Last night it rained. Around three the thunder started. It was short-lived. I went back to sleep. It was a good sleep, a long sleep. It was nearly afternoon when I finally got out of bed. I don’t know when the rain stopped, but everything is still wet.

In grammar school, my favorite classroom was when I was in the fourth grade. It was on the top floor of the old school. We were on double sessions waiting for the new school to be built. The afternoon session was my favorite.

The windows in that room started close to the ceiling. They went more than halfway down the wall and were on two sides, one facing the school yard and the other facing the walkway outside the little used side door. The windows opened and closed using a pole with a hook at the top. I loved that room on a rainy day. The drops hit the windows and slowly dripped down until they disappeared. I watched them get smaller and smaller. I was easily distracted by the rain. The lights hung down from the ceiling. They were glass balls, old time lights. The room was always a bit dark on a rainy day despite those lights. The darkness and the rain somehow subdued us. The only sounds were rustling papers and turning pages. The rain was too loud for lessons.

Our desks were old. The opening for the books was below the top. I used to have to turn sideways to look inside the space for my books and my papers. On the top of the desk was a slot for pencils and pens. I used to put my lunchbox beside the metal legs of my desk. The only blackboard was at the front of the room. The teacher’s desk was in front of the blackboard. My desk that year was at the end of the first row. The windows were right behind me. I had a view of the entire room. I can still close my eyes and see that room. In my memory drawers are images of other classroom, but none are as complete and as vivid as that fourth grade room. I don’t know why.