From Under a Hot Pink Umbrella

The rain was lighter now, a gentle tapping on his umbrella, like a woman’s fingers on a tsuzumi, with the occasional loud pom of a tsuri daiko as collected rain dropped down from the trees.  His shoes were soaked and his toes were starting to feel stiff with cold.  But somehow, they were still not leading him home.

It was a rare fall rainstorm.  He had been caught off guard.  Forced to buy an umbrella at the convenience store, he was stuck with a hot pink one.  He smiled as he thought of how this must look to the squirrels and birds waiting out the storm in the branches above – a man in a charcoal suit, with a burgundy tie, and a hot pink umbrella.

The park was not on his usual route home.  In fact, it was in the opposite direction.  Was it the patter patter of the rain on the umbrella or the vibrant colors brought out by the rain that had led him down a different path this evening?  Did it really matter?

He sat down on a bench.  He shivered as the rain soaked into his pants.  After the long, stifling summer it was a welcome sensation to be chilled.  The thought of a cold crossed his mind, but was quickly dismissed as a problem for tomorrow. 

           

He looked out at the park from under his hot pink umbrella.  The shelter added a warm glow to everything.  Through the curtain of rain, the park seemed more alive than on any sunny day.  The greens, what was left of them, were vibrant as the first blades of grass in spring.  The path glistened inky black as if it were liquid rather than asphalt.  The first red leaves burned among their green brethren.

He curled his toes in his shoes, trying to warm them.  It would be time to go soon.  It was already noticeably darker.  There was a little less sparkle and the further trees were harder to see.

With a grunt, he pushed himself up from the bench.  The wet spot on his pants, which had begun to warm, was suddenly icy cold.  He gasped a little in surprise.

Maybe he would stop for a hot coffee on the way home.

***

She sniffed and rubbed her nose across the back of her hand.  Wet strands of hair clung to her face.

If it had been summer, she would not have minded forgetting her umbrella at home that morning.  But it was fall and the rain was cold.  It was refreshing, but she would rather experience it from the protection of an umbrella.  Or at least a more waterproof jacket.

She pulled the flaps of her father’s old pea coat tighter around herself.  The smell of wet wool reminded her of weekends spent at the shore.  She smiled.

Across the park she noticed a man in a dark suit sitting under a hot pink umbrella.  He was staring up into the leaves, his mind far away.  She glanced up to see what he could be so interested in. 

A large drop of water hit her square in the left eye.  She flinched.

Smiling at the man who had still not seen her, she continued through the park toward home.

***

They stood at the corner, waiting for the signal to cross. 

They shivered as the rain began to fall harder. 

“Excuse me,” he said, holding the hot pink umbrella toward her.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” she replied.  “I’m already soaked through.”

           

“Please.  It’s getting cold.”

“But your suit.”

He smiled, small wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes betraying his age.  “It’s too late for me too.”

“I really couldn’t.”

“What if we shared?”

It was an interesting proposition.  In this city, one never got too close to strangers.  Even in crowded subway cars, when contact was necessary, people managed to keep a micro thin layer of personal space.

His smile tempted her.  But as the rain picked up to a steady downpour, she was compelled to take a small step toward him, into the strange pink light under the umbrella.

The sound of rain on the umbrella was a dull roar, like a speaker blasting white noise after the record has been removed but the ac is still on.  The smell of wet wool filled the small shelter.

The signal changed.  Without thinking, she took his arm as they crossed the street.

After a block, the rain began to taper off.  They did not break away from each other, though.  They had become accustomed to the slight warmth of their contact.  Night had come.  The street lights flickered to life.  They continued down the glistening street, under the warm glow of the hot pink umbrella.