“Can I please share your umbrella?”- a short story from Rain(Van)couver
The first drizzle of September. A surprise to the senses which went dormant for the past four months in warm and bright summers of Vancouver. The bus was unusually full. Many new faces as the city is always in a transition. Young immigrants flock from all over the world in hopes for a new world full of opportunities as an ageing country bids adieu to its elders. Thursday evenings aren’t busy in transit at this time of the year but when it rains. I was on the way home. Tired from work, I dream of summers and next year vacations. Soon my thoughts slipped towards hopes of being served warm supper as soon as I reach home . Making my way through a long queue of commuters, I found a standing spot on the bus with just enough space for my wet umbrella.
It was already 7 and the sun had set. The sky still poured with no relief from the fury of rain Gods. My stop arrived and I accidentally jumped into a puddle which brought back the memories of childhood. Relieved, as I wore my rain boots that day, I walked out of that moment towards home when I heard an innocent request from behind. “ Excuse me, Could you share your umbrella with me, please?” Surprised, I looked behind but he was already walking along side me. He was a young gentleman, just out of his teen years, but too tall to be a Vietnamese. I obliged. “ Yes, please come”, I said with an inviting smile. Excited, I invited him to come under the umbrella. He looked the same age as my elder son. Bright eyes, full of aspirations, warm demeanor, gentle and full of energy.
We walked the next few hundred meters sharing the umbrella. An international student, he had arrived in Canada three days ago and was confident enough to ask for help in a foreign country. I can’t imagine my 19 year old self, asking a stranger for help in a far-off foreign country. I do not say this out of fear of not speaking the language but I would be too shy to talk to a stranger. But this young boy made me feel envious.
The intersection before my home arrived. I wished I could walk him to his home but this young gentleman lived a couple of blocks away. I felt sorry for him. Before bidding me adieu, he thanked me with a warm smile, covered his head with his loose jacket and walked briskly towards his destination while I watched him, standing in the comfort of my house door canopy. He left me with the thoughts about my sons. “I wish my sons grow up to be like him,’’ I said to myself. I am confident that I have raised them to be kind, loving and confident no matter which part of the world they are in. This young stranger left me proud and with good memories.
P.S. the names in the original story have been kept anonymous at their request.
