, Harlow left the library with Mei.

  “Don't get the wrong idea, it was nothing,” Harlow said. Mei had been trying to find out what was going on between her and Roberto.

  Mei nodded slowly, “Well, as long as you know that. It's always been like that with Roberto,” Mei said carefully. “He's so nice to everyone that girls usually get their wires crossed.”

  “Yeah, well, my wires are well and truly uncrossed.”

  I really thought he liked me.

  “The heart wants what the heart wants,” Mei said, linking arms with her. “Don't worry, it could have been worse.”

  “How?” Harlow asked unable to stop herself. “How could it possibly have been worse?” He's the first person I ever liked enough to write a letter to. It seemed romantic at the time, now I just feel stupid. “Why does every one love him so much? He's a complete asshole.”

  Mei laughed. “I think you just chose the wrong day. I've never seen him like that before. Maybe he was in a bad mood or something.”

  “Vicious,” Harlow said, feeling annoyed at the very thought of him, “you know, he tried to buy me off with a phone.”

  Mei stopped in her tracks, dragging Harlow to a halt, making her feel that she'd said the wrong thing.

  “Amy's not going to like that one bit.”

  “What's it got to do with her? What is she, the Godfather or something? I'm tired of this school Mafia and their sinister hierarchies.”

  “I'm just telling you she'll give you hell for it. They've been going out for a couple of months now and she can be, well—let's just say she's the jealous type.”

  Mei looked around the crowded hallway nervously, as if Amy would jump out and punch her in the stomach for conspiring against her. “Come on, let’s go. I need some fresh air.”

  Harlow was reeling. “He has a girlfriend?”

  Mei nodded, “Yup. You didn't know?” she surmised. “I thought it was brave of you to tell Roberto how you felt like that, but maybe next time do some reconnaissance. You know, ask around. Didn't he tell you?”

  Harlow shrugged, “He said he wasn't seeing anyone.”

  “Hmmm,” Mei considered, “maybe they broke up again. They're like the resident power couple, it was inevitable; Roberto fell for Amy the first time he saw her.”

  “She is beautiful,” Harlow remarked grudgingly. It was hard to deny that Amy was attractive; she had an allure that proved irresistible to most of the boys at Rutherfords.

  “On the outside,” Mei said, clearing her throat surreptitiously.

  “Sounds like they're made for each other,” Harlow said, trying to dampen the flicker of jealousy that had lit in her heart. Friends, she reminded herself, just friends.

  Chapter 8 - The Legend

  As Christian rushed out of the college, he began to sweat.

  I have to get myself together, he thought, hooking his thumbs under the straps of his backpack. He walked slowly down the roads, unevenly, going only as fast as his heavy textbook-laden bag would allow. He heard the distant sound of angry shouting that became louder as he turned the corner. The shouting was coming from a large group of people across the road.

  “Shut up,” a girl shouted.

  A male voice cut in, “you need to watch your mouth.”

  He continued on the way to the train station passing the group. This has nothing to do with me, he thought. I need to leave it alone. As he walked, he heard a scream and knew something was not right. He had to find out. Curiosity killed the cat, he thought, then turned around heading toward the raucous noise.

  He saw a large gang of students dressed in Rutherfords’ uniforms but he didn't recognize their faces from where he stood at the edge of the road. They hadn't noticed him. A bus passed by. A girl jumped out of the way in time to avoid being punched.

  Christian rushed forwards.

  The hands in the crowd pulled at her blazer.

  “That's the one,” he heard a shrill voice call as he closed in on the group coming to its edges, he unhooked his thumbs from the bag straps. Pushing his glasses back on to the bridge of his nose, he saw Amy and almost walked away.

  “Let her go,” Amy shouted.

  “What's it to you?” the man asked.

  “I'm a prefect,” she announced indignantly. She spoke as if she were Judge Dredd and she'd said “I am the Law!” expecting the man to fall back in fear.

  The mysterious men and women laughed. One almost keeled over holding her stomach.

  “Oooh.” The man taunted her. “What you gonna do, give me detention?” He grabbed the struggling girl by the neck, as if to make the point, What can you do? See? You're nobody.

  Christian tried to see who was being held through the crowd of heads in front of him. He gasped unintentionally when he saw her. Those nearest to him began to stare strangely at his face as he burst through the crowd, shrugging his backpack off as he went and shoved his way through the crowd to the centre of the group.

  “That's enough!” he boomed angrily.

  “Who the hell's this guy?”

  He looked older than Christian and towered over him menacingly. He was well built. His rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed the tightly clenched muscles of his forearms, twice the size of Christian's arms. Christian had the build of a gangly seventeen-year-old, tall and athletic, somebody who had yet to grow to his full potential.

  “This has nothing to do with you,” the man said eyeing him, giving him a reprieve. Christian knew he couldn't leave.

  “Let her go.”

  Christian shoved the man aside and he lost grip of Mei's neck. She stumbled backwards coughing and brought a hand up to her throat. Christian took a hard blow to the head. Reeling in shock from the punch, he relied on his instincts. The tall man took a fresh swing at his face. He ducked just in time, tackling him to the ground before he could get another hit in. They struggled against each other, slamming punches into each other's bodies. A few seconds was all it took for Christian to gain the upper hand. He sat on the guy's chest, pinning him down, raising his fist to punch the guy he drew his elbow back. He saw the look of confusion and fear on the man's face before he raised his hands to protect his face. Suddenly the face seemed so familiar, made younger by fear and vulnerability. It was a student in the year above.

  “Please don't,” Vincent cried. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

  The sound of swift footsteps approaching reached him. Christian had a feeling of foreboding and jumped up just as something
cracked on the back of his head. The hollow sound of glass smashing reached him only a millisecond later. His vision was blurred by dark spots and blinding stars. Rough hands dug into his shoulders. He stood up unevenly, staggering, almost tripping over the body of the gang leader. His head was knocked back by a swift punch. A pack of five men closed in on him.

  Hands grabbed him from different directions. He felt a surge of fear when he realised he was outnumbered, being pulled in different directions, kicked and punched. Pain coursed through him. Waves of adrenaline washed through his veins and he fought for his life. He struck out wildly as someone's foot dug into his rib cage, then a fist crunched into his neck. Another hand grabbed hold of his shirt. Christian grabbed onto the nearest body he could reach aiming a hard punch, at the overweight boy's head, then another and another. He shoved the boy back into his two friends, making them stumble backwards. He felt a kick in his lower back and turned around, swinging, fists first. His bony knuckles caught the jaw of the kicker, leaving him dazed. Another gang member lunged toward him. Christian rugby-tackled him; this time he remained on his feet when the large man fell to the ground, escaping the melee whilst confusion reigned. Dizzily, he became aware that one lens of his glasses was cracked all the way down to the frame, making it harder to see his attackers.

  Mei grabbed his arm pulling him forwards. “Are you okay?” she asked, looking as stolid as always. Bruises in the shape of finger marks had begun to form around her neck, darkening into a hideous purple colour. They ran back the way he had come.

  “I'm fine,” he replied breathlessly. Crowds of students on their way home began to pour into the road. Amy was gone. Christian looked back hastily. He found his bag on the road where he had left it and snatched it up. The gang members had dissipated into the crowd once Vincent had fallen. He could still see some lurking nearby, eyeing him wearily. Like a snake without a head, they lost their violent energy and milled through the road mixing with the other students, he began to forget their faces. Vincent staggered away from his five friends; pushing away the one that had come to his aid. Christian turned around, fully, eyeing Vincent's back wearily as he walked away.