The Yellow Umbrella

Chapter Nineteen: Yellow Threads and Surprise Boxes

TW: SUICIDE

Three and a half months and a couple weeks on crutches, and I was finally walking on my own again. It wasn't like I could run a race, I had to rest a lot, but it felt so good to have a little freedom again. After the whole disappearing scenario, my dad insisted I talked to someone. So once a week, I was supposed to see a therapist. I avoided going at all costs. I hated the thought of sitting on a couch, across from someone who was ready to dissect my feelings and thoughts. It was a waste of money because we already knew the answer the therapist would give us: I was depressed and guilt ridden.

Who knows, maybe if I had gone to therapy, I would have been a whole lot happier and accepted what happened wasn't my fault.

But at the time, I didn't want to do anything. It all felt too hard.

I ended up staying home, missing just about every last rite of passage a teenager was supposed to experience right before college. I would never get to eat dry chicken at prom and rent an expensive tuxedo. I would never get to see my parents' proud faces as I accepted my diploma, followed by the valedictorian speech I never gave.

I even deferred from NYU.

I couldn't just decline my offer of acceptance. Before Mia, NYU was my biggest dream. It was supposed to be the key to open the door to my life in New York City. Everyone in high school thought I was city bound, little did they know I was still in bumblefuck New Jersey. It was too hard to decline, so I lied and said I was taking a gap year. I wasn't actually going to go to NYU in a year. I had other plans.

It was on a particularly uneventful day in October I found this sudden urge to go through the things my parents salvaged from my truck. I couldn't imagine what they saved. All I had in my car was stale french fries and loose change under the seats. I glanced at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It was nearing noon. My mom was out grocery shopping. As for my dad, well he was back to work the second I was home from the hospital. Someone had to pay for my bills. Crawling out of bed, I stepped Crackers, who was basically glued to my side after the accident, and seated myself at my desk. It was messy, scattered with half written screenplays, book ideas, and poorly drawn doodles.

It all seemed so meaningless now.

Placed on top of the mess was a cardboard box. My name was written on the side in permanent marker, as if someone would walk in my room and mistake the box as theirs. I took the lid off and peered inside. There were only a few things in there, a couple of scratched CD's, my tattered NYU letter, a cup of loose change, and some unreturned books from the school library.

It all meant nothing to me until my eyes caught Mia's umbrella.

I stared at that yellow umbrella for a really long time. I wanted to pick it up, but I was scared that if I did, it would disappear like she did.

She must have left it in my car on Christmas. I guess it slipped underneath the seats and had been hiding there all that time. It was one of the few artifacts I had left of her, reminding me she was once real. It wasn't in the best condition, I was surprised it survived the accident. A few yellow threads poked from the ripped seams.

That's when I realized it.

A yellow thread.

How did I not put two and two together sooner? It all made sense now. My sadness was replaced with rage. The anger fueled me down the stairs and in the garage. I looked for the car I didn't have anymore and thought for a moment, even though my thoughts weren't really coherent. There was a skateboard in the corner missing two wheels, a scooter that housed a family of not so friendly spiders, and then my eyes fell on the bike. The bike I thought I would never need. I mounted the tacky green contraption and sped out of my driveway. I turned onto the street in my stained pajamas and unwashed hair on a mission.