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The Rain Parade
- Texas A&M University Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
The Rain Parade PAUL PEDROZA The rain parade begins at dusk this year. The crowd gathers, breath condensing , humid against the inner fabric of ponchos and coats. The bright colors mellow with the coming night. Those without umbrellas hug the damp buildings for shelter, but they’re wet anyway. They’ve come out to see the same floats they always see, year after year, although this is the first rain parade to be held at night. Sawhorses,rawintheblowingrain,closemanyofthestreets.Aboystraddlesone down by the restaurants on Mesa Street, and no one’s near him keeping watch. Although it’s raining, the sunset is clear to all who can see among the buildings downtown. Dying sunlight paints the clean, blinded windows scarlet. The sounds of traffic no longer echo down the empty avenues from the freeway nearby; cars double-parked along the outlying streets stand empty, a few doors have been left unlocked, some left wide open. There’s a thick silence. Coffee steam and strained coughing. A young girl whines softly about a lost bracelet, and then a siren wails down the block, startling those who chose the corner of Campbell and Main because they want to brag about seeing everything first and best. The siren sounds for a minute like approaching destruction, then settles into a moan, and when it does, the first bandleader, Oscar Gutierrez, steps down from the curb and marches down the soaked asphalt toward his band waiting in the middle of Main. As he raises his baton, he’s afraid of the snaggled portions of the street that will inevitably trip him, that will dig into his tailbone like every year he’s participated before. The trumpets resound with flair; the Benito Juárez High School Marching Band, Oscar’s band, launches into “The Star Spangled Banner,” an honor bestowed upon them by lottery. They march down the street alone while they perform. When the strain of woodwinds and brass and the boom of percussion fade into the sound of broken raindrops, the street is empty. ♦ ♦ ♦ The rain parade begins with a cavalcade of horses. The well-groomed studs, courtesy of the Equestrian Club, turn their rain-soaked heads in the cold air to sniff the scents of the mares that follow. The mares belong to Edgar Perez, a ♦ ♦ ♦ 26 ♦ Paul Pedroza rancher who owns fifty acres just outside of town. He brings them out year after year because he believes the rain of the rain parade to be blessed and says his stock could use a little divine intervention. He wishes he could stop the parade and mate the mares with the studs, but he cannot find the courage to do it. The horses stomp down toward San Jacinto Plaza, and as they do, many snort and shit and play to the crowd, especially the studs. Their piles steam a little in the coldair,ignoredbythepooper-scooperswhoaretransfixedbythecrowdandthe little fame their offices bring. The horses pass on, but leave their mark through the indelible scent of alfalfa-choked shit that outlasts the entire procession. The raindrops will slowly dissolve them. The second act of the rain parade—always another local high school marching band—tries hard to avoid the small piles while balancing their instruments against mouths and chins, blasting “God Bless America,” a rancherita, perhaps Marty Robbins’ “El Paso.” All of the doomy-gloomy songs they learn for their football games are banned. It’s quite a thing to hear: the purple mountains majesty in the brisk and wet air. Many remove their hats once again and expose their tan lines to the rain in honor of their country. The bands tramp through the already forming puddles, and once they reach San Jacinto Plaza, they huddle beneath the palms and junipers and wait for their buses to come and take them home. Taking Oscar Gutierrez’s band’s lead, the kids leave their instruments on grass and concrete and walk away, afraid the thin alloy will attract lightning. It is a graveyard of wet brass and wood; the instruments will never be the same. The floats begin to appear between the marching bands. Ysleta High Marching Indians, Bowie Bakery’s obligatory Giant Pumpkin Empanada. El Paso High Tiger Pride, Price’s Creamery’s humongous cow (complete with what many believe to be cancerous goiters along its fabled neck). Everyone’s favorite local high school with the most seeming non-mascottish mascot: the Irvin High Fighting Rockets, followed by the Rivera Nut Co.’s Garden of Feedin...