The Balloon That Will Never Come Back

ABOUT THE STORY: This is my first story to be ever published in WhitePanorama. This is about a 13-year-old girl who ended up hoping that the balloon will come back. What’s behind it? You should probably read it. This is not based on any actual experience and the characters are all fictitious, much like all short stories. I’m just trying out my skill in short story writing. I hope you like it! Hahaha! Here it goes, The Balloon That Will Never Come Back.

Sunshine is touching my skin, and not only my skin, but all the trees, all the people and the towering ferris wheel. Everything seems so alive. Look, that kid has ice cream all over his face! Haha! That man over there is doing some magic. I want to take a closer look, but I am being pulled by my brother to a hotdog stand. He’ll buy us some hotdogs to eat.

We were in an amusement park, because my brother promised to me last week that he’ll bring me here if I pass all subjects in our examinations. It was really hard reviewing, but all those hardships had paid off today. The amusement park, from its name, never fails to amuse me. The wonder of such a big wheel carrying people, spinning slowly and bringing everyone up to heights they never reached, simply amuses me.

“I want to ride that big wheel, Kuya!” I told my brother.

“But the ride costs eight times that hotdog you are eating. It is too expensive.” My brother reasoned out.

“Eyyyy. If only we had enough money,” I said as I continue to stare at the height of the steel wheel.

I was biting at my hotdog mindlessly because I am focusing my attention at how high the ferris wheel reaches. I wondered if the birds will surround me if I am at the top, or if I’ll be able to peek in at the window of an airplane. I guess it will take some time before I know if those things were real.

My brother noticed me gazing high at the ferris wheel. He held my hand and started to pull me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He did not answer my question, and all I can do is to helplessly follow him wherever he leads me. I wanted to look back at the ferris wheel, but I cannot for I’ll trample in the way. Finally, he stopped. In front of us is an ugly looking clown.

Clowns never fascinated me ever since I was young. They look like they have been playing with Crayola so obsessively that they decided to put the colors permanently on their faces, in an application so thick that they look like aliens. If they can only do magic without coloring on their faces, I will love them so much.

I can’t look at the clowns, for I can’t stop to laugh with ridicule when I look at them. I was staring at the clown’s right hand. His right hand is the same as the right hand of my brother, brown, with five fingers, and not painted. I looked at my hand, and realized that it is the same as his, too. After all, that clown is still a human, only masked to put joy on some kid’s faces.

“Hey Riz!” my brother called me.

“Her name is Riz?” the clown asked.

“Oh, ahmm, yes,” my brother answered.

“Do you want me to put her name here?” the clown asked more. I have no idea on where was he going to put it for I was looking at his right hand.

“For free?” my brother asked.

“Yes,” the clown said as he slowly pockets his hand. “Hold this for me,” the clown said as his hand pulls out the pocket with a permanent marker, “now, how do you spell it?”

“R – I – Z … Riz,” my brother replied.

There was a squeaking sound as the clown writes it, and interested, I looked up to see what is going on. It was a pink balloon that the clown is writing on.

“Riz, it’s done,” the clown smiled and gave the balloon to me.

I was shocked. Why was he offering a balloon to me?

“Hold it Riz, it might fly,” my brother warned me.

Scared, I grabbed it and I held it with my hands clenched very tightly around the string. We left the clown, and the clown was now writing a new name on a different balloon, and I assumed he’ll give it to that child in front of him.

“Why did the clown gave this to me?” I asked.

“He gave it to you because I bought it for you,” he answered, with that smile on his face that releases the angel inside of him.

My brother, is not actually my brother, but just a family friend. His name is Hans. He sleeps in our house sometimes, plays with me really often and sees me at school always. I do not have any brothers, really, and he plays that role for me. He is my best friend, though he is three years older than me. He knows me well, and I know him, too, and he has shared a lot of stories with me.

“Just take care of that balloon, Riz. That is my gift to you for being great in your exams,” my brother said.

“Errr…,” I said playfully as I hug him tight around his waist, “that’s really touching Kuya.”

“Pink. That is your favorite color, right?” he asked.

“Yes! That’s why I like this balloon so much now,” I said.

That was five months ago.

Today, things are different. His memory still keeps playing like an endless filmstrip rolling in my mind. But to him, I’m down to being an acquaintance, a familiar face around the corner, a part of the past that has been forgotten. I lost my best friend, and all I can do was to stare at him with his new best friends. Yes, he had replaced me, but I can never replace him. Every time I see him, I wish I was one of his friends, so that I can be with him. As of today, that is a mission impossible.

Four months ago, I was with him in a park. I am holding an ice cream on my left hand and the pink balloon that he bought me on my right hand. He was at my side, and we were happily chatting with the calm breeze.

“Kuya, I have something to tell,” I said to him in a childish manner.

“Sure. What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve been feeling this for a long time now,” I said, “And I guess this is the right time to say it.”

He was just silent, but the smile on his face was slowly disappearing. I do not know if he was just curious, or he knows that he will not like what he is about to hear.

“I know it is not right,” I continued, “but Kuya…”

“I LOVE YOU.”

There was that two-second pause in time. The witnesses were the withered trees that are just starting to bloom for spring, and the wooden benches lining up the pathwalk. Everything was silent, except for the breeze gently whispering to the grass.

With a sudden flame in his eyes, he grabbed my hand forcefully and shook it hardly. I was shocked; I have never seen his face like that. His once calming eyes were looking at me piercingly and his once caressing touch became painful. He shook my hand so violently that I dropped the ice cream cone in my hand to the pavement below, only to be consumed by the heat of the sun.

The balloon, yes, the balloon that could have been the only concrete memory of him to me, went out of my grasp. I was in shock. The string slowly slid off my palms, and without me noticing, it was soon out of my reach, floating in a seemingly endless sky. I was looking at the balloon as it slowly floated away from me. It was getting smaller and smaller, until it totally vanished from my eyes.

“Why?! You do not know what you are saying! You do not know what will happen!” he said to me in a tone I never heard before. I never saw him angry before, and that was the last face that he gave in front of me – a face that will haunt me in my dreams until now.

He left me standing there, with a dropped ice cream cone in front of me. I was staring at him as he was walking away fast from me. I was not able to answer his question, for I really don’t know why I love him – until now. The breeze is still blowing, and I guess the balloon is still flying somewhere.

Just as the balloon flew away, so is our friendship. I remember seeing the balloon go smaller and smaller as it floats farther and farther away from me; it reminds me of how our friendship diminished in such a short while -- a terminal to our friendship. I took the risk to exchange it for love, but little did I know that with it, I have let go of the string of our friendship and let it drift away.

Until now, I always go to that park – on that very place where I dropped my ice cream cone. I look up the sky, and talk to myself, “will that balloon ever come back again? Will our friendship ever come back again?”

Four months later, here I am, still searching for the balloon that will never come back.