My last semester, I started a few short stories in this one class and was gravitating to this one and wanting to continue on with it. If you like to read, please let me know what you think of it so far: Mask Behind the Umbrella In the city, I keep walking. I was walking to find him. I don't know where he can be. I'll keep searching for him, though, given that I don’t know who he is. But at that moment, after we got off the subway, he took my breath away. For the first time in my life, I felt shivers run down my spine when he held a yellow umbrella over me. The rain was pouring like cats and dogs, but I had to sneak a peek at his face, but the fog was also wavering. The umbrella was also covering half his face, but I bent over and caught a glimpse of his green eyes; they looked familiar. Before I could say thank you, he had disappeared. All I saw was his back walking up the stairs. I was breathless, trying to cope with what had happened. Why did he give me his umbrella? I thought about following him, but until I decided to, my mother's voice popped in my head: “Flies will follow you. You never know when to leave something alone. Always looking for an adventure.” I only look for an adventure when I know it’s wanted. The rain began to settle, and it drove me to search for him. This time, wanting is a need. I need to find him and confront him. Yeah, confront him. The rain clouds will help me. I mean, they are the reason he left me the umbrella. I walk past children leaving school with wet paper hats, and I see their joyous smiles looking up to the gray sky, the droplets smacking onto their faces. I’m scanning through the city, trying to find green eyes, and children are laughing like they’re rising from a pool on a summer day. Passing the children, I still had no trace of him; the fog was thickening and the raindrops were beginning to race again. I would give the kids the umbrella; about five of them could've fit under it, but how would I confront him? I needed the yellow umbrella; it was the driving force through the city. My eyes began to blur; I lost count of how many steps I had taken and which part of the streets I had circled over and over. I made my way to a corner street, and I trusted my gut and decided to make a left turn. I remember him wearing a black leather jacket, but I don’t recall his hair or anything else. The rain was smacking harder and I decided to use the yellow umbrella, hovering over my drenched head. The air was beginning to smell like rotting soil, so I decided to breathe through my mouth. As I kept walking, I saw a woman hanging her laundry on a clothesline outside an apartment building. My eyes narrow, and my feet can’t help but walk towards her. Maybe she would be able to help me, but my mind was focused on why she was hanging clothes out in the rain, and at this time heavy winds flew by. The trees began to dance back and forth, and as I got closer to the woman, a few of the clothes were not staying on the clothesline. I hastily walked up to her and asked if she needed help, and she nodded. As she was placing the remaining clothes on the rope, I was keeping still, and the fog was diminishing and the rain slowed down. The woman must have needed the rain to rinse the clothes because I noticed soap on them—the scent of lavender hit my nose. “Are you from here, this street?” I shook my head. “No. I’m looking for someone. He—he gave me this umbrella at the bus stop. Before I could’ve talked to him, he seemed to have run off.” I gestured toward the yellow curve tucked under my arm. "I’ve been walking around the city for over an hour, and I wanted to return it to him.” I wish I had followed him instantly, because he didn’t live that far from the bus stop; I roamed around for hours. The woman tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her eyes. “That sounds like Emmanuel. I’ve seen that yellow umbrella many times. Always has it on him.” My heart skipped, and my stomach felt like it was going to drop; that name sounded familiar; I’d heard of it before, but I didn’t know anyone named Emmanual; I didn’t know anyone who wore leather jackets. “I mean, I didn’t get to see his face fully, but he was wearing a black leather jacket.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “That’s Emmanuel, all right. He actually arrived home almost an hour ago.” She pointed to the window on the third level facing the street, and she said that is his apartment, the first door on the right from the staircase. “Go on, and give him the umbrella,” in a smirky tone. I walked toward the building and went up the stairs. The clouds started to part and the blue sky was peeking through; the rain wasn’t clouding my ears anymore. I was starting to hear my own thoughts again. Should I go through with this? I should just leave the umbrella and walk away? But I wanted to know why he gave me the umbrella when there were three people next to me who needed one. I was frozen before the door; the hallway window was hinting at a light shadow on his door; the sun must be coming out. Before I knocked, the knob twisted and he stood before me. I swallowed hard and my eyes were about to pop out of my skull. “It’s you! Sammy?” He was looking at my damp hair and the umbrella under my arm. “So, you finally found me,” he said. #shortstory #writing #writingcommunity #writer

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