Day 22: The lavender umbrella

"Value what you have. One day, you won’t have it anymore."

She’s stuck. “Damn it!” she thinks, as drops and drops of water pour down from the sky, heavier and heavier by the second. The wind barks at her like an angry mop just waiting to eat her up alive. The dark clouds blanket the atmosphere, leaving her devoid of any sign of sunlight anytime soon. Mother nature doesn’t seem to favor her plan that much, as thunder rumbles the ground and smashes through her ear. Under the doorstep of the building, she feels her hands shaking, her hair soaking wet and her skin freezing as time slowly crawls by.

Living in such a place where rain is no longer a stranger, she is uncharacteristically stubborn and incomprehensible uncooperative in a single simple task of bringing an umbrella. She enjoys the rain. She always does. She feels like she doesn’t have to cry alone when it rains, that she’s not the only thing that’s dark and depressed. She feels understood. But right now, her Mother Nature is as annoying as a mother would have been. She’s trying to get to a date, a cute guy with blue eyes come right from any romantic novel she has ever read.

She thinks about running to the parking lot a couple of times, yet she couldn’t guarantee she would not fall when the things under her feet aren’t her tennis shoes, but a pair of luxurious heels. She plans to come straight to her date from work, which now seems like a silly idea. But what else can she do? She’s a busy woman afterall. Her makeup starts to fade as bead of water slips through her face. She hopelessly pulls out her phone, but not before a sad sigh sneaks through her maroon lips. Dialing the number of her date, she feels disappointed and deflated, reflecting the cynical weather right around her.

“Here.”

A lavender umbrella sticks out and is pointed toward her. She turns around and sees him, her longtime friend. She asks him if it’s okay. He nods. She asks him if she can return sometimes after. He nods. She tells him that he’s the best. He nods. She breaks the umbrella open and walk away, soon out of his vision in the midst of the hammering rain. He smiles. His lips range ear-to-ear. He steps out and walks home, without an umbrella, as the water showers his whole body and the cold smothers his skin. But he feels warm inside.

A week after, she forgets her umbrella again. It’s her second date with her dream guy and she cannot be late. She’s angry at herself and at her stubbornness.

“Here.”

The lavender umbrella sticks out and is pointed toward her. She turns around and sees him. He nods. She walks away.

A month later, she again forgets her umbrella. It is the one month anniversary since she knows the guy and she’s planning to give her date a surprise. But she’s stuck. Again.

“Here.”

The lavender umbrella. She sees him. He nods. She walks

Three months later, she’s fighting and she needs to work things out with her boyfriends. But she’s stuck in the rain.

“Here.”

…

A year later, she’s heartbroken and fragile. She walks down the hall and toward the door. The sky is still crying with her, ever since her first day. She sits down in the rain. She feels her hands shaking, her hair soaking wet, her skin freezing. But she stands up and walks to her car. She doesn’t wear any makeup or have any heels. She wants to bawl in front of him. She feels her mind going crazy and she needs him to comfort her crushing heart that has been torn to pieces.

She stops in front of his house. She knocks on it, as the wind adds to her strength, cratering the wooden door. No answer. She knocks again.

No answer.

After her tenth knock, she knows well enough he isn’t there. She calls him, whose number she rarely calls and hardly ever pick up. He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t understand. Where could he be? Now thinking about it, she realizes he wasn’t there since a week ago. But she couldn’t notice, because there was no rain that week. There was no umbrella.

Except there is.

The lavender umbrella sits neatly next to the plant pot, whose flowers flourish despite the rain. She breaks it open, like she has done many times before that she can’t count. But this time, it’s different. An envelope falls out.

He’s never coming back…

The umbrella slips out of her hand, and tears run down her cheeks, mixing with the beads of water, all crying for what-could-have-been.

…

Value what you have. One day, you won’t have it anymore.