When It Rains: The Umbrella Collection (9 page)

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.

“What in the fucking world made you do that?” he asked angrily with one hand on the steering wheel and most of his body turned towards me
.  He glanced back and forth at the road and myself waiting for my answer. But, none came. I sat there looking blankly out the window, mesmerized by the quickly changing scenery and ignoring the impeding conversation.

“Oh, so you aren’t talking to me! Did I throw a hissy fit and decide to blow out your friend’s window? No, I didn’t. You did. You are paying me back every fucking cent, too.”

There was a long pause and I could feel the heat coming off of him because now he was doubly angry with me due to my lack of answers.

“I thought it was someone else’s car,” I stated after I succumbed to his questioning.

“Who’s? Who pissed you off that much?”

“Just drop it.”

“No, I’m not going to just drop it. You owe me answers. If you want me on your side when Mike finds out you better start fessing up now! He is going to flip the fuck out!”

“I thought it was Darren’s!” I screamed

“Darren’s? Darren who?” he yelled back.

“What do you mean what Darren? The Darren that killed your fucking brother, that’s the Darren. What, are they erased from everyone’s mind? Has EVERYONE forgotten about them?”

“Darren Levington?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled as I returned my stare to the scenery outside.

“Why would you think it was his?”

“He was in Marty’s buying fucking beer and potato chips. You know he didn’t even recognize me. He walked right by me and smirked.”

“It has been awhile. Maybe he didn’t even put two and two together. What made you throw the rocks?”

“That dumbass bumper sticker.”

“Huh?”

“What? You forgot about that, too,” I said sarcastically, “Darren had a ‘Honk if you love Pussy
cats
’ sticker on his truck. That didn’t stick to your memory?”

I could see his wheels start spinning and I’m sure his mind was ta
king him back to the court room.  He was always the one sitting next to me when I would go.

“No, I remember.”

I told him how the mixture, of being in his presence and watching him consider his beer selections, pissed me off.

“To say the least,” he added.

I let him know how I backed out in confronting him and how it was something that I have visualized for years.  How I could sit for hours picturing myself screaming or beating the shit out of him and how all I could do was stand there to watch his movements. 

We both sat contemplating the intensity of what happened and after a while he said, “Alright", I’ll let you slide on this one. But, you are definitely paying me back though,” he added with a playful punch.

“Yeah, yeah. I wonder what Pops is going to say.”

“Oh, please. You know he’s just going to laugh at you.”

“Very true,” I replied with a nod of agreement, “You know what’s funny? Darren’s car was only a car away from the one I decided to destroy.”

“You moron.” he uttered with a hint of laughter, “You couldn’t take an extra second to make sure it was the right car?”

We sat again in silence, but no longer was there heat looming in the air from his anger. It seemed cooler and there was a slight smirk to his face.

“You know, I’m really going to have to reevaluate my friends. That
IS
a really dumbass sticker!” he said with a chuckle.

“I completely agree!” and before I finished that sentence, my happy expression became contorted as John pressed down twice in the middle of the steering wheel, ‘HONK, HONK’.

“Ew, you are so disgusting!” I said shaking my head as John laughed heartedly.

7

A Peach Colored Room

   
When we got back to the house, Mike, Pops, Brian and Alex were all sitting in the dining room eating dinner.  I noticed there was half eaten plate that looked abandoned with a fork lying in the middle of the mashed potatoes that were occupying the surface.  That must have been John’s plate and Richie’s call interrupted his dinner.

“Why the hell did you run out of here like that?” Mike asked John

“Hey, we were wondering where you were at?” Brain said to me when he looked up from his plate of chicken.

Neither John nor I answered the questions directed at us.
  We both stood in the arched doorway of the room, looking like we had something to tell them.  John then looked at me with annoyance, “So, are you going to tell them or do I have to?”

They all dropped their forks and sat back in their chairs waiting for words to fly out of my mouth.
  I hesitated in giving my answer.  I didn’t know how they were going to react or if they would even understand. John got it, but would they?  After a few seconds of silence Pops got uneasy, “Nora, What happened?”