When It Rains: The Umbrella Collection (6 page)

“Hey Bud, you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled underneath the blanket.

“We have to head to the cemetery soon.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I really think you should go.”

I sat straight up in bed and pulled the blanket off my head, “Everyone looks at me.  Everyone touches me.  I don’t want to see them going into the ground. I’m not going!” I said loudly.  Alex saw the tears, which welled up in my eyes while I laid down, stream down my cheeks.

“Okay.
  I’ll stay with you,” Alex sadly spoke and he got up and walked out.  I didn’t want to see where they were put to rest.  To this day, I still haven’t seen it.  I laid sunken into my bed while Alex sat in a chair in the corner as he read the newspaper for the rest of the evening.  The soundtrack for the rest of the day was embodied by the sounds of the raindrops hitting the willow tree outside my window, the noise the newspaper pages made being turned and the low sound of the my whimpers that I tried to hold in.  My heart felt hollow and achy, empty of all its contents making it burn with loss. 

I stayed in bed for days; Pops brought me my food, Mike and Brian would alternate carrying me to the shower and waited until I was done to carry me back, John came in and told me the gossip of everything that I had missed around town.
 

About a week and a half later, I exited my room for the first time.
  I sat on my bed in a daze only to become jolted out of it by fits of laughter and music that came from downstairs.  After the fifth time of this happening I decided to check it out. As I descended the steps, skipping ‘Diablo’, I followed the sounds and quickly realized that they came from the dining room.  Through the smog of the cigar smoke, the vapors of alcohol, and how the dining room table was moved outside only to be replaced by two smaller round tables, I realized that it was poker night.  At one table sat Drew, Elijah, Colin, John, Alex and Brian.  Colin was half way standing up in his chair with his index finger in the face of Drew angrily, while the others sat there laughing like hyenas.  The second table consisted of Pops, Mike, Evan, Brady and Pops’ brothers, Charlie and Sammy.  Charlie talked everyone’s ears off, like he so often does, about how he can barely hear because of a bomb that went off close to him while he was in the army and how the explosion made him so discombobulated that he walked right into a tree making a branch fall down and hit his head, so he was knocked out, woke up and couldn’t hear a thing.  It is a story that we all have heard a million and one times.  Sammy is the exact opposite; he hardly ever utters a word.  I thought he was a mute for the longest time until when I was about five years old and I fell off my bike and he ran over to ask if I was okay. 

I stood at the doorway, silently watched the scene in front of me.
  My lips birthed a smile at the sight of these men, men, that even at a young age; I knew that they were, at that moment, my whole life.

“Charlie, are you telling the bomb story again?” I eventually said with a slight roll of my eyes in a pretending matter, making the guys all turn to look at the doorway.
 

Smiles emitted from their faces as their eyes lit up.
  Pops, with a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth, yelled over the noise, “Hey, Nor!  Come join us,” and he waved me over with the one hand and in the other he held a deck of cards.  I walked, pushing away the smoke that lingered in my way and pulled a chair in between Charlie and Sammy. 

Sammy just nodded his head towards me, but Charlie on the other hand said, “Yes, I was telling that story, again.
  You know the blast went off….”

“Only four feet from you,”
 I helped him finish.  He looked almost shocked that I knew how that sentence ended and he was about to open his mouth again, but Mike chimed in.

“And you ran into a tree, and then a branch fell and knocked you out,” he said.

Charlie gave Mike a snotty look and was about to again say something, but the boys at the other table beat him to it and all together chanted, “It wasn’t so much a branch, more like a mini tree.”  Charlie looked peeved as everyone laughed at him.

“Tough crowd,” he grumbled.

Pops dealt the cards out and everyone anteed up, including me being that Pops taught me how to play when I was six.  Sammy pushed some of his chips my way so I could join in. And, like he always does, Charlie took a peek at my hand.

“Stop it,”
 I commanded and he giggled.  Charlie is over-the-top in everything he does.  He constantly talks, sings, he will stop anywhere at any time and do a little jig to make you laugh and it works every time.  He looks exactly like Pops.  Come to think of it so does Sammy.  Not only does Charlie’s dancing ability set him apart from them two, but also in his attire.  That man loves a plaid pant.  He has them in every color.  His shirt and shoes don’t always match them, but his fedora hats do every time.  Sammy is more like Pops in his outward appearance, the basic button down and a nice pair of khakis or jeans.  “Seriously, stop it, Charlie!” and I shoved him further away from me. There was uproar at the other table.

“John!
  You stole my chips!” Elijah yelled.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.  They were sitting right here.” he said jumped up and leaned towards John, trying to grasp whatever it was John was trying to hide in his hand. “Give me them.”

“Fine, you baby.
  Take it,” and he handed it back to him a bit roughly.

“If you are going to cheat, you should really learn how to do it better,” Alex contributed to the argument.

With our attention fully back at our table, Charlie and Mike had already folded.  “Alright, what does everyone have?”  Pops asked and the table put down the cards showing everyone else what they had.  Pops had a straight, Sammy had three of a kind and I placed my hand down and I showed the table that I had a straight flush, winning the pot.  I threw my hands up into the air with excitement and then placed them over top of my winnings.

“Hold on one second,” Pops said as
he got up out of his chair.  He walked out of the room leaving me with my body laid across the table anticipating his return.  He made his way back through the doors and to the table.  “Here.  Why don’t you take these instead?” and he placed a small box on top of the pile of chips in between my hands.

“What is it?”

“Open and you will see.  You can have the chips, too,” he replied as he put his cigar back into his mouth and Mike began to shuffle the cards.

I sat back in my chair and opened the box.
  There inside, was my Mom’s gold necklace that she wore everyday and my parent’s wedding bands with the inscription “Two peas in a pod” etched inside them.  That was an ongoing joke with them since the first day they met when they finished each other sentence.  In fact, I heard Dad say it to Mom the day the incident occurred.  We were in the kitchen and I said something about the sun shining through the window into my eyes and they both began to sing ‘Good Day Sunshine’ out loud at the same time.  Then he said “See, we are still two peas in a pod” and playfully slapped her in the behind. 

I slid the two rings onto the necklace and attached it around my neck and there it has stayed since that moment.
  I didn’t know whether or not to cry with sorrow or rejoice that I had something that was important to them.  The tears were winning until I looked up at Pops and he smiled at me knocking the tears back down.  I returned the gesture and we carried on with our poker game.

  Darren had a squeaky clean record; he had never gotten in trouble with the law before that night.  I pleaded with Pops and whoever else would listen to let me go into the court room.  They constantly threw my age into the reason why I shouldn’t go, but eventually my pleas worked and I went in. I couldn’t miss that much school, but I was there often enough.  I sat right behind the D.A and stared right at Darren.  I knew everything about him; His left pinky finger would stand straight up in the air when he covered his eyes when photos were shown.  He would fidget in his seat when anyone mentioned my parent’s names, Joyce and David, aloud.  He would perk up in his chair, lean forward and tilt his head ever so slightly whenever pictures of his beloved pickup were displayed.  Much like him, I covered my eyes when they showed photos of my parent’s car. I have never seen them and hopefully, never will.  I have examined the pictures of his truck though.  For a while I was fascinated by it, the mangled mess of canary yellow would grab a hold of my sights and hold them captive.  The hue of the yellow was the exact shade of the shirt Dad tried on when Mom and I called him a bumblebee.  It has haunted me since.  I thought it was the universe trying to tell me something, something I should have seen and begged them harder to stay, an omen of sorts.  But, I was too blind to see.

I sat there not because I liked it, but because I felt it was the last of them.
  It was the last thing that happened in their life and I needed to sit there for them.  Granted, my parents probably wouldn’t allow me to be there, but Pops is easier convinced.  At the sentencing, I sat in between Mike and John and they both grabbed my hands.  I didn’t understand the intensity that the sentence would affect me back then.  I thought if he was found guilty then, great, but now I realize that it’s not only the ‘guilty’ part that counts.  The duration of that sentence matters, too.  He received 15 years in prison and got out in 11.  He moved into the same River Road house that he lived in with his parents before his imprisonment.  The house sits within the same town that I live.  He goes to the same stores as me, enters the same movies, walks the same streets and breathes the same air.  I have a habit of searching every car and every face I come in contact with to see if it is him.  My fear is that one day I will come in contact with him and I don’t know how I would react.  Will I confront him with full fury?  Will I break down and cry?  Will I grab the sharpest thing near me and attack?  He, also, lost his license for six years, probation for ten and had to do 75 speeches to schools about the dangers drinking and driving.  My parents can’t breathe anymore.  Not exactly justice.

5

The Rose Garden

   
I can hardly breathe!  I have to calm down. If I keep breathing this heavy there will be no air left.  Where am I with all this dirt around me?  Am I buried alive?  What is happening?  Oh my God.  I can’t breathe!  I can’t swallow! What is that beeping?

I awoke and flung myself half off my bed making the pillow that laid on top of
my face fly across the room.  I took notice of the that was wrapped around my neck
.  No wonder I couldn’t breathe
, I thought to myself as I untangled that one and the ones tying my legs together.  My heart was pounding and I was trying to catch my breath when I heard a beep indicating that my phone had a voicemail.  I must have had a restless night’s sleep.

“Get up you worthless piece of shit. You should have just died like you were about to in your dreams,” the
voice
called out.

I got up to check my phone that was in a pair of jeans that I threw off last night, forgetting to take it out, I noticed that I had several text messages from Skylar and shockingly, Lauren, along with a few new voicemails.
  I decided to check them first.

The first one was from Skylar, “Hey, it’s me.
  Give me a call as soon as you get this.” I erased that message and went to the next one, “Hey, it’s me again.  Just trying to get a hold of you because I have to tell you something.”  As I pulled the phone away from my ear to erase that one I wondered what was so important.

I moved on to the next one.
  This time it was Lauren, “I can explain. Please call me back. Bye.” And another, “I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.”

The final one was from Skylar again, “Me, again.
  I’m coming over.”  I looked at the time of that call and it was five minutes ago, so I called her back.

 
“I’m right down the street.  I’m going to stop by,” she said as she answered on the first ring.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll be there in a second,” and she hung up.  I was swimming in bewilderment, wondering what it was that she needed to talk to me about and what Lauren needs to explain and apologize for. 

Before I responded to Lauren, I decided to talk to Skylar first.
  I had a funny feeling they were related somehow and I headed downstairs to get a cup of coffee as I waited for her to show up.  I had my mug in my hand when she let herself into the front door and yelled for me.

“I’m in the kitchen,” I replied.

She walked in and she had a look to her face that only suggested that she was pissed off about something.  Her lips were smushed together making them barely visible.  She threw her keys down on the counter by the phone and jumped up to sit on the counter, “Listen, we need to talk.”

“Obviously.
  I’m assuming that it has something to do with Lauren.”

“Yeah, and you can add Adam to the list.”

“What do you mean?”  I said, slowly pulling the coffee mug from my lips and placed it down on the counter.