Speck in the Sky

I’m afraid of balloons. Go ahead, laugh all you want.

But to be more specific, it’s not really balloons that I’m afraid of; it’s more so the act of watching someone let go of a balloon and seeing it float up to the sky. Call me crazy if you want to. I’m not denying the fact that it’s a ridiculous fear. But it is a fear nonetheless; a phobia, if you will.

I know the difference between a fear and a phobia. I know that a phobia is a hell of a lot more serious than a simple fear. I know that phobias are serious enough to affect a person’s daily life. Let me tell you, this fear, this crazy fear of balloons that I have, it’s a phobia.

It’s recently come to my attention that these “loose” balloons always appear overhead at graduations, no matter what kind of graduation it is. Even if it’s an indoor graduation, you’ll surely see a balloon in the sky the minute you walk outside. It’s true. But I think it’s one of those things that you don’t really notice until someone points it out to you.

There were plenty of loose balloons at my preschool graduation, the place where I believe this fear—this phobia—developed in the first place. I remember that stupid dance we had to do—man, I hated that dance—and afterwards we were called up one by one and handed a diploma and a balloon. I loved balloons back then, and as you can imagine, I was more than ecstatic to be getting mine. I held onto it happily, smiling wider than I ever thought possible at that age.

And then we were told to let go of our balloons. Somehow, though, I didn’t hear that part. So I just stood there holding onto my balloon and grinning like a maniac until my teacher came over and pried the thing out of my hands.

Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration. But I was three years old, and that’s how I remember it. Feeling like an idiot, I stood there and watched as it floated beyond my reach, higher and higher into the sky, until tears flooded my eyes.

Now, when I agreed to go to my friend’s cousin’s graduation today, I wasn’t thinking about balloons at all. I was just looking to have fun spending time with my friend. But as soon as we got there, I noticed that the girl standing in front of me was holding about five balloons. They didn’t bother me at first, but then she let go of one.

My heart nearly fell right out of my chest, I swear to you, and as much as I wanted to, I could not take my eyes off of that balloon. My stomach must have tied itself up into twenty different knots while the dreaded thing slowly floated upwards. I felt my chest closing in. My breath nearly stopped. My palms and my scalp and my forehead were all damp with sweat, and I assure you, it was not due to the incredibly hot weather. For one thing, heat doesn’t make me sweat. It never has. I don’t know why.

I watched in terror as the silver “CONGRATULATIONS!” balloon became a yellow smiley face, and the clear blue sky turned overcast and rainy, and my purple shirt morphed into a plastic yellow raincoat and I was three years old again at my preschool graduation, watching that balloon float up to the sky and bawling my eyes out.

I was so afraid, but I just could not take my eyes off of that damned balloon. I watched and I watched and I watched until it was nothing more than just a speck in the sky amongst the clouds and the birds and the planes, and then I took the biggest sigh of relief that you could ever imagine. My grip on the railing that I was standing in front of immediately loosened; my chest opened up once more; my stomach managed to untangle its intestines from each other.

But when I turned my head, what did I see? Balloons. Not just one this time—there must have been five, six, maybe even seven of them, all tied together and all floating to their doom in the atmosphere above me. Although I was so frightened that I could barely function, it made me think of something.

Our lives are like I was at graduation today: excited, full of hope, and dreaming, waiting for the first day of the rest of my life to begin. But we all have balloons to keep us down, balloons that will try as best as they can to scare us all shitless, and just when we think they’re gone, there’s always another one right behind it, ready to bring us down.

In conclusion, we have two choices. We can simply ignore the balloon—pretend it’s not there and go on with the rest of our lives—or we can stand there waiting in agony for our names to be called as the balloon becomes a mere speck in the sky.