Debbie J., 9th Grade
Little Red Umbrella
It had been raining all day, a constant heavy downpour that made puddles in the indents in the road and sprayed cars when driven through. The kind that causes migraines, as if the heavy air pressure were weighing down on people’s skulls. The kind in the winter, that, mixed with the cold, felt like tiny needles being driven into my skin. The kind that seemed nearly ominous, as if signaling something bad in the near future.
This particular rain fell against the glass in sheets as I watched it through the steam drifting upward from my coffee. I was grateful to be out of the weather, yet the atmosphere of the crowded coffee shop was still rather heavy, not to mention the fact I hated crowded spaces.
Today just hadn’t been turning out for me. After being fired from my job I wasn’t sure where to go; I couldn’t go home just yet. I needed to be in a crowded area so I couldn’t think about it as much, which had the opposite effect. Now, I stared at my coffee without seeming to possess the ability to drink it, and all I wanted to do was go home and sleep.
The bell on the door beside me tinkles softly, announcing the presence of a stranger wearing a black raincoat and hood pulled over their head. Of course, that’s not the first thing I notice. It’s their little red umbrella. A black gloved hand is wrapped around the handle that curves upwards at the end, and they use that hand to shake out the water droplets, letting them scatter by the doorway while the dim light catches the red rubber material of it. Seeing my own distorted reflection in it both surprises and amuses me.
The stranger pulls off her hood to reveal one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Long dark hair cascades down her back. She has an extremely defined face with high cheekbones and lips that are full and pouted as she looks around the shop. I stiffen in my seat when her dark eyes meet mine. The next thing she does surprises me: she smirks, lifting one
corner of her mouth flirtatiously.This is strange, as I am not a very attractive guy and she is a beautiful woman with a little red umbrella.
Looking down bashfully, I fiddle with my cup, trying to distract myself from the captivating stranger. When I look back up, however, she’s standing in front of me, smiling a smile revealing gleaming white teeth. Up close I see dimples indenting into the corners of her mouth.
“Hi,” she says, her voice light and soft like bells, “I know this is a weird question, but would you mind if I sat here? All the other seats are taken?” Her big eyes shine pleadingly in the light in a manner that resembles a puppy.
“Uh, sure,” I choke out in surprise, gesturing to the seat in front of me.
At first I’m sure my lack of flirtation skills will make this conversation take a downward spike, but within minutes she has me rambling on, introducing topics of conversation and listening to me as if I were saying the most interesting thing she’d ever heard. I try to make the conversation about her every once in a while, but she refuses,turning it right back to me.
We must have talked for hours, because my coffee is long cold and I am completely entranced by this woman. I’m about to ask her out, when she stands suddenly, looking urgently at her watch.
Giving me a reassuring smile and slapping down a piece of paper she says: “I have to run, but you can call me any time. I really am sorry about your job.”
And like that she’s gone. Only when I look at her vacant seat do I spot it: her umbrella. It’s dry now, leaning up against the leg of the table, it’s red color glossy in the light. Picking it up, I glance out the window, and realize she was long gone. Realizing she gave me her number, I open the slip of paper on the table and dial the numbers.
“Hello?” her soft voice answers the phone.
“It’s me,” I say, unable to contain my smile, “Look, you left your umbrella sitting here and I thought you might want it back. Maybe if you give me your address I could return it?”
There’s a hesitation on the other end of the line. “Well… it’s just… I live so out of the way. Just don’t worry about it I guess….”
She trails off and an urgency takes over to see her again. “No, wait. You can just swing by my place and I’ll give it back to you then, maybe take you to dinner or something?” My heart pounds with nerves.
I can hear her smile through the line. “Okay, sounds good. But, oh, could you leave your door unlocked if it’s not too much trouble? I really don’t want to have to stand in the rain.”
“Oh yeah, sure.” I give my address to her and we end the call, leaving me anxious for the events to come.
Sitting on the couch, I flip through the channels absentmindedly, mostly thinking about my date. Where was she? She should be here by now. Finally, out of frustration, I stop on the news,examining the picture of the guy they found dead in his apartment.
21 year old Steven Nelson was found dead in his apartment this morning brutally murdered in a similar manner to three other men this week. Investigators say that they believe these men were killed by the same person, as they all had one similar item at the crime scene.
I’m about to change the channel out of boredom when I hear it: At every one of the crime scenes that these men have been found in, there is one common piece of vital evidence: a little red umbrella.
I freeze right before clicking the change channel button, staring at the picture on the screen. It’s identical to the woman’s, down to the detail. Glancing over, I see the same red umbrella residing on my couch, just as I hear the sound of the door opening.
It had been raining all day, a constant heavy downpour that made puddles in the indents in the road and sprayed cars when driven through. The kind that causes migraines, as if the heavy air pressure were weighing down on people’s skulls. The kind in the winter, that, mixed with the cold, felt like tiny needles being driven into my skin. The kind that seemed nearly ominous, as if signaling something bad in the near future.
This particular rain fell against the glass in sheets as I watched it through the steam drifting upward from my coffee. I was grateful to be out of the weather, yet the atmosphere of the crowded coffee shop was still rather heavy, not to mention the fact I hated crowded spaces.
Today just hadn’t been turning out for me. After being fired from my job I wasn’t sure where to go; I couldn’t go home just yet. I needed to be in a crowded area so I couldn’t think about it as much, which had the opposite effect. Now, I stared at my coffee without seeming to possess the ability to drink it, and all I wanted to do was go home and sleep.
The bell on the door beside me tinkles softly, announcing the presence of a stranger wearing a black raincoat and hood pulled over their head. Of course, that’s not the first thing I notice. It’s their little red umbrella. A black gloved hand is wrapped around the handle that curves upwards at the end, and they use that hand to shake out the water droplets, letting them scatter by the doorway while the dim light catches the red rubber material of it. Seeing my own distorted reflection in it both surprises and amuses me.
The stranger pulls off her hood to reveal one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Long dark hair cascades down her back. She has an extremely defined face with high cheekbones and lips that are full and pouted as she looks around the shop. I stiffen in my seat when her dark eyes meet mine. The next thing she does surprises me: she smirks, lifting one
corner of her mouth flirtatiously.This is strange, as I am not a very attractive guy and she is a beautiful woman with a little red umbrella.
Looking down bashfully, I fiddle with my cup, trying to distract myself from the captivating stranger. When I look back up, however, she’s standing in front of me, smiling a smile revealing gleaming white teeth. Up close I see dimples indenting into the corners of her mouth.
“Hi,” she says, her voice light and soft like bells, “I know this is a weird question, but would you mind if I sat here? All the other seats are taken?” Her big eyes shine pleadingly in the light in a manner that resembles a puppy.
“Uh, sure,” I choke out in surprise, gesturing to the seat in front of me.
At first I’m sure my lack of flirtation skills will make this conversation take a downward spike, but within minutes she has me rambling on, introducing topics of conversation and listening to me as if I were saying the most interesting thing she’d ever heard. I try to make the conversation about her every once in a while, but she refuses,turning it right back to me.
We must have talked for hours, because my coffee is long cold and I am completely entranced by this woman. I’m about to ask her out, when she stands suddenly, looking urgently at her watch.
Giving me a reassuring smile and slapping down a piece of paper she says: “I have to run, but you can call me any time. I really am sorry about your job.”
And like that she’s gone. Only when I look at her vacant seat do I spot it: her umbrella. It’s dry now, leaning up against the leg of the table, it’s red color glossy in the light. Picking it up, I glance out the window, and realize she was long gone. Realizing she gave me her number, I open the slip of paper on the table and dial the numbers.
“Hello?” her soft voice answers the phone.
“It’s me,” I say, unable to contain my smile, “Look, you left your umbrella sitting here and I thought you might want it back. Maybe if you give me your address I could return it?”
There’s a hesitation on the other end of the line. “Well… it’s just… I live so out of the way. Just don’t worry about it I guess….”
She trails off and an urgency takes over to see her again. “No, wait. You can just swing by my place and I’ll give it back to you then, maybe take you to dinner or something?” My heart pounds with nerves.
I can hear her smile through the line. “Okay, sounds good. But, oh, could you leave your door unlocked if it’s not too much trouble? I really don’t want to have to stand in the rain.”
“Oh yeah, sure.” I give my address to her and we end the call, leaving me anxious for the events to come.
Sitting on the couch, I flip through the channels absentmindedly, mostly thinking about my date. Where was she? She should be here by now. Finally, out of frustration, I stop on the news,examining the picture of the guy they found dead in his apartment.
21 year old Steven Nelson was found dead in his apartment this morning brutally murdered in a similar manner to three other men this week. Investigators say that they believe these men were killed by the same person, as they all had one similar item at the crime scene.
I’m about to change the channel out of boredom when I hear it: At every one of the crime scenes that these men have been found in, there is one common piece of vital evidence: a little red umbrella.
I freeze right before clicking the change channel button, staring at the picture on the screen. It’s identical to the woman’s, down to the detail. Glancing over, I see the same red umbrella residing on my couch, just as I hear the sound of the door opening.