5Parapluie Reminiscence
a brief recollection
He was walking down the street, tired and lost. He couldn't place an exact cause to his disarray, though he knew the reason wasn't because he was somewhere foreign and new or because he had no sense of direction. He was simply confused and uncertain about everything. There were days where everything seemed like a puzzle to piece together or a maze to maneuver.
Today was one of those days.
Although it was not one of the worst days in his life, he felt a void inside him, reaching deep inside his heart. It was as if there was nothing inside him, as if he was a hollow shell. Despite the forecast of sun and brightness, the sky was grey in his eyes, overcast with looming clouds. He had no way to explain his emotions, though he knew he hated the feeling. He hated not knowing where he was in the world. Uncertain what to do, he ambled down the street, focusing on the cold pavement.
And then it caught his eye. It was a small, meaningless object, and any other passerby would see no meaning. For him, there was a sentimental value.
The object before him was an umbrella—torn, battered, long discarded in its old age. Under all the dirt and grime, he could make out a distinct green color. The shade was like a shimmering emerald, and even in the umbrella's current state, the color glowed, mystifying anybody who saw it. The most prominent aspect, however, was the handle—the one part which made the man stop to catch his breath. Carved vines encircled around a cylinder, and combined with the painted leaves, the handle brought a sense of déjà vu.
The man had seen the same handle somewhere before. He was certain of it.
The surroundings around him blurred, and he returned to a time in his past. His father had slammed the doors of their home open.
"I have a present for you," his father had said.
Like any young boy, he had jumped from his bed, eyes widened and mouth formed in a smile.
"What is it? What is it?" he had asked, trying to see what his father hid behind his back.
His wide grin had disappeared as his father displayed a similar umbrella to the one now before him. Still his father had proceeded to explain the merits of the present. There was only a handful of the type, his father had explained. He had rolled his eyes and yanked the object away with a promise to cherish it.
Yet here he was seeing a twin of the umbrella discarded in the streets. Seeing the umbrella surprised him, but it elicited further memories.
He remembered the first time he used the umbrella in the rain. He had to share it with his little sister, only six or seven at the time. Through some childhood fancy, he had run away as fast as his little feet could carry him, while his sister trailed behind him, crying about how he was a "big meanie."
He remembered those days in the park with his family. His sister had forced him to be an aristocrat, strolling through the fields with his sister, parasol in two. Those days and picnics in the park were warm, and he regretted never appreciating those little games he frequently played with his younger sibling. All the memories flowed back to him with great force. All the days of joy, all the days of sadness, all the days of regret—they represented everything the umbrella meant to him. Those days had long past, but the memories grew in his heart, gaining a new significance as the days went by.
He stared at the small item, registering every detail, every groove and every scratch.
For the first time in the entire day, he smiled.
As the man departed from the umbrella and continued home, he wondered about how one insignificant item could hold such importance to him. With his spirits lifted, his mind felt clearer as if any puzzle or maze—no matter how difficult, no matter how hard, no matter how confusing—was not a challenge any longer. As he saw how wonderful his life truly was, he realized getting lost had its benefits after all.
Revised: 11/11/2012