Chelsea Umbrella

I biked by the Toronto Chelsea Hotel in the rain. The awnings collecting beads of water reminded me of a plastic umbrella we had when we were kids. I’m fairly certain it was part of the fateful haul that came into the house along with my step mom Nance, as it’s strange design looked nothing like an umbrella Dad would purchase. It was clear and dome shaped that it’s holder could seemingly drape themselves in. It had a trim made of a patton looking black material all around it’s edges. When I was little I could prop it up on the ground and enclose myself under it’s vinyl barrier… completely. Its strength lied not just in waterproofing, but also in it's ability to unlock a magical escape nearing the heights of Narnia.

As I grew and aged so did the equal parts retro to space age umbrella. Its metal inevitably rusted which made the creases of it’s clear skin go orange.

While knowing my father is awful at throwing things out I biked by the hotel with the memory inducing awning and reflected as one does with stricken by a wave of nostalgia or merely catches oneselfs face in a freshly formed puddle, if I went through his old closet right now would that strange relic still be there? More and more and more of its earthy orange showing, just waiting to be used?