Balloons
Isabella’s smile grows wider and wider as she releases red balloons from her sixth-floor balcony. She feels lighter, freer as they glide through the air and sail into the park. She wonders how far they’ll go. Then she wonders how far she’ll go. She knows Michael won’t understand. Maybe later, in time.
A year ago, on a warm summer’s evening, after picnicking in her family’s back garden, Michael places a large black bulbous refuse sack, secured with a red bow, before her.
“Balloons expand and grow,” he says. “Just like our lives together will.”
He gestures for her to open the sack. Mystified, she pulls the bow. Red balloons slowly rise from the bag. Each has a long thin tail of white ribbon tied to a single large stone. Isabella is enthralled with her bouquet of balloons, the way it levitates in mid-air like magic. She doesn’t see the ring that’s attached to the stone. When Michael unties the ring and places it on her finger, she tries to admire it, but can’t stop her eyes from sliding to the balloons. Her free hand opens and closes around the smooth stone as it hovers just above her palm. When a breeze catches the balloons and nudges them through the air, she follows. Watches how they move weightlessly, effortlessly. Hears them whisper of far-off places and adventures. That’s what she says yes to—an untethered balloon can soar off anywhere. Their murmurs fill her ears. Drown out Michael’s words.
But once her Yes is out, she doesn’t float away. Instead, Isabella finds herself carried along a current of expectation, with decisions to make on venues and menus, gift and guest lists, invitations. The gravity of her Yes drags her down. In the fitting room, she bursts into hysterics until they take the dress away.
“Nerves,” everyone says. “She’s always been so delicate.”
At work, a six-month posting abroad is advertised. The location raises a childhood memory. She’s at the circus with her father. They watch the spectak from the front row of the big top. She breathes in the aroma of freshly popped corn and candy floss. Sneezes from the sawdust. Her ears fill with crowd buzz as she fidgets on a wooden plank. Human body heat mingles with animal musk in the tightly packed, dimly lit tent. When the lights blaze and a voice bellows from beyond the brightness, her skin prickles. She sits up straight, alert.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. Boys and Girls. Prepare. To Be. Amazed….”
The ringmaster, with his top hat, crimson coat and booming voice, captivate her. She’s dazzled by the spotlights and ornate costumes of the performers. There are other animal acts, but what she remembers is the bear—a huge beast. Under the command of the ringmaster, it rears up on its hind legs, advances towards the crowd in a zombie-like stagger, claws out, growling through its muzzle. The crowd gasps, leans away from its forward motion. Isabella leans in.
“East Siberian brown bear,” her father says in her ear. “A fearsome animal. You wouldn’t want to tangle with one of those.”
Isabella mishears his last sentence in crowd roar. Thinks it would be wonderful to tango with a bear. Or waltz. Maybe that’s what she’ll do when she’s bigger—join a circus and dance with a bear.
She applies for the post abroad, tells Michael it’s a good opportunity. She’s always wanted to work overseas. They’ve been together this long; a short time apart will make no difference. They can tie the knot once she’s back. She’ll be ready then.
“You’re so flighty,” he tells her. “But you have me to keep you grounded—otherwise who knows where you’d be.”
“Yes,” she says. Her eyes wander off beyond his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, directing her gaze back to him, “I’ll visit.”
“It’s very far away,” Isabella says. “And difficult there. You might not like it.”
“Then why would you?”
She bites her lip, lowers her eyes, afraid she’s stepped into a trap. He laughs. Lifts her chin. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. You don’t have to stay the full time.”
She nods. Murmurs something that sounds like agreement.
The night before she departs for her placement, she dreams of waltzing with a great brown bear in a grand ballroom. They dance in perfect step, her small hand in its large paw. She feels a completeness, a perfect harmony as they move across the room. Her feet don’t touch the floor. She worries that Michael is watching. The song finishes and the bear bends to kiss her hand. She stands on tiptoe to whisper in its ear. Without warning, Michael appears at her side. Isabella wakes with a start, wonders what words she said to the bear.
She busies herself with settling in to her new town. Detects a strange sensation in her chest. When she breathes in, it feels as if her lungs are stretching. She considers seeing a doctor, then dismisses the idea. There are so many other things to do. It doesn’t feel bad, this sensation of expansion. Just different. She begins to practice deep breathing every morning. Imagines pulling in her new surroundings and pushing out the old. It’s exhilarating. She’s never been on her own before. There’s always been her parents or Michael. Usually both. The son of a family friend, she and Michael grew up together. He’s familiar, solid, suitable. His proposal was more statement than question, a fact, rather than a request. It had seemed perfectly normal to Isabella—until she met a man in a bear costume—
—at a fairground shortly after her engagement. Isabella had gone off to find the loo. When she came out, a bear stood in front of her, a large bunch of balloons in its paw. The bear spoke in a muffled voice:
“Could you hold these please? Just for a minute.”
When Isabella stared, mouth agape, the bear thrust the knot of balloons into her hand. Removed its head. Now the bear had a human face — of a young man with light blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. His damp dirty-blonde hair stuck to his head at odd angles. His smile displayed perfect white teeth. Isabella smiled back.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Sorry. I was just a bit —”
“This too,” the bear-man said, pointing to the head. “Easier to see without it on. The suit’s hot and I drink a lot of water.” He offered another flawless smile. “Can’t ignore nature’s call.”
“You work in the circus?” Isabella asked, compelled to continue the conversation.
“For the fairgrounds. Selling tickets, working the crowd, passing out balloons. Creating atmosphere and fun. Encouraging people to enjoy themselves.”
Isabella looked up and saw the balloons carried the name of the fair and its logo. She closed her eyes to better remember the name and wasn’t prepared when he thrust the bear head into her arms. She accidentally let go of the balloons. They rose quickly, untangling from each other and sailing off like small kaleidoscopic kites, zigzagging in different directions through the sky. They watched them float away high over the crowd—Isabella in dismay, the bear-man with a bemused expression on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” Isabella cried. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry,” he said.
“But the balloons are lost now. I’ll pay you.”
“They’re free. I’m supposed to give them away.”
“Won’t you get into trouble?”
“This is perfect. Look!”
The crowd watched the balloons. Pointing, smiling and laughing.
“They’re gifts. For whoever finds them. They’ll make people happy. Bring them to the fairground. For more happiness.” He grinned at her and snapped his fingers. “You’ve given me a great new marketing strategy.”
Standing together, laughing, Isabella felt her pulse quicken and her stomach tingle as she looked at this funny stranger. He seemed about her age, this bear-man. But she thought of him as a boy. He made her feel like a girl.
“What makes you happy?” he asked. The sudden question made her blink. Made laughter catch in her throat. Over his shoulder, she saw Michael making his way towards them. Flustered, she left without saying goodbye.
Later, in bed, his question floated back to her. She didn’t know the answer. Felt a weight of sadness settle over her. She had never considered this question.
Michael arrives for his visit like he said he would. Says it shows they can be apart, yet together. After six months on her own, Isabella isn’t sure she wants to be together. She knows he’s never dreamed she wouldn’t come back. Maybe that’s the difference between them: Isabella dreams.
She shows him the town’s points of interest. It doesn’t take long. They have a meal, then a walk along the river. Michael talks loudly of events and people back home, unaware of the stares he receives. Unaware that she is deflating next to him. She makes the excuse of an errand and gives him the keys to her flat. Instead of buying bread, she practices her deep breathing. By the time she arrives back at her front door, she feels nearly normal. When she knocks to be let in, Michael throws open the door. Shouts, “Here’s to our future!”
She looks in. Blinks. Michael has filled the flat with red balloons. They cover almost every surface—spill off chairs and tables, sway on the counters and floor. When she doesn’t move, he pulls her into the flat, closes the door. She tries not to panic as she gapes at the balloons. She sees herself sealed inside one, with him, and a mortgage, children, pets. Far too many obligations to float away. She closes her eyes. Tries deep breathing. Can’t find enough air. She opens her eyes. Balloons rock all around her, shaking their heads in sadness. Michael’s looking at her, waiting. She puts on her best smile, nearly looks him in the eye. Kisses his cheek.
Isabella decides what the bear-man said about balloons isn’t true. They don’t always make people happy. These jump and jounce accusingly when she crosses the room or opens doors. They hover uncomfortably close. Her flat is not large. With Michael and now these balloons, it’s too much. She needs her own space, her own air.
She sends him out for the bread they still need, then steps onto the balcony. A balloon darts out after her. Without thinking, she grabs it, squeezes it between her palms. Nothing happens. She squeezes again, wincing, waiting for the pop. Then she stops. Opens her hands. The balloon catches the breeze, lifts, glides over the road, descends into the park. It touches the ground once, twice. An old woman walking past snatches it in her long fingers, tucks it under her coat. Isabella smiles.
She corrals the balloons onto the balcony. Releases the second one. It flies into the park, dropping near a mother and child. Isabella hears his shrieks of joy as he captures it. She nods.
At first, she throws the balloons one at a time, but soon flings them with abandon, no longer waiting to see what happens to each one. A trail of twenty, thirty, forty balloons dance through the air. People notice, gather, point. Some run after the balloons, desperate to have their own. Michael can take solace in that. There are plenty of people who want balloons. Then she spots him in the crowd, looking up at her.
“Sorry,” she whispers, as she hurls the last balloon. “I’m just not ready to land.”
Back in the flat, Michael tries to talk to her, but his words can’t reach her. There’s too much space. After a while, he gathers his things and leaves. She knows she won’t see him again. This doesn’t make her sad. A patch of red in the corner catches her eye. A lone unblown balloon lies forgotten on the floor. She smiles. Picks it up. Heads to the balcony.
Originally from Missouri, Sherry Morris (@Uksherka) writes prize-winning fiction from a farm in the Scottish Highlands where she pets cows, watches clouds and scribbles words. She participated in the BBC Scottish Voices writer programme and is supposedly finishing a script. Her first published story was about her Peace Corps experience in Ukraine. She is a Northwords Now board member and reads for the wonderfully wacky Taco Bell Quarterly. Visit www.uksherka.com to read her published work.
