Umbrellas must be one of the most left behind semi-personal objects a person can carry. Especially when it doesn’t rain often. A place like Binghamton, NY, where it is constantly raining, now this is a different story; an umbrella there becomes as necessary as house keys, as a wallet with some money in it.
When I left my umbrella behind tonight, the merengue music was blasting against the side of my head as I left the bathroom and I had the feeling that something was missing from my person but that something was only semi-important, was something I could live without, the memory of it almost deleting itself from my mind as quickly as the thought I left it behind appeared. I checked my pockets in order of importance: wallet, keys, pen, phone, and as I finished the dance move inherent in patting my pockets for valuables, the bartender, wide-smiled and bending backwards, made my umbrella materialize out of the bottles behind him and said, “Loo-king for some-sing?”