When It Rains: The Umbrella Collection (19 page)

“What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“What?”

“All this time I thought you were just a geriatric man whore, but it turns out you are a geriatric man whore with a broken heart,” I laughingly said with a fake pouty face for the purpose of getting a laugh out of him and erase his tears. I walked over to Pops and sat down on his lap with my arm flung over his shoulder in half a hug, patting his head and he rocked us back and forth for a few minutes

“Get out of here,” he replied and playfully pushed me off his lap.

“Love ya, Pops,” I said as I headed to the front door.

“Love you too, Eleanora”

I entered the house then stuck my head back out the door and asked, “Was that directed at me or at her? You know, since I just found out I’M NAMED AFTER SOMEONE!”

I shut the door and left Pops to think in peace. As the door slammed Pops laughed and he screamed back at me, “It was directed at the both of you.”

15

Screw It

 
I have been out for about two months, now.  I go and see Dr. Gable to keep an eye on my medication to make sure I’m taking the right dosages and types.  Some meds have been changed and dosages altered to fit exactly what I need.  It’s been difficult and exhausting, but worth it in the end.  

There have been days when my vocal cords have been sore due to their constant rebuttal to the
voice’s
voice.  The sweet sounds of my singing voice echoes through the house as I compete with it and lately I have been in the winner’s circle.  It voices its opinion less often nowadays, though.  I also, see Dr. Rosenberg still.  We cliqued together and I actually enjoy going to see her twice a week.  I look forward to our sessions or gab fest as she likes to call them. 

My parent’s passing as been a constant conversation topic. We talk about them when they were alive and I’m fine, but the moment that it gets to their death, I stop talking and I freeze up.
  Instantly, my shoulders become one with my ears and my chin embraces my chest.  I close up and run from it. 

I was in session with her at her office, which was painted a cheerful yellow with painting
s of brightly colored flowers on the walls which I stare at when she asked about their funeral.  I told her what I remembered along with that I didn’t go to the burial.

“Have you gone to the cemetery since then?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you want to know my opinion?”

“You’re the professional. Shoot,” I said.

S
he began to tell me that she felt I was scared, scared to completely finalize their deaths and put an end to my life when it was immersed in their presence and love, that I won’t truly accept their death until I go there and see with my own eyes.  I told her that I saw their caskets at the church and I can see that they are no longer around me, so how would that make a difference.  She thinks that I need to see it and afterwards my feelings won’t be as raw with sadness.  Perhaps, what she said rings true, but I wonder if I would be able to find the strength to go.

The next afternoon I was sitting in the family room drinking a cup of tea and watching TV with Pops.
  He was half asleep in his recliner and I was sitting comfortably on the couch with my mind constantly replaying Dr. Rosenberg’s words in my head.  Maybe I should just go there.  If I can’t handle it I can leave, right?  Wait, I don’t even know where they are laid to rest.  Well, I know what cemetery because I saw it in the newspaper in their obituary.  But, once I’m there, where do I go?

After a few minutes of perplexingly thinking, I asked Pop, “So, where are Mom and Dad buried?”

His head moved its direction and was now facing mine, but I didn’t budge my eyes from the TV and lifted the mug to my lips for a sip.  Pops didn’t answer for a couple of seconds.  He was probably trying to contemplate whether this was a good thing or not. 

“They are at the
Covington Cemetery,” he finally replied.

“I know that, but where in there?”

“Oh, well, when you pull in, make the first right then the second left.  They will be towards the end before the paved road by the last tree.  Why?”

“Just asking.”

I sat there for a while trying to decide what to do.  Should I stay where I know that it’s safe or should I take a chance and try?  I got up from the couch and walked towards the stairs to mount them knowing full well Pops was following me with his eyes the whole time. Before I let myself think any further, I put my sneakers on and got my jacket.  I went back down the steps and out the front door. 

My mind and heart were racing as I drove the fifteen minute drive to the cemetery and they only went faster as I got closer.
  Once inside the iron gates, I made the right turn that Pops said and then the left and drove until the intersecting street came into view.  I pulled over and turned off my car.  I sat there trying to work up the nerve to get out, but I couldn’t do it.  As my head lowered itself I saw something, something that was familiar and brought comfort to me as I walked up the pathway to Pops front door.  It was a Snowdrop.  “Mom,” I gasped.

I put my hand on the door handle and opened the door without taking my eyes off of the flower.
  I shut the door and then slowly walked to where my eyes were taking me.  As I got closer, my head stopped spinning.  I thought clearly and my heart didn’t ache.  The names that were inscribed on the tombstone just beyond the Snowdrop sprang out at me, ‘David Boutilier.  Joyce Foster’.  I reread their names over and over again until the tears needed to drip.  I saw a little figurine made out of clothespins and beads in the shape of a Christmas tree sitting on the tombstone that I made years ago and gave to Pops to put on their grave.  I fell to my knees and I began to sob.

“I need you.
  I need your love.  I need you here.  I need your advice,” I said aloud.  I felt a familiar feeling, a feeling that I have ignored, pushed aside and questioned.  I felt their presence.  They were with me, as they always are, but I felt it stronger.  Not because I was at their grave.  But, because I wasn’t denying that they weren’t here.  I opened myself up to them.  As I kneeled there crying, gray clouds rolled in and rumbles of thunder boomed in the air.  I didn’t realize it though as I sat there pleading with my parents for help and guidance.  As memories of them catapulted me to the next, it stopped on a memory formed in my head, a moment that I have forgotten until now.  

  I was about seven years old and I was walking beside my mother at the lake, like we so often did every weekend. We would have a picnic lunch and run around like crazy. Mom normally packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grapes and juice and Dad would bring the activities.  When Dad said it was fishing time that was Mom and I’s cue to take a stroll.  We both hated to fish, just standing there waiting for something to bite seemed like a waste of time to us, so we would leave Dad alone in peace.

“Did you get your Math test back yet?” Mom asked as we began our stroll.

“Yea, I got an ‘A’!”

“Good job!” she said with a high five.

“What about joining the softball team?  Have you thought more about that?”

“Yeah, I don’t know yet, though. I don’t know if I would like it.”

“You won’t know until you try right?”

“I know, but what if I really stink at it and everyone laughs at me.”

“No one will laugh at you.”

“Oh, yes they will. John already told me that he’s going to.”

“Well, John and I will have a little talk about that. I don’t think you should worry about what other people think.” she said as we made our way on a dock out in the water.

“If I’m going to stink and people are going to laugh at me then why do it? What if I can’t throw that good and we all know I can’t run fast.”

“You think too much. You are too cautious. You always have been, even when you were little and were about to jump off the couch. You would stop and I could see you think about what could happen, if you would get hurt or if you would get in trouble. Then you would sit and slowly climb down. You think too much. You are limiting yourself, honey.”

“But Mom, you always say “Think before you do.”, “Follow the rules.”, “Do as you are told” I said as I imitated her.

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Oh my, I’m damaging you,” she said lowly as she put an arm around my head and pulled me into her hip. We stood at the edge of the dock with the wind blowing our long brown hair in every direction. The hem of Mom’s cream colored dress was swirling in the air as she continued, “I know you are supposed to follow the rules, but you have to find those moments to break them; where you are living without restrictions, but in a way that you won’t get hurt.  You have to live your life because you only get one of them.   Life should be fun and jumping off that couch would have been fun.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” I asked as she bent down to be on my level.

She had a grasp of my arms on both sides and looked deep into my eyes and said “There are times when you follow the rules and there’s times when you say, ‘Screw it’!”

And, just then she pushed me into the lake. I sank deep into the cool water that felt good against my warm
sun drenched skin. I swam back up to the top with thoughts of wonderment and shock running through my head. As I reappeared at the surface of the water gasping for breath I yelled “MA!”

I looked in her direction and she looked so young and carefree, bent down at the knees hysterically laughing. She stood upright and said, “Sorry sweetie, I got caught up in the moment. I got carried away,” and with that I saw her leap in the air, form a ball with her body and cannonballed into the lake beside me, her splash soaking my face.

Back at the cemetery while lost away in thought, the rain began to rain down on me.
  The tiny droplets haven’t touched my skin in years and the coolness of them sent shivers down my spine.  But, I stayed there. I didn’t want to let go of the memories that were flowing through my mind.  It began to come down harder, soaking my hair and seeping into my clothes.  The tears that were cascading down my face mixed with the raindrops and dripped down to the ground. But, the tears were not all due to sadness, there were happy ones forming, also. There was happiness due to the presence of my parents and the fact that even though they weren’t around I was still able to receive advice from them, “I’m going to live, Ma.”

I was on my knees with my hands over my face crying in the pouring rain with my hair and clothes getting soaked when suddenly the raindrops stopped.
  I took my hands away and was surrounded by a hue of red and looked up.  There was a red umbrella blanketing me and protecting me from the showers being held by Pops.  He lifted me up and put his arm around my shoulders and said, “I’m proud of you.”  Then, he led me away. “Let’s go this way.  I want to introduce you to Eleanora.” 

****

That night I was fast asleep in my bed until I heard Diablo whine for the third time this month.  Each time before I would wake Pops up when I heard it and each time we found nothing.  This time, I ran to my door and looked down the steps and saw nothing.  Then, I glanced at Pops’ door and saw his head peeking out also. 

“It’s about time you heard it,” I whispered across the hall.
  We both exited our doors and he stopped at the closet to retrieve the umbrellas that we used the last time and walked down the steps in search of an intruder.  We walked the same path as we always did and came to the same conclusions again.  We didn’t find anyone.  But, when we made our way back to the front door, we noticed it was ajar.  So, we decided to call the cops this time.

It was
4:30 when the cops showed up, eight minutes after we called them since a trooper was policing the neighborhood right down the street from our house.  Deputy Johnson showed up, he’s a friend of Brian’s from high school, and he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.  But, he did mention that when he turned down our street he had passed a car, a silver Chevy Lumina driving away from here.

“Did it have a black stripe going across it?” Pops asked as I looked at him suspiciously.

“Yes it did. Do you know someone that drives that car?”

Pops waited for a second and started to chuckle then turned to me and said, “Molly.”

“Are you going to stop talking to her now?”

16

Kitchen Counter
II

    
The doorbell rang as I was busy in the kitchen, so I had to stop what I was doing to go answer it.  During the day we never locked our doors because there was always someone coming and going; now we lock our newly changed locks because the intruder freaked me out.  I opened the dark brown wooden door and saw Skylar’s face on the other side carrying a pizza from our favorite place.  The house was empty besides us; Pops was on a date, shockingly.  Thankfully, it’s not with Molly.  He went to lunch with Florence again.  I have my fingers crossed for that relationship to blossom.  Florence wasn’t annoying as Molly and from what I know she has never snuck into our house, which is a plus in my book.