Umbrella

Each day was the same. Mike would wake up, leave his apartment and greet the dark sky and endless waging war of rain pelting at the door. He would spend hours in his windowless life planning his escape and he would step back into the dark, into the battering showers, and slosh his way back home. And he would get off the bus, same time each day, fight all those trying to shove their way up as he pushed his way down, hold his breath to avoid the inevitable spray of sneeze-cough-spit n’ snot, step into an ankle high puddle and fight the cold, the hunger, the sleet, and anger, and impatience, and rain mixed with snow. His mood, like everyone else’s, would be horrid.

And all he would think of, all he could imagine is the same thing he’d spend the entire day dreaming of: a dry living room, a few blocks away, the Wylland Estates… He will be warm… He will defrost... He will slosh his way home, shut himself in, turn off the lights, and cower within.

But then exactly ten after six each evening, just at the intersection at Broadway, a man shoves a newspaper in his face and Mike gives him the exact same glare he gave him all those other evenings. One day, he imagines, One day…. It is at this same moment that the woman cuts in front of him with her umbrella, and Mike is forced to, once again, follow her up the way.

Robotic, pre-programmed, frozen and mechanical, he blurts out his spiel.

“Woman,” He screams behind her, “Woman! Have you no shame? No concept that there are other people on this sidewalk? Woman, do hear me? Do you understand you almost knocked me over, almost caused me to slip and hit my head on the concrete? The very concrete you walk on? Have you no awareness? You would just keep on walking and leave me to paint the snow red!”

As always, she pays no attention, although sometimes she spins her umbrella.

“I’ve got a new pair of gloves, lady, don’t force me to dirty them!” And as he says this, he slips on someone’s half-eaten slice of pepperoni pizza, extra cheese, slamming to the ground.

“Hey, you asshole, you just stepped on my dinner!”

The man untangles himself from his sheets and points his large finger in Mike’s face.

“You owe me money, Buddy!”

As Mike tries to stand up, pain gushes through his backside. A man’s briefcase smacks him in the back of the head. No one bothers to help, but the woman stands not too far—just ahead, in fact—looking up at the window displays.

“Woman?” She turns and for the first time eye contact has been established, and as he jumps out of the puddle she has already turned and walked forth.

He chases after her, blinded by his own breath. “You saw me fall! You saw it and you didn’t help. How could you not help? How do you just walk away? Answer me, lady? You’ve got some nerve!”

She just ignores him as do all the rest. He catches up to her at the intersection at 1st and stands amongst the crowds, directly in her face, and explains to her what she’s heard previously each day.

“Lady. Do you understand what your umbrella is for? Do you ‘get’ the concept? Because I don’t think you do. Each day I see you, and each day you walk on these sidewalks, taking up all the space, poking people’s face, and hogging all the awnings! What the hell do you need the umbrella for if you walk under the shelters?”

The light changes green and he continues as she marches down the street, her umbrella spinning and bouncing drops of rain onto his face. He follows her still, obsesses, dodging the other pedestrians who dodge the lady and her umbrella.

“Leave the awning for the people with no umbrellas? It’s just common courtesy! Respect for all the other people here who have to share the sidewalk with you and your giant umbrella!”

But she never listens, never cares enough to take heed of his suggestion, nor does she show any sort of remorse, and Mike finds himself a tad crazier each day it rains. At the next intersection, the woman stops short, doesn’t even reach the street. As if to spite him further, she stands under the awning with her umbrella opened and poised directly above, to shield her from something invisible. Others approach and jump into the open pouring rain to pass, and yet still, the woman with the umbrella does not move away.

“Are you clueless?” He begins. “Don’t you see how frustrated these people are? They’re already cold and you are forcing them to get wet! You have an umbrella! That’s all you need, lady…. Make room for others! It’s a simple matter of consideration. Walk off to the side! You need to walk off to the side! What is wrong with you?”

Still, she pays him no attention, but he continues. The light goes from red to green and then back to red, yet they still stand next to one another. This is where they separate, and he pleads with her.

“Simple ordinary standards, mores, if you will, that everyone in society should understand. With umbrellas, there are responsibilities! And you are abusing yours. You are not the only person who exists here!”

The woman sniffs and walks away, leaving an exhausted Mike alone, rain pounding at his head. Defeated again, he watches her go, oblivious and unaware, umbrella high up in the air, under the awnings, forcing others to jump out of the way.

Then Mike notices the smoke, and shortly after, the fire, but still she just carries on, her umbrella in everyone’s face, under the awnings, with no rain to douse the flames.

And then Mike sees the man walk by, the man with a giant grin on his face. The man who reaches into his pocket and lights another cigarette.


Ldm