Color Balloons

I bought these balloons from the park. The balloon seller told me each balloon drifting to the sky is a wish unfulfilled, so, he said, I should hold on to them.

Perhaps that was why I bought ten of them, all in different colors. The balloon seller smiled at me, and said, “For you, young lady, who is so kind as to buy so many. You’ve secured me a warm meal today.”

As a gesture of gratitude, he said, he would offer me an extra balloon, one with the shape of a heart, different from the rest. I nodded and paid him fifteen dollars and eighty three cents. Saying goodbye, I started down a road shaded by large maple trees on both sides. The trees were shedding, the leaves were falling down and swirled in the gust of wind and covered the pavements in a sea of brown.

I walked through the street that had been so familiar to me those years ago. It was a sea before my eyes, and there was a sea within me.

The park curved into the main street, where I turned and continued down the sidewalk. A little girl, hand gripping her mother’s, stared at me in wonder as she and her mother passed me.

“Mommy, look!” she cried out, tugging at her mother’s sleeve. “Those balloons are so pretty. Can I have one, please?”

The woman said no. I turned to look at the little girl, now brimming with tears at the woman’s harsh tone. Something in those green eyes called out to me. I recognized them so well. I came closer and crouched before her. “Would you like one of these balloons?” I asked her.

She stifled a sob. “Can…can I?” she asked timidly.

“Yes,” I replied. “Which color would you like?”

She stared at them for a long while in contemplation. Then she pointed a finger upward. “That one,” she exclaimed.

I untangled the knot that held the strings together and handed her the yellow balloon. A smile broadened on her face as she stared at her present lovingly. I remembered how I had looked like that once, so full of life and hope.

I left the girl after a few words of thanks from her mother and went on my way. The balloons fluttered with their attached strings against the gentle blowing wind coming from the sea. My feet had carried me to this very spot. This very place, I recalled, held many of the happiest memories of my life. I couldn’t remember any time I had been happier.

I gazed beyond the surface of the calm sea, which glistened like diamonds in the soft sunlight. Another rush of cold wind rolled in from the sea. As I shivered, fumbling with my coat to keep warm, my hand loosened, releasing one of my balloons before I could hold it back.

The blue balloon floated away toward the soaring sky, as I stood and stared with a sadness that filled my chest like water filling an empty bottle.

“Perhaps it is for the best,” I told myself. Then I remembered what the balloon seller had said. “Each balloon drifting to the sky is a wish unfulfilled,” I said, almost in a chant.

The blue balloon for each time they strolled on the beach, skipping above the waves.

I took another balloon from the clump and released it.

The green balloon for each time she had leaned against him and sobbed at a sad movie.

And another one I let go.

The purple balloon for each time they argued and he would be the one to reassure her that she was the one.

Then a fourth was gone, following the others to the lost sky.

The orange balloon for each joke that made her laughed when she felt down.

The pink balloon for every pink carnation bouquet he bought her.

The white balloon for each kiss they shared.

The mauve balloon for every piggy back ride whenever she selfishly said she couldn’t walk the rest of the distance home.

The brown balloon for a cup of coffee he made her on a cold winter night.

The gray balloon for every rainy day they walked under the same umbrella.

A movement caught my eyes, isolated from the rest of the floating balloons. My yellow one that I had given the little girl was bobbing through the air. Though isolated, it looked as if it yearned to be with the rest of its colorful brothers and sisters.

Perhaps, it was never meant to be, I thought, watching the yellow balloon eventually catch up with the others.

The yellow balloon for each time he smiled at her with love.

When I looked back at myself, there was only a single balloon left in my hand. I tightened my grip, unable to let go. I should let go, and yet my eyes were tearing up at the thought.

“I’ll let you go now. I’ll let go so I can be free.”

Holding out my arm and opening my fist, the heart-shaped balloon escaped from my palm, spinning in the current, joining the others. They went higher and farther, until all I saw were dots in the white puffs of clouds.

And with it, at last, everything.