Umbrellas and Pearls

My day started like any other, with talking cats and raining pearls. 

And no, not the kind from your grandmother's necklace. These are imperfect, not quite a circle, discolored, and considered not ‘good enough’ for fancy necklaces. 

They’re my favorite. 

People don’t like it when it rains pearls and I don’t get it. It’s much better than when it rains big, heavy stuff like wheels and microwaves. One time we had an aluminum storm! The electric currents had us holed up for two days. I went stir-crazy, but at least Mittens and I were safe. Sure, raining pearls might be a nuisance, but it’s definitely not as bad as raining trains. 

Just, don’t be dumb, and remember to bring an umbrella. You can go about your completely and unequivocally normal day with an umbrella.

“Do you plan on going outside today?” asked Mittens. Agile and lithe, he hopped onto the stool beside me and licked a paw. 

I gazed out the large window of my studio apartment. Luckily for me, there was a drop in prices recently, otherwise, I would never have been able to afford rent in a place like this. 

“I did plan on going to the bank,” I admitted. 

“Oh,” he groaned obnoxiously. “How dull and boring. The bank,” he mocked, twisting his whiskers. 

I smiled and gave him an affectionate scratch behind the ears. 

“It’s never boring when it rains pearls,” I said, and I genuinely believed it. Watching the iridescent orbs falling was mesmerizing. Especially if there was a break in the clouds and they caught the reflection of the sunlight perfectly. I’m weak in the knees just thinking about it.

“Are you thinking about pearls catching the sunlight again?” Mittens asked with a certain look of criticism. 

“What? No! I’m just-” My cheeks felt warm. “Nevermind. I’m heading out and just for that I will not return with smoked tuna for dinner!” 

“Hey, wait! You promised!” he cried after me, but it was too late, I was already out the door with my trusty umbrella. 

Pit, pit…pit…pit, pit, pit…pit…pit, pit.

The pearls hitting the umbrella created a non-rhythmic pattern of music. It jumbled, jostled, and jumped to a beat of its own. I loved the sound and left my earbuds in my pocket; I could listen to normal, boring music any day. Besides the battery was almost dead and with the amount of pearls it was raining, electricity would become a precious commodity. 

I continued down the path toward the inner city. Pearls rolled along the cobblestones and got stuck in the cracks, while most were pulled into the drains like raindrops. A few stones were loose, but I knew where to put my feet. Along the sidewalk vibrant green grass grew, overlapping the edges of the concrete. The pearls did that, among other things, causing the city flora to flourish. The grass was greener, vines climbed higher on building walls, and the leaves on trees grew bigger. 

I’m not sure how, and I doubt I ever will understand it in my lifetime, but the pearls made things grow. Not metal things like buildings or other objects; those stay the same. Things that already have life: plants, animals, people, etc.

Okay, people don’t grow- well maybe children would grow a couple of inches, but I have yet to see it, but the pearls did make people feel better. More alive and energetic. At least they do for me. 

As the pearls rained I reached out and let a few pool into the palm of my hand. Each shone a slightly different shade of pearly creams, and each was a slightly different size and shape. All beautiful and unique in their own way. I couldn’t help but smile and feel invigorated. Part of me wanted to pocket them, but I knew if I started I would never be able to stop. An apartment so full of pearls they reached the ceiling didn’t seem practical.

The twenty-minute walk to the bank was uneventful. Everyone, including the city critters, had found shelter and I didn’t see anyone until I reached the inner city. There was Franklin in the window display of his store, his perfect figure sporting the latest fashion of a Hawaiian shirt and shorts for the forever summer weather. It wasn’t the best suited for today’s rain, so I laughed and waved at his silliness. 

Then there was Mary in the small courtyard by the old church. She stood, tall and proud. Without an umbrella, the pearls pittered off her head and pooled at her feet. She didn’t seem to mind and her smile remained frozen to her face. Her skin looked gray and a little cold, making me pity her for forgetting an umbrella. If I found one at the bank I would give it to her. 

With the bank in sight, my step quickened. There were always good things at the bank. The door was locked but I knew the code. After opening the complicated system I slipped in inside. The lights were turned off, but there was enough natural light for me to see everything displayed on the shelves. Rows upon rows of non-perishable food items, clothing, and kitchen supplies. Anything one could need in an emergency. 

I fill my pockets and a bag with everything I’ll need for the next week or two. I can always come back whenever I need to, and I try not to think about what will happen when the food bank runs out of food. I grab the last can of the smoked tuna for Mittens. He’ll be happy. 

Once done, I leave, ensuring to lock the doors behind me again. The pearl rain has slowed to a soft drizzle and I feel less guilty for not finding an umbrella for Mary. She doesn’t say anything about the rain, her statue-like figure enduring the pearls with grace. 

Franklin doesn’t comment on my overstuffed pockets either, which is both relieving and unsurprising. I don’t think he’s ever been able to move his porcelain face. 

Once home I cook the tuna for myself and Mittens. He likes it more than I do, but it’s a home-cooked meal and I can’t complain. 

You know, I wasn’t sure where I was going with this when I started writing, but if you, dear reader, ever find this, please know I want you to take away two important things. 

1. I have hope that I’m not the last person on Earth.
2. I love it when it rains pearls.