When It Rains: The Umbrella Collection

by Prudence Hayes

  I raised my hand in order to wave and say hello back but before I was able to, Jack interrupted, “Miranda, you can go back inside, now,” and he gave her a stern look.

  I looked shockingly back and forth between the two of them, waiting for Miranda to put him in his place. But, nothing of the sort came to form. She just turned on her heels and headed back up the driveway into the house.

  “You know, I remember that day like it was yesterday. I replay it in my head all the time. Do you? The look on their faces as I came up to the car is always popping up,” he said as he turned his attention back to me. He looked straight into my eyes waiting for a reaction, but nothing came. “It has been so long now and I feel that it is time for you to move on,” he said as my watery tears sunk back in and my dry eyes stared daggers into his out of anger. “If you want to talk about it, ever, I am always free and I know this preacher that would be willing to talk to you if you wanted to bring God into your life. HE has helped me so much.”

  I was angry now, angry that he had the audacity to say that, to imply that God wasn’t already present within my life. How would he know? I moved in closer, an inch from his face I pointed my fingers directly at him.

  “You, a preacher or anyone else for that matter will never tell me how to grieve or will give me a time period in which to get over my parent’s death. What, do you want me to do bawl my eyes out on your shoulder, so you can run and tell everyone?” I said as my face grew redder with rage. Then I inserted the before mentioned thought, you know, the one the voice said about maybe it would be good for him to go do something to himself. He didn’t seem to like it that much since he took a few steps backwards with the look of shock on his face. His mouth fell open then he started making his way back towards his house.

  I began to continue my walk then stopped and turned back at him, “Oh, and Mr. Garrison.” I yelled and he stopped where he was and turned towards me, “My Mom fucking hated you!”

  I turned on my heels and started off down the road with a smirk appearing on my face. It wasn’t nice to say, but well deserved I thought. I pictured Mom cheering and clapping up where she is and Dad probably stood with his arms crossed at his chest shaking his head. With those visions in my head, it took me no time at all to get to Marty’s.

  I entered the small store stocked with shelves of food and candy in the middle and refrigerators along the back with and sides filled with sodas, waters, beers and any other type of refreshing liquid. The cashier stands behind a small counter that is filled with random pieces of gum for sale for a nickel and to the side of that are counters with coffee pots brewing a different kind in each, along with a hotdog and sausage cooker beside them. As I opened the door I was embraced by the typical sound of a bell which was attached to the door ringing each time a customer opened it.

  “Hello, Mr. Jones,” I said as I walked up behind him as he was filling the water bottles in one of the refrigerators. He was wearing the usual tan polo shirt with one pocket and the brown pants I remember him wearing when I was younger. He is a good friend of Pops. Mrs. Jones passed away two years ago and he hasn’t really been the same since. He used to be extremely outgoing and now since her passing he is more introverted and sullen.

  “Nora, looking as beautiful as ever, it has been too long since your last visit. Are you here for your usual?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yes sir, the usual and you do know that I was here last week, right?”

  He stood there thinking for a few seconds, “Ah, yes I remember. Nora, I’m an old man, sometimes it takes me awhile to get the wheels spinning.”

  I could tell he was lying, but I let him slide. I headed towards the candy aisle after Gary, the cashier, yelled for Mr. Jones and he headed to backroom to receive a phone call he just received.

  I found my sugary lollipops and was perusing the rest of the sweets when I spied someone across the store, someone whom I have been dreading running until for the last year. He was wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt with some sports teams logo on it, must be a college team because I didn’t recognize it. He had a white baseball cap on backwards and a scar above his left eye that he got while in a fistfight in the 10th grade. I have been lucky so far and our paths have not crossed up until now. It was Darren Levington and he was standing in the potato chip aisle. As I searched his face more closely, he had a pondering look on his face. Probably something asinine like rippled potato chips or plain ones. I guess my gaze started to burn a hole through him because he looked right at me and I ducked as fast as I could. I was kneeling down with my back against the shelves unsure of what to do. Do I run out the door? Do I confront him? Do I walk over to him and start beating him with two bags of potato chips? “Here you want rippled?” and whip his head with the bag. “Oh, you want some non-rippled. Here you go!” and beat him until there were no bags left and chips were covering the tiled floor.

  I wanted to take another look, so I slowly inched my way back up the shelves and with my chin resting on the Skittles, I peered over in his direction to spy on him. He was no longer evaluating the snacks; he was now headed towards the opposite side of the aisle, where the beer was. With each one of his steps, my heart began to beat more rapidly. I spun back around and hit the floor to where I was a few moments ago.

  If he reaches for a beer, I’m not sure if my angel side will be able to control my devil side. He killed my parents because he couldn’t stop himself from ingesting beer after beer and then jumping behind the wheel of his truck and there he is about to purchase a major factor in the accident, I thought to myself as the speed of my pulse quickened and anxiety manifested within.

  I had to know if he would buy some beer or not so I willed myself to get back up. But after I convinced myself just to get back up and take a peek, he was no longer where he stood. I swiveled my head around, eagerly searching for him throughout the store and he was nowhere to be seen. I began desperately looking for him, walking up and down each aisle thinking maybe he was crouched down looking for something on the bottom shelf, but he wasn’t.

  I stood at the front of the store near the hallway to the bathrooms in a state of panic. Then I heard knocking and someone say, “Hey Dare, I’ll be in the car” and a reply “Alright man. I’ll be out in a sec.”

  I looked to where the conversation was taking place and a tall, lanky guy, wearing a blue T-shirt with the same sports team logo as Darren, walked from the Men’s room door out the front.

  My head turned back to the bathroom. It felt like my feet were cemented into the spot where I was standing with my stare fixated on the handle of the door, willing it to move so it will open and he will see me, the child of the people he killed, staring at him with pure hatred.

  A few moments went by and the scene that I was picturing in my head became a reality. However, as he walked by me and our eyes met, his head just nodded and he kept on walking. His scent that was engrossed in cigarette smoke lingered in my area infiltrating my senses and I picked up a slight odor of alcohol, too. There was no acknowledgment of who I am. No wonderment strewn across his face about whether or not I was the little girl crying her eyes out in the back of the courtroom as his verdict was read. No apology just a nod in acknowledgement that a person was standing in his walking path.

  He walked to the same aisle that I saw him in before. He grabbed a bag of rippled potato chips, then turned his attention to the refrigerator behind him, reached in and grabbed a six pack of the cheapest beer there was. He was done picking up his supplies and headed towards the cashier, but he had to pass me one last time. He noticed that I was still in the same place and watching his every move, so this time he added a smirk across his mouth along with his nod and preceded to the check out.

  I was stunned and completely grossed out that he looked at me like that. I stood wondering what I should do. Thoughts of a confrontation ran through my mind and immediately were pushed out and the only thing I could bring myself to do was to leave. I stormed out of the store and onto the sidewalk outsi
de, desperately trying to rid myself of the hate that was flowing through my veins. I hated him, of course, for what he had done and that it seems like he has gone on with his life and repeating the same mistakes. I hated myself, too. I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t bring myself to utter a word to him or to even hit him with a bag of potato chips. That was my chance and I let it float by without a fight. I walked around in circles outside the front door of the store and still in disbelief. I was about to take a step and begin my walk back home when something stopped me in my tracks, something I had seen on only one other car. It was a “Honk if you love Pussycats” bumper sticker. Thoughts of the courtroom riddled my mind; how the prosecutor repeated that phrase over and over again and pictures of the crushed up cars. One was a close-up shot of that bumper sticker with a hue of canary yellow as a border.

  “This has to be his car.” I thought to myself. Then my instincts kicked in and before I knew it I had bent down and my fingers were wrapped around a rock that was simply lying there as decoration inside of a planter’s box that was around a small tree. I took aim of the car, drew back my arm and launched the rock into the back windshield. Smash!

  “This is for my Mom,” I said and threw it through the passenger side window. Unfortunately, for the car there was more than one rock in the box. I walked around to the other side of the car.

  “My Dad!”; through the driver’s side window

  “Pops!”; the back driver’s side window

  “And this is for my fucking childhood!” and the front windshield crumbled to pieces.

  This all happened relatively quickly. No other thoughts ran through my mind other than destroying that piece of shit’s car. As the final piece of glass fell, my head became clearer and I glanced around at the scene of destruction that I caused. Everyone that was driving on the road stopped and watched and the people on the sidewalk halted probably out of fear that they would step into my line of fire. One of which just happened to be Mr. Garrison and I am sure I gave him enough material today to fill up his arsenal of gossip to spew around the neighborhood to anyone that will listen. Just my luck.

  There was also this 20 something year old man running towards me from the mart with his arms outstretched looking like he wanted to strangle me. I could have sworn I saw steam coming from his ears as he approached me.

  His mouth was moving and I heard sounds coming from it, but his voice was too high pitched and loud for me to comprehend exactly what he was saying. Something to the effect of “What the hell…you stupid…I’m gonna…Why?...MY CAR…” is all I could piece together.

  So, apparently it wasn’t Darren’s car. Oops. I was still in a daze and coming down off my high of anger so all I could say was “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” I looked up towards the door to Marty’s and Mr. Jones had his face to the window watching what was happening. To the left of him, the front glass doors opened and exiting would be none other than Darren carrying his booze, glancing at my mess, and climbing into the driver’s side door of a shiny new maroon Sports Utility Vehicle that was parked only one car away.

  “Shit,” I mumbled

  “Why did you do that to my car?!” the man screamed in my face while placing his hands on my shoulders to shake me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said lowly. My mind wasn’t on the disaster it was still attached to the SUV that was living the scene of my crime.

  “Sorry? That’s all you can say to me?” he stated as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone to dial. “Hi, someone just beat the shit out of my car,” he yelled to whoever answered on the other end. “I’m at Marty’s Mart on Dover Street. Someone broke all my windows to my car. Who did it? Hold on.”

  He turned his head to me and asked, “What is your God damn name?”

  “Nora Boutilier. Eleanora May Boutilier if you wanted to be more specific,” I really didn’t have any room to be an ass, but this guy was grabbing on me pretty hard.

  “Boutilier? You’re a Boutilier? Are you related to John?” he asked as he pulled me closer to get me to look at him.

  “Yeah, he’s my uncle.”

  “Shit!” he uttered under his breath before returning his attention to the caller on the phone. “Never mind. I’m not going to be pressing any charges Ma’am. Sorry for the confusion.” He hung up the phone and then searched for another name to hit the call button. “Hey Man, it’s Richie. I have a little problem with your niece. I was inside Marty’s putting mustard on my hotdog and I hear glass smashing. After the third time, I looked out the window to see what the fuss was about and there she was throwing rocks at my car. Smashed all my fucking windows! Alright…Yeah…Bye.”

  He stood there in disbelief, “Man, your uncle just saved your ass. He is on his way. Why don’t you have a seat on the curb here. Don’t even think about moving either, I can call the police faster than you can run.”

  I sat there not saying a word to anyone, thinking in my head how much of an idiot I was for ending up here with this glass surrounding me. I was also thinking if I could run over to the corner a few feet away and back to slap Mr. Garrison before Richie could pull out his phone. I decided against it, though; I don’t run that fast. I sat on the curb with my knees to my chest and arms wrapped around them, mad at myself once again. I closed my eyes and cursed at myself over and over that I could do something like this, and hoping that magically this could all go away. With my body filled with angst for only myself, I looked to the sky in aggravation and asking why I did this. During the catastrophe that I caused, I didn’t even notice that rain clouds in the shade of ebony rolled in right above us. Just then a loud deafening clap of thunder made my body jump.

  “Oh shit,” I thought to myself.

  Mr. Jones came running out of the mart towards me, “I’m taking her inside, Richie,” he directed to the man still pacing up and down the sidewalk uttering profanities under his breath.

  Mr. Jones knows everyone and everyone knows him. He is friends with everybody, but he had that demeanor to him that you automatically respected and listened to his every word. If he said jump, you jumped and continued to do so until he told you to stop. So, when he told Richie he was taking me inside, Richie didn’t even put up a fight.

  “That was a crazy thing you did there, missy,” Mr. Jones said to me and I nodded unable to have words come out of my mouth. “If I would have seen him in here earlier I would have told you.” I turned and looked at him and gave a weak smile and bowed my head.

  I stood at the window behind the counter to the cashier staring out eagerly anticipating the arrival of John. Out of all my uncles, I ‘m glad his friend’s car was the one I decided to smash. Outwardly, he seems unfazed and uncaring, like he is made of steel. I saw him cry when my parents passed only because I walked in on him in the den when he thought no one else was home. When I walked in and announced my presence, he turned his head towards me and his face was red, his eyes swollen and his cheeks soaked from tears. He just wiped his face and said “Tough day,” as he walked by me and ruffled my hair. That was the only time I have ever seen an emotion emitted by him. He always reflects the “Whatever” attitude. When he breaks up with a girlfriend, you wouldn’t even know it. He just hops to the next one in line and laughs off the previous affair. I’m hoping he will laugh this off, too.

  As I glanced out the window, I slowly started to see the hood of Richie’s car begin to fill with tiny droplets as the rain clouds began to empty their contents, faster and faster.

  “My interior!” I heard Richie yell, who grabbed at his hair with both hands out of rage. His yelling was almost overshadowed by the thunderous sound of John’s pickup truck coming down the road. He had a ‘Hey, look at me’ truck. One that was so obnoxious you couldn’t contain yourself and had to look and you could hear it coming from a mile away. His lady friends loved it.

  When John’s truck screeched to a halt, he exited the driver’s side door, pulled his hoodie over his head so the wetness didn’t hit it and he took a few steps towards
the scene of the crime until he stopped and spun around. He retraced his footsteps back to the truck and opened the back driver’s side door. He bent over to grab something, slammed the door shut and he appeared again in my direction, holding my baby blue umbrella that I shoved under his seat just in case he or I ever needed it. Everyone in my family has one in the same spot in their cars.

  He marched up to where Richie was still pacing. From my point of view, based on the animation exuding from Richie’s body, he was still pretty angry and informing John of the story. His arms flew in the air, his feet stomped and his finger pointed in my direction. John followed his finger and looked at me at that point; his face didn’t hold the typical ‘whatever’ expression. A look of tension now covered it and for the first time in my life I could tell he was disappointed and angry with me. He stood speaking to Richie and trying to calm him down. After a few minutes, he turned his attention to the front door of the mart and opened it to poke his head in.

  “Let’s go,” he said holding the door open for me.

  I went without saying a word. He opened the umbrella and the beauty of the baby blue was a stark contrast to what laid just beyond it, the destruction that I caused. We started off towards the truck, but making a pit stop by Richie’s side so John could apologize again for my lack my thinking. He then told Richie to give him a call with the estimates and he would take care of it. They shock hands and Richie gave me one last glare full of hate.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry,” I said with my head aimed at the ground for the sake of not having to look him in the face anymore.

  I walked back to the truck with John holding the umbrella over my head and hopped into the passenger seat and waited for John to get into the truck on the other side. We sat in silence for a while and during that time I wanted to open my door and jump out. By the look on his face, if there was any hesitation in my jumping he would have joined in on the fun and helped me out. Then he would have ran me over like a speed bump. Of course, he had a reason to be angry; everyone had a reason to be angry at me. There is no denying that here. Shit, I’m probably the maddest of all at my actions. I could tell he was getting antsy; he fidgeted in his seat, kept changing the station on the radio, even though perfectly good songs were on and his head turned to me for a second or two and then back again. He was the first to break the silence.