A Thousand Words

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Whenever I look at a balloon, I wish I could be one. I wish I could fill myself up with helium and soar up to the clouds and float along the wind. Gravity is my worst enemy. I hate jumping up and knowing I have to go back down. Just for once, I wish I was the exception to the rule. I just want to taste the sky and feel the sun burning against my skin.

My friend Melody was never a dreamer. Whenever I see a balloon and go into my delusional fantasies, she always shakes her head in shame and yanks me in the opposite direction before I can get carried away. Whenever she does this, part of me always wonders what happened to her to make her shun daydreams and fantasies. She seems almost sad when I see a balloon, full of remorse for some unknown reason.

The question is always at the tip of my tongue, but always goes unasked. I don't want to upset her. My curiosity always burns like a fire though. I've always had too much curiosity for my own good, but after so many times of it getting me in trouble I've gotten used to ignoring it.

Melody has a trampoline in her backyard. It's always a bittersweet experience when we use it. It's almost as if I get my wish for a moment, and I'll just keep going up and up until I reach the stars. But eventually my body always plummets back down with a sickening twist in my stomach and I feel like a failure. Melody always notices my frown and shakes her head in shame again. It kind of hurts a little.

Melody may not support my daydreaming, but at least she understands it. My parents just plain don't get it. They look at a balloon and see a small ball of gas. I look at a balloon and see a door into a world that has never been discovered or explored, and I want to be the first one to open that door and step into a universe beyond my wildest imagination.

We live right on the beach, and it's probably my favorite place to go. Hearing the waves lap at the shore, I can at least be content with the fact that I am closer to the sky than the fish are. I can close my eyes and imagine how trapped I would feel underwater, and then open my eyes and smile as I realize I am still above land and not a part of those terrifying waves.

The only thing I hate about the beach is seeing seagulls. They get to soar in the sky like I want to so desperately. They don't appreciate how lucky they are, they just make noises designed to torture those less fortunate than them. I find it rather ironic that they prey on those in the water, and therefore probably wish they were closer to the water more often. I'd gladly trade places with them if the universe would only allow it.

I suppose I'm just a helpless dreamer. That's what I am, and that's what I'll always be. But I don't really mind. I'd rather be a helpless dreamer than a hopeless realist like Melody.

Melody always says that with my head in the clouds all the time, I should be a pilot. She's wrong. I could never be a pilot. I'd absolutely loathe being so close to the sky and being trapped in a plane without being able to actually reach out and touch it. I don't want to just be close to the sky, I want to be a part of it. I want to be smothered in it until I can't breathe and fade away. I can't think of a better way to die than in the sky, in the heavens, wrapped in clouds like a blanket.

When I was little, my grandmother gave me a locket in the shape of a heart with wings on it. She said if I listened to my heart, it would find somebody who could make me fly. At the time, I thought she meant it literally. I started running around the playground asking everybody if they could make me fly. Not surprisingly, I didn't find anybody.

But I'm still looking, and I hold that locket with me always. If my body can't fly, I'll at least find somebody who ensures my heart can. I can't completely fly, but part of me can, and eventually will. Somehow, I'll find someone that makes my heart beat out of my chest and up to the clouds, where it belongs. It might take a while, but it will happen. Eventually.

Melody doesn't seem to believe in love, either. Whenever I mention it, she scoffs and rolls her eyes. Her eyes glaze over with pain if I start going into more detail, so I never do. I only dare mention love in passing to Melody.

But when Melody isn't there, I think about it often. I'm thinking about it this moment, for example, as my hair whips everywhere in the harsh wind. Even under the umbrella, I'm soaked to the bone in the pouring rain. I'm all alone, and my black hair hitting against my face seems to reflect the mood of this place too well.

Nobody seems to want to visit my grandmother's grave with me anymore. They say it's too painful. I'm not sure whether their pain comes from knowing she's dead or from knowing how much I miss her. Either one could be the reason, I guess.

I cling to my locket as I place a fresh bash of flowers on the grave and kiss the stone with her name on it. "I'll listen to my heart and make you proud, Grandma. I promise."