The Day Roger Forgot His Umbrella

Not surprisingly, Roger loves The Weather Channel. There's a TV in his office just for pure weather enjoyment. When most of his colleges are glued to C SPAN, Roger's tuned into Local on the 8's. Ask him what the weather is going to be a week from Tuesday and he'll give you the forecast without missing a beat. He's not a meteorologist by any means, he only repeats what the people tell him. When they're wrong, he's wrong. They say it's going to be sunny with 30% chance of precipitation and then we're hit by a thunderstorm and Roger is screwed (in his own mind of course).

This is why Roger always carries an umbrella. He switches between the stately European gentleman umbrella that doubles as a walking cane and the fold into microscopic, fit in your front pocket umbrella. It depends on what the actual forecast is and how many meetings he has in a particular day.

The day Roger forgot his umbrella, the forecast did call for rain, which makes it even more amazing that he didn't have it. He told me that it was a normal morning. His alarm went off at the regular time, his toast didn't burn, the shower ran out of hot water as he was conditioning his hair like always. He had his briefcase ready the night before and even spent the normal five minutes looking for his keys. He just failed to pick up an umbrella on his way out the door. Later that night, when he eventually made it home, he found both sitting in their normal spots to the right of the door, between the wall and sideboard.

It wasn't until lunchtime that Roger realized his mistake. He was leaving to go down to the corner deli, turned off the TV (Weather Channel, of course), checked his back pocket for his wallet, cell phone in jacket, keys in left hand, reached for his umbrella with his right...it wasn't there. But it was always there leaning against the wall. Roger told himself to take deep breaths. Maybe the weather people will be wrong, maybe it won't rain that afternoon.

He walked to the corner deli, looking at the sky every few steps, assessing the clouds like he knew what he was looking for. After successfully making it to the deli and back, freaking out inside the whole way, he arrived back at the office feeling like a champ. He had gone out without his umbrella, and survived! He felt liberated. Maybe he wouldn't need to bring his umbrella every where he went. Maybe this was the beginning of a braver man.

His new high lasted all through the afternoon and into the evening. Colleges noticed his change in attitude and commented on it to each other. Most assumed that he had some cocktails with lunch. He was feeling good, walking with a bit of a swagger. I even noticed it when I came into his office.

It was kind of a big night. We were driving up to the town where we went to school, to the restaurant that we once worked. It was a bit of a tradition for the group of us that worked there together to reunite once a year. Most of us were still friendly enough, but I didn't keep in contact with the others the way I did with Roger. Two of the other waiters had married, one had gone into the Army, most went on to various careers (architect, teacher, and I think one is a stripper though she won't admit it), and others are still working there.

We walked out the building and were okay for the first couple blocks. We were talking about the latest company to dump waste into the local lake and what the EPA was not doing and the new boots I bought. It wasn't until we were almost to Roger's building and parking garage that it started to sprinkle and then the clouds let loose such a downpour that it was impossible to believe it hadn't been raining mere minutes before.

How to even describe the look of horror on Roger's face? The man was in agony. He looked down at me for only a moment before he threw his briefcase over his head and began to run. He bolted into the street, crossing four lanes of traffic without care for the cars and trucks barreling down on him. A symphony of horns pierced the air. I ran into the street following as best as I could. One car was unable to stop all the way and hit Roger against his legs. He fell onto the hood, denting it, but to my relief got up and continued to run.

He had almost reached the sidewalk. I was only a few steps behind trying not to call his name, yelling only for him to stop. He couldn't have seen the bike rider. By this time it was raining so hard the world was gray. She didn't see him until the last possible second. He was about to step onto the sidewalk. She swerved to avoid hitting him and instead struck the curb. Tumbling heels over head, she hit the sidewalk and the blue mailbox perched on the corner. I held my breath. She got to her feet before I even passed her. Thank goodness for the bright red helmet on her head. She had a scrape down one cheek and was holding her arm, gingerly raising her shoulder as I ran by still chasing after Roger. (Don't think we just forgot all about the bike rider. There was a newspaper article, so small if we hadn't been searching the papers we would have missed it. It was barely a paragraph about the storm causing minor accidents. In one little sentence wedged between two different car accidents where no one was hurt, it mention one Barbara Coughlin who's bike was totaled when she swerved to avoid a pedestrian fleeing the rain. I happen to know that Barbara was the lucky recipient of an anonymous cashier's check that more then enough covered the cost of a new bike).

We ran until we reached the parking garage. Roger dove through the garage door. I tried to be a little more cavalier about my entrance, trying to draw as little attention as possible. I peeked my head through, looking to see if anyone was coming after us or staring at the door with too much curiosity. I drew back when I heard pounding steps coming towards us. A man with a newspaper over his head, collar up, was running by looking miserable. It made me realize that despite the spectacle that just occurred, most would assume it was someone wanting to get out of the rain and nothing more. They couldn't know what it was really about. Not a chance.

Roger was hiding behind a neighbor's mini van when I located him. His keys were at his feet. Without a word I picked them up. I rode the elevator to his floor, let myself in, and went into the bathroom. I grabbed all the towels he had. I started at the bathrobe hanging by the shower door and grabbed that as well. Carrying everything in my arms, finding my way by looking to the side, I went back down to the lobby level, took the hall to the garage, and found Roger still in the same place. I dropped the towels at his feet and speaking for the first time, told him I meet him back up in his apartment.

It was a good fifteen minutes before Roger come in. He was in his bathrobe, carrying a bundle of towels. I couldn't help but notice the outer towel was dry, everything must have been wrapped up nice and tight. I handed him a mug full of coffee that I had made while waiting. We still didn't speak.

Roger changed his clothes. I touched up my makeup with what I had in my purse and used his hairdryer. My jacket was soaked and my hose ruined, but my clothes were otherwise unharmed. We went down to his car, drove up to our college town, We still didn't speak even during the hour car ride. Roger, seeing me down a drink as soon as we got there, sipped on one gin and tonic the whole night. We had a lovely time, that I can remember.

I was nicely drunk by the time we left, so drunk I ignored everything that mattered and talked instead about the girl that I was sure was an exotic dancer, about how the one married guy grabbed my ass, and how much I did not miss working there. I passed out before we were even half way home.

And Roger and I didn't talk for over a week following the day he forgot his umbrella.