Umbrella Girl

By Natasmi

Umbrella Girl has been through many lives before - ones she couldn’t continue on living. Ever-changing, she believed she could never settle for the linear narrative of life ; growing old and letting the world take its course on her was never quite her style. She stood in front of the Grey Building, with an umbrella that weighed her down. A stranger she could trust came into view, and she finally had the courage to ask for help. I’ve only lived once, and I’m determined to make this life count. I floated by with routines and deadlines, while she did whatever made her world brighter.
“Can you hold my umbrella?”
The day she asked me that fateful question, I knew everything would change. While orphaned twins try to follow the straight lines set by their late parents, an unexpected fox-like visitor comes back to fill in the empty gaps of our lives, a hall of mirrors, another fiery incident that leads to another crash, as panic of losing more loved ones emerges. There are giants in the sky, days go by with rain and puddles. The only thing protecting her was a single umbrella, as her multiple lives danced around her, anticipating her next move.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Jan 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781543767261

Natasmi

Natasmi started writing short stories at the age of 9 years old with the encouragement of her grandmother. She began writing Umbrella Girl at age 15 and finished it at age 17. This is her first novel. She has just finished her IGCSEs and is now doing her A-levels for literature, law, and psychology.

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Copyright © 2021 by Natasmi.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Can you hold my umbrella?

Different Routine

Little Family

The blue door

Motions

It was a special night

Close the door

A girl named Blue

Another dream

Easier for her

Be careful

A short life

Know my name

There are giants in the sky

Smallest teacup

First date

The end of a colour

Sinking fuel

The Shadows of Men

What a short life

Just Christmas

Reflections

Similar

Tinker Bell

Colour theory

Descending four-leaf clovers

History only repeats

Umbrella Girl

The stranger you could trust

A pair

Swan Lake

Almost there

My life and yours

The difference between understanding and accepting

My father

Almost over

No longer Umbrella Girl

Afterword

Acknowledgements

All you need in order to write a book is; the Docs app,

imagination, basic writing skills - and a grandma that has

been encouraging you to be an author since you were 9 years

old. Thank you for being my number one supporter, Nenek.

There is also commitment and hard work in writing

stories. This book, my first book, took 3 years to

finish. I learnt this special set of skills from my mother

- the strongest person I know. Thank you for pulling

me back to earth before I floated up too high.

Also thank you, Atuk, for buying me all those storybooks

when I was younger - even when I never asked for them.

Thank you to Zainul Hawani Ahmad for editing

my book, and being the first person to read it.

This book is dedicated to my relatives who have

raised me, Aunty Tia, Uncle Ameen, Aunty Nurul,

Uncle Iqbal, Uncle Ju, Aunty Sheera, Aunty Sha.

As well as to my significant other who was always

there to juggle ideas with me - and who had comforted

me every time I suffered from writer’s block.

Thanks, Miki.

And finally, to the man that never got to grow old.

I wish you could be here.

Can you hold my umbrella?

W hat an awful thing it is to forget how to dream.

How can you possibly fall asleep without the melody of a non-existent world to invite you in? To lull you into slumber as a herd of sheep jump over picket-white fences, their snub noses up in the air towards the boy on the crescent moon, as the purple-spotted cow next to him, howling against the opaque night sky. Dreams, oh, dreams. They make you wonder if there is beauty in the illusory.

Umbrella Girl came to me last night. She wore a dress, the colour of fields of lilac. I tried to take her hand in mine, to see if she was real. To know that she was once real.

Unfortunately, my aching palm only went through hers, a translucent being that felt like cold silk. My disappointment only made waking up feel like a life sentence.

At least I was real to you, wasn’t I? I said, attempting to put on a genuine smile.

The most real.

I knew she lied to make me feel better.

Are you happy now? I asked my final question.

Umbrella Girl gave me a fleeting stare.

I woke up before she could answer.

Let us start our journey, from the first encounter.

With a painter’s brush, the colour grey splashed across the sky, splotchy and rushed, as dark clouds formed in a hazy lush. Women and men hoisted their umbrellas upwards to protect themselves from the watery pearls descending from above. Shadows loomed against the tall buildings of workplaces and apartments. Some people looked gloomy and dull themselves as if the weather had the power to change the once bright face of a person into a pale comparison. However, some small children wearing their yellow raincoats stood longingly for the raindrops to start. Their plastic boots, squeaky clean, prepared to get splashed by murky water.

With my own umbrella in hand, I got ready to leave the grey building before it rained too heavily. I was a few feet away from the exit when a hand grasped my arm.

I paused mid-step and turned around, only to find a slender girl staring up at me. I recognized her instantly, she was the new intern the company had taken in. The first time I saw her, she was looking around the office area at all the small cubicles; the workers in each one of them - who were either talking to one another, working or drinking their morning coffee while they sorted out some paperwork. I thought she looked a bit nervous, but when I stared a bit longer, I realized she was looking at everything with a type of curiosity, as if the things she saw were all new to her.

Can you hold my umbrella for me?

She asked, her hand still holding my arm.

Why? You seem capable enough to hold it yourself.

Although her frame did not reveal an ounce of muscle, it surely would not be that hard for her to hold her own umbrella.

I can only hold up my umbrella for only a little while, and I’m scared the winds would grow stronger and my umbrella would fly away. The handle is made out of heavy wood, you see - and sometimes my grip is really bad and the umbrella would be swaying until I finally have to let it down or it falls on its own.

Why don’t you get a lighter umbrella then?

Because it’s my mother’s and I promised her when I left home that I would use it on rainy days. Please could you hold it and walk with me to my house? I only live a couple of blocks away from here.

I looked up at the big clock above the receptionist desk. It was half-past six and I needed to rush back home to cook dinner for the kids. I looked back and was about to say Sorry, I can’t, but she was staring at me with her Bambi - like eyes, daring me to say No, to reject her.

I let out a sigh. Fine, give me your umbrella and hold mine, will you?

Her lips widened into a smile showing off her annoyingly perfect straight teeth. Thank you!

I opened up the umbrella as we exited the building. The winds were already picking up and the sky seemed to have gone darker. She ducked under the umbrella and huddled closer to me - so close I could smell the rose spray in her hair. With the guidance of her pointing and tugging my arm across the streets, past the unusual amount of cafes lined up right next to one another, the little bookstore with a blonde cat sitting on the other side of the window staring at passers-by, down a hill with small 3 storey apartments on the right side of it, a left taking us through stalls and vendors, and finally another left, leading us into a quiet neighbourhood with a cobblestone path and tall trees looming all around. The houses were mostly identical except for one - her home.

The front of it had yellow-painted wooden steps leading up to a light blue door with a wooden knocker on it. There also laid a welcome mat which was mostly covered by fallen leaves. She lived in a narrow 2 storey building with two rectangular windows on the top floor.I wondered if she was the type to open her windows every morning to soak in the fresh air. A pot filled with soil sat next to the blue door. Her front yard looked tidy and clean with fresh cut grass, as well as a tree growing on the side.

Are you able to take care of yourself now?

She smiled and nodded. Thank you, again. I really appreciate it. She opened up my umbrella and handed it to me at the same time I closed hers and handed it back.

I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

I nodded. See you.

She walked up the yellow steps, some raindrops fell on her, though she did not give them any sort of reaction. I could have left then, knowing that she was safe on her doorstep. But I didn’t. I stood there watching her as she fumbled for her keys in her little small pink bag and when she finally managed to find it, she turned around and looked at me. She grinned. She had a witness to her small victory.

I lived in a nice neighborhood. Not too far from her place too. Streets just as clean, lined with trees to shade you from the rare occurrence of sunlight in the evening. The houses may be small, neighbors might be a little nosey, but I’ve come to adore every part of it.

The sky cleared up when I finally reached home. Instead of a shower of heavy rain, tiny teardrops greeted me. I closed my umbrella by then and let them fall on me, splashing on top of my head, wetting my hair ever so slightly, some of them fell right on my forehead, slowly sliding down my temple, then the length of my nose until they hung on the tip of it. Some stranger might mistake them for snot if they did not look closely.

When I entered my home, the television was on and all the lights were off, the only light source came in the form of a blue hue emitting from the moving-picture box. In front of it stood an old slightly battered couch, where a small figure lay, sleeping. A pair of circular glasses lay on the floor next to them.

I gently shook her awake. Emily, what do you want for dinner?

Her eyes drifted open. Well, you’re back home early.

Sorry, it was raining.

There was no point in telling her.

During that time, I did not think how significant the girl with the umbrella would be to me.

I’m fine with anything. Emily yawned, sitting up and putting on her glasses. Where’s Michael?

I don’t know. Can you find him for me? I have to go cook dinner.

She nodded, but did not get up.

Tiring day? I asked pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Very. She won’t look me in the eye.

It’s okay. I held her hand. It’ll get better.

She looked at me. She did not believe what I said to be true - she never did back then. She smiled at me anyway. You mean that?

I do. I mean that more than anything.

Her smile widened. I’ll go find Michael now.

She met the dark night, with only the glow of street lamps and the lights emitting from the windows of the neighboring houses present. Her brother would usually be back during this hour. Maybe he had lost track of time? He always seemed to.

In a blink of an eye. She would say every time she wanted to get something over and done with. It always helped her.

Time does move very fast. In a blink of an eye, she would have found Michael. In a blink of an eye, they would be sitting at the dinner table together eating whatever food laid before them. In a blink of an eye, she would be brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed. She longed for sleep to take over again. However, in a blink of an eye, it would be morning and she would have to wake up and get dressed for school. Then, she had to do everything all over again.

As she walked down the street looking for a sign of her brother, she could not help but to take a peek through the windows of each passing home. Some were well-lit, looking through dining rooms, with families eating hot meals and conversing in an easy manner. Some looked into living rooms with families eating pizza while watching television together. Each home held such a warm glow.She’d sometimes catch a face or 2, either the child or the parent, each one held the expression of contentment, as if everything was balanced. Brows relaxed, backs leaned back, as eyes rested upon the faces of love ones. She wondered, if someone were to look into her own home, would they see what she saw in theirs?

Soon enough, she found her brother walking towards her looking like he had come from the neighborhood before them, wearing a brown hoodie she bought for him on their birthday last year, a can of beer in his hand. Not surprised, yet she was still disappointed.

She stopped walking and waited for him to get closer. Though he did not notice and walked past her, brushing his shoulders against hers.

Michael. She said trying to grab his attention as she walked alongside him. Didn’t you see I was right there.

Red eyes met hers. Oh, you’re here.

Where were you? You didn’t go back to -

I did. He began to walk faster, not caring if his sister could keep up. Now don’t start your lecture, I’m trying to sober up before I get back to the house.

They had this conversation before. And each time it made no difference. No matter how much she pleaded and begged, it only became a waste of breath. It was like she was talking to a statue the whole time. Even angels could not help.

He’s still going to notice the smell of your breath. She commented, looking around to make sure none of the neighbors were looking. Can you throw that beer away, please.

It’s not beer – well, it was until I drank it all. He held it up to eye-level, rolling it around with his fingers. Now it’s simply an empty can filled with absolutely nothing.

Put it down! Can you at least be a little more discreet around here?

Being discreet is for the weak - like you.

Emily rolled her eyes, itching to grab the can out from his hand. You’re under aged - do you realize that?

It seemed those words did the trick. He lowered down the can and hid it in the pocket of his hoodie.

Satisfied, she didn’t have anything else to say to him. They continued walking together until they reached their house. The steps of the front porch creaking under their weight and the single wooden armchair outside collecting dust. Emily wanted to stay outside longer, to look out in neighbours’ windows to see what they were doing. To see normal families. To ignore the stark difference between theirs and hers.

It was not raining today. The sky was as clear as blue-stained glass, white fluffy clouds hovered above our heads. There was not a single evidence of last night’s storm. Everyone’s mood seemed to lift as well, men and women chattered with their friends as they walked out of the building, their mouths moving faster than their legs. I stood outside, leaning against the wall near the entrance of the building, for the first time dreading to go back home. I was sure the twins would not mind my being home a bit late today.

I never minded taking care of them. I only wish things are easier for them.

A raven flew over my head, its shadow zooming past, crossing the road in front of me and finally settling down in a tree. From my view, the raven seemed to have disappeared, hidden behind shades of green.

I wished I could be a raven.

When I got back home, Emily and Michael were fighting. She stood a few feet away from him, shouting and cursing. I have never seen or even heard her scream like that before. Michael was holding a cold can of coke on the temple of his head. I could see a dull red slowly drying, his knuckles bruised and his face stoic - emotionless.

I told you to stay away from them! Emily shouted trying to hold his arm but he shrugged her off. Why won’t you just listen? I know I’m not ma or pa, but I’m your sister and I want you to be safe. She paused and stared at him. Are you even listening to me right now? Can you please listen to me!

Listen to what? You nagging and nagging? I made a mistake, got into a small fight with some bigger kids. So what? I’m fine.

Well I don’t like the people you hang out with. They’re bad news and it’s plain enough to see. She nodded towards his forehead. Can’t you find new friends?

Can’t you mind your own business?

Do not talk to me like that!

Then stop bloody nagging! I’m sick and tired of it.

Well I’m sick and tired of your getting into trouble - drinking and now you’re getting into fights?

It was a mistake.

What if the cops showed up? You could’ve gotten arrested.

Well I didn’t. He started walking away, up the stairs. His eyes closed as if in deep concentration, but I knew he was having a headache - either from the injury or his sister.

Emily did not stop him. Instead she walked into her bedroom - a small broom closet. Her eyes droopy with the loss of energy.

They both did not see or hear me. I came into the house as an invisible witness to their little scene - like always. They do not hear me close and lock the door, or when I pop in ready-made meals into the microwave, or when I start vacuuming the narrow hallway. Whatever I do, they do not see. They are stuck in their own misery.

The sad thing was they were both happy and bright kids. I remembered babysitting them when they were six and teaching them simple maths. They picked up faster than I expected. Both seemed to agree with one another over everything. Whether it was if they should eat ice cream for dinner or how to solve a Rubik’s cube. They were a team.

Their parents were smart too - both doctors. Which meant they spent most nights in the hospital. I barely saw them having time to interact with their kids. All I ever saw them in were their scrubs.

I remembered once, the twins turning around in their sleep one restless night, begging for more stories or anything really to keep them awake. Their eyes still wide even though I knew it was a strain for them as they did not take their afternoon nap.

Now why don’t you two want to sleep? I asked, closing one out of five story books they had begged me to read for them.

The two looked at one another before answering. We want to wait for ma and pa.

You know your parents always come home late. They might not even come back until morning.

But we want to see them! They wailed, streaks of tears already streaming down each of their small faces.

Oh, don’t cry. Ma and Pa will come home really soon, I promise. I pulled them both into hugs knowing their snot would stick to my new shirt. How about I call them and you guys can talk - just for a while of course because they’re very busy.

Their crying turned into small sniffles after that.

I rang up the hospital because I knew they probably did not have their mobile phones with them. As I waited for the receptionist to get their parents, Emily and Michael were already starting to doze off - eyes half-closed and heads drooping down like dying flowers.

Hello, is everything alright at home?

Yes, everything’s fine… the children won’t go to sleep though - they really miss you guys. I gave the phone to Emily and Michael, putting it on speaker.

Ma, when can you come home?

I am afraid, very very late. Sorry darlings, ma and pa miss u so very much.

We miss you too. Did you know I scored a hundred percent on my maths test?

Me too! Emily added.

That’s amazing. My two little Einsteins … I’m so proud!

What are you doing now?

Oh, nothing - just the usual work. Now, you both best get off to bed. I promise, we will be home by the time you wake up.

But that’s what you said last time -

I know darlings, but we both will try our best this time. I have to go now, I love you. Goodnight sweet dreams.

Goodnight sweet dreams. They yawned sleepily.

Not too satisfied with the outcome, but too tired to care, they finally got into bed.

I switched off the lights.

Different Routine

E veryday was the same. Until she came tapping on my shoulders, holding an umbrella.

My day would start with noises coming from downstairs of Emily and Michael getting ready for school (sometimes I would only hear Emily). I would get up and shower, brush my teeth, get dressed and prepare lunch for the two of them. Breakfast was usually toast and melted cheese - or sometimes plain bread. When the kids get on the school bus, I start the walk to the usual grey workplace. I start walking at 8 and I am there by 8.30, ready to start working at 9. What is my job? I would not be able to explain it even if I tried. Lunch would be around 12 and instead of going out - or be invited out for lunch by co-workers - I stay inside my little cubicle doing more work while nibbling two pieces of bread that I brought from home. The day would pass by and suddenly it was 5.30 in the evening which meant I no longer legally had to be there. Nice and simple. Sure it got boring and tedious doing this for 5 days every week, but the pay was decent and I needed the money for the kids.

I was used to this routine. The cycle became something I did not mind doing.

Living in this loop did not feel at all strange to me - because everyone did the same run - except for her.

Umbrella Girl always came in with a confident stride, as if she was not in a room filled with high-status people who unconsciously looked down on interns like herself. There seemed to be music playing in her head, only proven by the soft humming she would make while preparing coffee for everyone else, a new dress and colour presented itself every morning, slightly clashing with the usual grey and brown attire of the people around her (myself included). Lunch time either meant going to the downstairs cafes or sitting in her small desk doing more paperwork. When a heavy task was set at hand, the poor thing would lose her rosiness and slump down like an unwatered plant. One might think the Grey Building had finally captured another prey, yet she still comes in the next day unperturbed. She came in with different hairstyles, a different outlook to the day. The routine she followed was the same as the rest of us, except she didn’t fall inside the loop. She implemented something new each day.

It was another dreary and drizzling evening when she approached me again - with the same heavy wooden-handled umbrella.

Hello. She said smiling, her dimples deep. Would you mind holding my umbrella again?

I hesitated. This was the first time we had interacted in two weeks after the last encounter.

Well… I don’t think. I mean I do think… But- I have to hurry back home… Hurry back home you see…

Her smile wavered and her dimples disappeared. Oh. Yeah - I get it. I shouldn’t have expected you to do me another favour. I’m sorry for bothering you.

Before I could respond, she started walking towards the open doors, lifting up her umbrella ready to open it. Her grip was already tight as she struggled to hold the umbrella upwards, until she stepped outside causing a few drops of rain to fall on her. When she finally managed to open it, the umbrella tilted to the right and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught and steadied it back up.

She stared. Her eyelashes wet from the rain. I thought you had to hurry back home.

I shrugged. I saw you were struggling.

Her smile came back. I seem to always be struggling.

Aren’t we all?

We began walking and since I vaguely remembered the way, I no longer needed her to point or direct me as much. Instead, we opened our mouths and began talking.

So how long have you been working for the company? She asked.

A few years now, I think.

Do you think you’re going stay longer and make a career out of this?

Well I’m not in love with this job, it pays well, I suppose.

How old were you when you first started working there?

20 years old, I think.

She stopped walking and turned around to look at me. 20? 20?! I’m 20 right now and I can’t imagine working any longer there.

I shrugged. It’s not like I like it that much, but like I said- the pay is good and at the end of the day it’s enough for me to survive.

We began walking again, silently this time. Both lost in our own thoughts.

So, if you had the choice - what would you have wanted to be instead? She glanced up at me.

I have never really thought about it. Ever since I have taken the job offer and stopped my studying when their parents passed away - all I have ever known was them. All I ever thought and did was all for them.

I’m not really sure how to answer that. I said, I gripped the handle of the umbrella harder - trying to find some stability.

My life changed the moment I signed those documents to be the legal guardian of Emily and Michael. I could still remember how sweaty my palms were.

Well, what did you like to do?

Friends and not-so-closed relatives were patting me on the back and saying how good I was … how I was so so kind. No one else would have done it and the kids needed someone. Even then, I did not feel qualified myself.

It’s stupid. I tried to convince her,

What exactly is stupid?

It’s really stupid.

And what exactly is really stupid?

Seeing how determined she was to know, I told her.

Dancing. I liked dancing, okay.

My last show was packed with people, strangers, students, my mentors, some family, mostly friends. Still, my eyes were stuck on the two twins who were cheering the loudest for me. I came on stage tap-dancing, my heels going click-clack-click, but I could barely hear them through the drumming in my ears. My movements were swift and steady. All I wanted was that they would never end. I liked the feeling of feet tapping, how my arms would move to the beat, the way my body swayed and the feeling of eyes gazing at me in amazement. I knew I was good at it. People knew I was good at it. They knew I would have gone far and actually made a career out of it…

What kind of dancing?

I used to do tap. It was fun. I shrugged as if it wasn’t something important.

It used to be.

Why did you stop then?

The lights dimmed and the curtains fell, and everyone’s faces disappeared behind it. All was still. I stood there and waited as the adrenaline slowly dissolved into the silence - until there was nothing left except me. I wish I hadn’t stopped.

I had to.

Cold. Her body shivered as another wave of icy water hit her. She could barely cry out. Her mouth hung open slightly, breathing in and out as her nose could not seem to provide air. It felt like drowning. She didn’t know what was happening to her.

Every cell in her body wanted to scream out until they tired her lungs - the silence ate her in the dark. The only thing she could do was to look in front and see her own pale reflection through wet lashes.

What an ugly creature. she thought.

That was all she could see. A figure who seemed to have protruding bones instead of limbs, soul-less dark eyes,scraggly hair, chapped lips that gave an ugly sulk, and goosebumps in every bodily skin surface, as if she was always cold.

Maybe she was. Cold.

Time seemed to have played tricks in her mind. It seemed to have sped by, she did not even know where she was or how she ended up there. She could hear the distant sound of the clock going tick tock tick tock - mocking her as she sat there laying dumbly looking at herself. Every feature didn’t seem like her own anymore. What happened? It was as if she had fallen asleep and woke up five years into the future, without ever growing any older . . . or happier. It felt like sleepwalking. Or even dreaming.

Another wave of cold hit her, it ran through her body in spine-chilling shivers sending her into such a dark empty space that she could hardly find the ground. Her reflection disappeared and was replaced by pure blackness. Raging colours appeared and they danced in front of her, creating a show that seemed to be moving faster and faster. Visions of red, yellow and blue mixed in front of her. She wanted to touch them. When she reached out with her hand - they disappeared… and soon she was staring at herself again.

However, this time, there was a noose around her neck.

We were getting closer to her home and the sky started to clear. I could hear the birds singing their light songs again from above. They somehow reminded me of a past I could not recall.

She must have heard the birds too.

When I was younger, I loved Disney princesses. My favourite was Giselle. She could talk to animals, you see - and I know most of the princesses could - but the way she talked to them seemed different. I can’t really explain it myself.

A yellow bird flew by and perched itself on a little fence next to us. Its head cocked to the side as it stared.

I always wanted to be like Giselle. She continued. When she sang, birds and other animals alike listened. So, I sang too … nothing really happened. The birds only stared back at me.

I chuckled. You must’ve been a very interesting child.

She smiled. Well I’ll have you know I’m a very interesting adult as well.

I don’t doubt that for a minute, seeing as you can’t even hold your own umbrella.

It’s not my fault I was born with weak bones.

Either way, you better thank whoever you believe in that I’m here to help you.

Ahh, yes. She spun around ; stopping me in my tracks, staring straight into my eyes. Thank you so much for being a decent human being.

I grinned. You’re welcome.

From that day onwards, I suddenly found myself being wrapped around the wooden handle of her umbrella. On every rainy day (which was almost everyday around here), I would be walking her home. Some days we would only speak a word or two to one another when we did not feel like talking. It wasn’t awkward, not even a little bit. It gave me comfort ; walking, huddled closely together under an umbrella and hearing the soft splatters of rain. However, most days (especially when she felt very talkative), we would have debates about why there were so many cafes lined right next to each other and