TWO ADOLESCENT FLAMES PLANNED TO MEET IN TIMES SQUARE A DECADE LATER — INSTEAD, A CHILD AROUND TEN YEARS OF AGE APPROACHED THE GENTLEMAN THEREThey were parting ways at the senior ball, clasped hands, tears welling, knowing their youthful love was drawing to a close. Her family was relocating overseas, and this was their final instant together.”IF WE EVER DRIFT APART, PROMISE ME WE’LL MEET ON CHRISTMAS EVE, A DECADE HENCE, AT TIMES SQUARE. REGARDLESS OF OUR FUTURE COMMITMENTS OR LIFE CIRCUMSTANCES. SIMPLY TO CONVERSE,” she said, her voice wavering. “I’LL BE HOLDING A YELLOW UMBRELLA. THAT WILL BE MY SIGNAL.””I PROMISE,” he said, clasping her hand tighter. “TEN YEARS FROM NOW, CHRISTMAS EVE, TIMES SQUARE. I’LL BE THERE LOOKING FOR THE LOVELIEST LADY WITH A YELLOW UMBRELLA, COME WHAT MAY.”A full decade went by, and they did drift apart. One day, her correspondence ceased arriving.Now, here he was, standing in Times Square, surveying the multitude of Christmas revelers for a person bearing a yellow parasol. His heart pounded with each fleeting moment.Then, he heard a tiny, high-pitched voice from behind him. “ARE YOU PETER?”He spun around to see a young girl, perhaps a decade in age, clutching a yellow umbrella.”SHE’S NOT COMING,” the girl said, gazing downwards with sorrow.”WHO… WHO ARE YOU?” he asked, his voice a mere breath.”I’m Lily,” she said softly. “My mommy is… your Sarah.”
Peter felt a jolt, a strange tremor run through him. Sarah. The name, a whisper from a lifetime ago, echoed in the cacophony of Times Square. “Sarah… your mommy?” he repeated, his voice barely audible above the festive hum.
Lily nodded, her small hand gripping the handle of the yellow umbrella. “She asked me to bring this. And to talk to you.”
“But… why isn’t she here?” The question tumbled out, laced with a confusion that was quickly turning into a sharp pang of disappointment. He had waited ten years, navigated a decade of life’s unpredictable currents, all for this moment. And she wasn’t coming.
Lily’s gaze shifted towards the swirling crowd, her expression thoughtful. “Mommy says… life takes us on different paths. Like rivers flowing in different directions, even when they start together.” She looked back at Peter, her eyes surprisingly mature for her age. “She’s happy, she told me. She has a good life now, far away. But she never forgot you. And she wanted to keep her promise, in a way she could.”
Peter’s heart, which had been pounding with anticipation, now settled into a slower, steadier rhythm. Disappointment still lingered, but it was softened by a strange sense of understanding. Life paths… yes, he understood that all too well.
Lily reached into the pocket of her bright red winter coat and pulled out a small, square envelope. “Mommy wrote you a letter.” She handed it to him, her fingers brushing his. The envelope was plain, cream-colored, and simply addressed: “Peter.”
He took it, his fingers trembling slightly. The paper felt warm from her pocket, a small island of warmth in the winter air. He looked down at Lily, searching her innocent face for more answers.
“She said… she always remembered Times Square, and the yellow umbrella. She said it was a beautiful dream, that promise. But dreams change, don’t they?” Lily tilted her head, as if genuinely seeking his opinion.
Peter knelt down, bringing himself closer to her level. “Yes, Lily,” he said gently, his voice thick with emotion. “Dreams do change.”
Lily offered a small, tentative smile. “Mommy said to tell you… she hopes you are happy too. And she hopes you find your own yellow umbrella in life, someone who makes you happy now. Someone real.”
He looked at the yellow umbrella in Lily’s hand, then back at her earnest face. It wasn’t the reunion he had envisioned, but it was a reunion of sorts. A closing of a chapter, perhaps, but also a gentle opening to something new. Sarah, wherever she was, had remembered. She had sent a part of herself, a message of remembrance and well-wishes, carried by this small messenger with the yellow umbrella.
“Thank you, Lily,” he said, his voice clearer now, a sense of peace settling within him. “Thank you for coming. And please tell your mommy… thank you too. And tell her I wish her all the happiness in the world.”
Lily beamed, a bright, genuine smile that lit up her face. “I will!” She turned to leave, then paused, looking back at him. “Oh, and Mommy said… keep the umbrella. As a memory.” With that, she turned and skipped away, disappearing into the festive crowd, the yellow umbrella a fleeting splash of color against the backdrop of Times Square’s vibrant chaos.
Peter stood there for a long moment, the letter clutched in his hand, the echo of Lily’s words resonating in his heart. He looked at the departing crowd, at the twinkling lights of Christmas Eve, and then down at the yellow umbrella resting against his leg. It wasn’t the lovely lady he had been searching for, but it was a message, a closure, and perhaps, a gentle nudge towards a future he hadn’t yet imagined. He carefully placed the letter in his pocket, took a deep breath of the crisp winter air, and turned away from the dazzling lights of Times Square, carrying with him not the weight of a broken promise, but the lightness of a memory honored, and a path cleared for new beginnings.