Umbrellas

Water fell aggressively from the sky, as it always did. The belligerent hum of rain was a constant backdrop as we mulled about, living our lives, a constant reminder of the danger always lurking around us. We were never supposed to get wet. We had been told from the moment we were born to always wear a raincoat, always carry an umbrella, and always always stay dry. We lived our lives scuttling as quickly as possible between buildings, constantly terrified that a single drop of rain would touch our skin.

Every day at school our raincoats and umbrellas covered the back of the classroom as the rain pounded on the windows. The teachers spoke over the noise with ease, but their words could never distract us from the constant hum from the downpour. The younger students would always glance fearfully at the windows any time the wind would slam water harder than usual. When I was little, I would react the same. I would glance over at the windows with fear in my eyes, worried that one day the window would burst open and the rain would invade our safe indoor space.

Every year that passed, my fear faded. The rain just became background noise to life. Then, one day, long after I had grown to ignore the hammering on the windows, I happened to glance over at the windows. The water was smacking against them and flowing down, just like they had every day. But on that day, a question popped into my mind.

What made the rain dangerous?

We drank water. We took baths. What made the rain different? I thought back and tried to remember what my parents or teachers or any adult had told me would happen if we were touched by the rain. I couldn’t remember anything. After school that day, I stopped by my teacher’s desk.

“Why is the rain dangerous?” I asked, innocently.

“Don’t waste my time with such pointless questions,” was the only answer I received.

From that day on my curiosity only grew. I was back to staring at the rain tapping on the windows, instead now my gaze was full of curiosity rather than fear. The streaks down the window were mesmerizing. I would watch the rain drops race downwards, combining with other drops along the way. Unpredictable, and enticing. The background noise was now in the forefront of my brain.

Tap, tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap-tap.

The rain had been upgraded from background noise to the soundtrack of life. I would find myself humming a tune along to the beat. I got in trouble many times in class for that. And for not paying attention. But how could I pay attention when the rain was there, right outside the window, begging for my attention.

On the day I graduated, I was walking home with my parents. We walked along the sidewalk, with our raincoats and umbrellas, just like everyone else. Perhaps it was the fact that I had accomplished something as big as getting a degree, but I was struck with a momentary boldness. I reached my hand out to the edge of my umbrella. I was almost touching the rain. My mother’s umbrella knocked into mine as she reached into my space to pull my hand back. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with wide eyes and lips pursed as if to say “Don’t you dare.”

It was that look that kept my hands securely under my umbrella for years. Whenever my hand would itch to venture out from my umbrella, I would picture the fear on my mothers face, and simply grip my umbrella a little tighter. Yet, the rain continued to call to me. I settled for listening to the soundtrack of the rain pattering on windows and my umbrella.

Time passed. Days turned into months, and months into years. The rain still entranced me. Eventually, one night, the streets were still full of people walking along huddled under their umbrellas. Someone knocked my umbrella with theirs as they pushed past me. My umbrella tilted dangerously, but I managed to correct it before I got wet.

However, in the split second my umbrella moved I caught sight of the rain falling in the street light. I stopped walking and moved my umbrella so I could look up at the light one more time.

I don’t remember if I made the decision to drop my umbrella or if it merely slipped from my hands, but it bounced on the ground uselessly behind me. Almost immediately, a crowd of strangers swarmed around me to shield me with their own umbrellas, blocking the rain from my view. This was unacceptable to me. I wiggled my way through the crowd as hands grabbed at me and tried to keep me under the shelter of the herd of umbrellas.

I broke free from the group and ran. The rain started soaking through my clothes and they stuck uncomfortably to my skin, making running more laborious. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. My eyes were wide, whether with surprise at my boldness or excitement for feeling the rain for the first time, I couldn’t tell. I kept running long after people had stopped chasing me. I ran until I found myself standing alone, above the city looking down on all the umbrellas. They flowed down the sidewalks, just like the rainwater they were protecting everyone from. Just like the rain that had soaked into every fiber of my being.

They would never know this feeling. They didn’t want to know this feeling. The feeling of my hair plastered to my head. The effort needed to move as my clothes weighed me down. The slight sting as the rain dripped into my open eyes, forcing me to squeeze them shut as I turned my face upward.

I felt each drop hit my face and roll down my cheeks, and my neck, until they were absorbed by my already full shirt. I raised my hands, palms up, to my side so I could feel the rain hitting more of me. I opened my mouth to taste the rain that had always been so close, but I wanted it to be closer, to be a part of me. As the water hit my tongue I started to laugh. My body shook as my laughter got louder and louder. I laughed in harmony with the song of the rain as the river of umbrellas flowed below me.