The Time That It Broke
He had just wanted to look at it— just for a second. That was all, he kept swearing to himself as he stared at the umbrella where it sat on the bed with huge eyes that swam with tears.
It was stuck.
It wouldn't close.
He had opened it for a minute— day with it, pretended Boris was there with him whispering those sweet nothings after he had a nightmare— then when he tried to close it, it wouldn't budge.
He was terrified that if he pulled too hard it would break even further. He was terrified that if he was too rough it would just snap and the last thing he had left of Boris would be in two pieces.
So he stared at it for a long time, from the other side of the room, unable to force himself to move. He was hardly breathing. He wondered if he left it for long enough if it might fix itself.
But that was silly, he told himself with a slight shake of the head. He took a deep breath and decided to ask Hobie. He was good at fixing things. He might be able to help.
So he picked up the umbrella gingerly, heart leaping into his throat as it brushed the doorframe, almost too big to fit through. He carried it down the stairs and into the storefront, then down further into the workshop and found his friend sitting at the bench examining a piece.
"Hobie?" Theo asked, but his voice came out as hardly a whisper. He swallowed thickly and tried again, struggling to hold back the unnecessary tears. "Hobie?" he said, louder this time, and the tremor in his voice was clear.
The man looked around, and when his gaze settled on Theo, his eyes widened. He was by Theo's side in an instant, taking the contraption that was being shoved into his arms and staring down at it with a confused expression as the teen began to cry.
"I need you to fix it, Hobie," Theo said shakily, cheeks becoming slick with tears. "Please. I need you to fix it for me. It's stuck. It's breaking. Fix it."
Hobie looked it over and Theo looked over him— He knew Hobie didn't like when he hung over his shoulder, but he couldn't help it. He hiccuped occasionally, sniffled, and coughed.
Then, after what felt like ages, Hobie turned back around with the closed umbrella all wrapped up and closed. He handed it to Theo, who clutched it to his chest tightly, breath coming out in a sharp, relieved exhale.
"It's just gotten a little rusty on the inside," Hobie explained. "How old is it?"
"I-I don't know," Theo stammered. "But I haven't used it in four years. I just— I opened it to see if it still worked." He hesitated. He probably sounded crazy. "I got it when I was staying with my dad," he said. "I just don't want to break it."
"I understand," Hobie assured him. "It should be okay now. The joints just needed a bit of un-sticking. Okay?"
It meant, Are you okay now?
Theo sighed, squeezing the umbrella and nodding slowly.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you, Hobie."
"Sure thing, kid," the man said, and Theo felt his eyes on the back of his head as he scurried back up the stairs.
One thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't going to let the same thing happen again if he could help it.