The Woman under the Orange Umbrella

by Chris Quinn

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Dwendle Pruitt wasn’t gay. But there were two very good reason why he was 43 years old and not married. The first was, of course, that his name was Dwendle, a cruel joke played on him by his parents. The second reason was that he was painfully shy around women.

He was so shy that, when a high school junior, he tried to ask a girl from the 10th grade to go to a school dance, he broke out in hives. But he had adjusted to this fault in his personality and made a good life for himself as a junior executive accountant at a very nice manufacturing firm.

It was only after he had gone seven years without taking a mandatory vacation that the senior executive accountant came to him and strongly suggested that Dwendle take some time off. His suggestion was so strong, in fact, that Dwendle had the choice of a vacation or a new job. He took the vacation.

“Go to the beach,” said his boss, so that’s where Dwendle went. He packed up a bag and drove to a hotel that looked out over the beautiful blue ocean. He slabbed on the sunscreen and, on top of a large beach towel with a smiling purple shark on it, parked himself in an open spot on the sand.
That’s when he saw her. She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful. In fact, she looked like a few pounds in the right places would have enhanced her womanliness. And her nose, although elegantly Roman, was a bit on the prominent side. But what grabbed Dwendle’s attention around the neck and shook it was the fact that the woman was wearing a bright orange two-piece bathing suit that perfectly matched her bright orange beach umbrella.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. In all fairness to Dwendle, it must be admitted that he tried. He put his paperback detective novel up to his face, but he kept peering over the top of it. He lay on his stomach to give his pale back a little tan, but kept cricking his neck to look.

After about three very difficult hours, something extraordinary happened. It might have been the heat. Or it might have been all the negative ions that are said to be in the air by the sea shore. But, whatever it was, something snapped in Dwendle’s brain.

He gathered up his towel, his book, his sunscreen, his water bottle, his sunglasses, his flippers, and his nose plugs and walked over the woman under the orange umbrella. When he was within six feet of her shade, he stopped. He could feel hives beginning to form under his skin, but he cleared his throat anyway.

“I…I couldn’t help noticing,” he stammered. “How well your umbrella matches your bathing suit. What a lovely shade of orange.”

To his surprise, she took off her sunglasses and smiled at him. “How sweet,” she said. “My name’s Murbleena. I know it’s weird, but that’s what my parent’s named me. What’s your name?”

Dwendle smiled back. For the first time in his life he said proudly, “Dwendle.”

They both laughed.