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The Time When It Really Rained
Theo hadn't dared open the umbrella since he left L.A. and it had been almost three years.
It was raining in New York today. He had lost his new umbrella, and Hobie couldn't find his, either. This was not the first time Theo had thought about the small black contraption hiding under his bed. But it was the first time he had ever been this close to actually using it.
He stood at the foot of his bed, clenching and unclenching his fists. This felt wrong.
It will be okay, he tried to tell himself. It's just an umbrella.
So he walked around the side, and reached under, moving his hand around blindly even though he knew exactly where it was— he had reached out to touch it many times since leaving California. He pulled the contraption out and looked at it.
It almost seemed to stare back.
He shivered, running his fingertips along the battered cloth. Then he forced himself to move, out of his room and out of the apartment, into the rain. He almost hesitated in the downpour. But he urged himself to continue, and unstrapped the umbrella, opening it.
This is not okay.
Theo's hand shook violently as he walked down the street. He tried not to look as horrible as he felt, but he knew his face was pale and his knees were wobbling. His heart was pounding. For a split second as he rounded a corner he thought he felt the ghost of those thin, slender fingers against his own— then he blinked and they were gone.
He bit back a distressed cry, gripping the handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His steps began to falter, and he pushed through the doors of the nearest public building— a small café. He closed the umbrella, shook it off carefully, and hung it up, retracting his hand quickly as though burned by a hot stove. He watched it swing for a few moments, entranced— then ripped his gaze away and sat down on the opposite side of the building.
He was late to work that day.
He couldn't bring himself to get up and open the taunting black umbrella that swung from a hook, tempting him with it's nostalgic tragedy from the battered and rain-soaked front door.
