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Balloons
by Catherine Weinstein
I lost about ten of them because I had left the window open. As I shoved more in, some got pushed out the rear and floated away, carried by the wind. One got caught in the neighbor’s maple tree. The string it was trailing must have wrapped itself around one of the branches. I watched as the wind tore at it, making it seem as if this little blue balloon was desperately struggling to escape, to fly free on the breeze. It almost seemed as if I could see a little heart beating frantically inside. It bounced back and forth a bit, as I looked on entranced, wishing to see it released. But no, it made a small popping noise, and the white string drooped down, still swinging in the wind like an empty noose in the gallows. Tattered bits of blue rubber floated listlessly to the ground.
I shook myself and returned to the task at hand, reaching through the hanging white vines of string in my car to roll up the window. I put the rest of the balloons into the backseat. They were blue, all of them blue. In the package, they were dark, but as they expanded, they had taken on a translucence that reminded me of a clear lake on a cloudless day.
I was careful not to let any more escape as I edged into the driver’s seat. It was hard backing out of the driveway because I couldn’t see out the rear window at all. That didn’t worry me since it would only be a quick ten-minute drive to my youngest sister’s fifth birthday party.
“Bring balloons,” my mother had said, ignoring my look of disgust, “Lots of them.”
Well, there sure are a lot, I thought to myself, chuckling at my little joke. This birthday would go down in history as the day when all the guests drowned in a sea of balloons. If I was going to bring balloons, the effort better have been worthwhile. After all, it would only be a short time before they either popped or withered and sagged before being thrown out and forgotten.
My mind was wandering as I drove. I found myself thinking about all the work that would have piled up for me from taking this day off, and I wondered how I would ever catch up. If it were up to me, I would have chosen something else to do on the first day off I had received in six weeks.
I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost didn’t see the flashing lights from the police car behind me. Calmly, I pulled the old station wagon to the side of the road and rolled down the window.
The officer was young and tall with bits of blond hair that stuck out from under his hat and caught the sun. Something about the way he walked made me expect him to click his heels together in salute should an authority figure pass by. I was almost disappointed when he spoke English with a northeastern accent instead of a German one.
“Going to a party?” he asked, glancing at all the balloons floating in the backseat of the car.
“It’s my sister’s birthday, officer,” I replied, remembering that they liked to be reminded of their authority.
“I see. A few more balloons and you could probably fly there.”
I tried to gauge his expression to see whether I was supposed to laugh at this and saw him staring expectantly at me. I tried to smile, but I’m sure it came out more as just a baring of teeth.
His tone grew cool. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a ticket. That’s obstruction of view, you know. Can’t have you riding around like that.”
“No, sir, of course not, sir,” I said. Wide-eyed innocence wasn’t working for me I realized, as I noticed his eyes narrowing into slits. He paused and appraised me coolly. “In fact, I think it would be a good idea if we got rid of them right now.”
“Yes, sir,” I said as I unlocked the doors.
He pulled out a pen from his breast pocket and rapidly clicked it three times. In the fist of his hand, it looked like a weapon.
“Out of the car,” he told me. “Help me pop these.”
I tried not to sigh as I pursed my lips together, got out of the car, and went to the back door, realizing the futility of all the effort I had put forth before. The officer went to the opposite side, and we opened the car doors at the same time. The balloons were packed in so tightly that with a sudden gust of wind, they flew right out of the car, streaming out of the gray wagon like a waterfall falling up into the sky.
“Go wait in the car,” the officer commanded. If his voice was cool before, now it had turned completely frigid. I slumped down into the driver’s seat of the station wagon, which now seemed almost cavernous with all the room opened up by the escaping balloons.
In the few minutes that it took for the officer to write me a ticket, the sky had turned from a bright blue to a dark gray. In my mind, I imagined that all those balloons had soaked up the color of the sky on their journey up to the heavens. I hoped that it would be a while before they burst. Maybe the heat of the sun would be what finally did the thin rubber in, and they would float around in tiny rubber pieces, crystallized once they got away from the burning star and finally free from the constraints of gravity. I longed to go with them as I prepared myself for the berating I would inevitably receive from my mother when I showed up empty-handed.
A few minutes later, I pulled into my parents’ driveway. Before I could even put the car in park, my sister was running up to the car, her strawberry-blond hair and pink party dress fluttering in the breeze.
“Did you see them, Stacey? Did you see them?” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes widened in the type of excitement reserved only for the very young.
“See what?” I asked.
“The balloons! There were a gazillion of them and they flew right over there!” She pointed to the sky right above the house.
“Oh yeah?” I replied in semi-mock astonishment, my lips spreading in a smile despite myself.
“Yeah, because it’s my birthday.” With that, she ran off to the backyard, nearly toppling my mother who was on her way to greet me.
“What was that all about?” she asked. “I’m assuming that was all your doing.” She was glancing skyward to the place the balloons had flown overhead. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Well, you know me,” I said as I shut the door behind me and followed my mother into the backyard.
Shrieks and laughter floated on the air as my young cousins engaged in a game of tag. I watched them, their arms outstretched, legs moving so fast it seemed that with a little more effort they might be able to take off on the breeze, following the paths of the balloons overhead. Aunts and uncles and other family members stood around talking in groups. Occasionally, I would catch them looking up at the sky, a curious look on each face as if they half expected to see more balloons drifting by. I even caught myself looking up at the sky a few times.
I noticed a break in the clouds that revealed a tiny dot floating in the distance—probably a bird, one of the robins that frequently nested in the trees of the neighborhood. I wondered whether it would encounter my balloons and chirp in surprise as it marveled over something so perfect traveling peacefully through its domain.
Bringing the look of wonderment on my sister’s face to mind, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with as much air as they could hold. As I exhaled, I began to feel lighter. Any worries or frustrations that still remained in me at that moment floated away. They would come back, they always did, but for the time being at least I would be free. And that felt good.