The Umbrella Exchange
A borrowed umbrella moves through an apartment building and returns with a history of its own.
Photo: Unsplash.
The umbrella in our lobby had no owner, only a piece of masking tape that said BORROW ME, RETURN ME.
It was yellow, slightly bent, and too cheerful for the weather. I borrowed it on Tuesday and returned it that evening. On Wednesday it was gone. On Thursday it came back with a new strip of tape: SORRY ABOUT THE HANDLE.
Soon the umbrella began collecting notes. Survived the school run. Visited the dentist. Protected a birthday cake. Somebody repaired one rib with green thread. Somebody else added a duck-shaped cap to the tip.
I started checking the lobby even on sunny days. The umbrella became our building’s least reliable resident and most active traveler.
Then a typhoon warning arrived. By six in the evening the rain was horizontal, the drains were overwhelmed, and the yellow umbrella sat alone by the door. Nobody wanted to risk it.
In the morning, it was missing.
It returned two days later, clean and folded, with a final note: Carried a cat to the emergency vet. Cat fine. Umbrella retired.
The building manager mounted it above the mailboxes. Beneath it he placed a bucket containing three new umbrellas and a roll of masking tape.
The blue one disappeared before lunch.