Junk Box

The Red Balloon

Tiny feet patter down the hallway, and I felt a small body wrap itself around my legs.

"Mommy," your voice says, hands tugging on my jeans, "look what Daddy got me.

I look down, finding a red balloon tied around your wrist. "That's lovely, sweetie."

You giggle as I pick you up and wrap your pudgy legs about my waist. "It's going to last forever, Mommy. Just watch and see."

I smile and bury my face in your hair. "Of course, sweetie. Of course, it will."

Then I walked down the hall with you resting contently against my side.

"Mom," you cry as you weave through the folks milling around the fair, "look what Dad found me!"

A red balloon bobs from your wrist as your dad follows behind.

I feel a grin stretch over my face as I see the balloon. "He found you another one."

"This one is going to last forever," you say in a determined voice as you weave your fingers through mine. "It has to."

I plant a light kiss onto your head and sigh. "It will, sweetie. You know it will."

Years and years of red balloons gliding through our house go by. You are always determined that one will last even when we both know they won't.

The war comes though, and there are no more red balloons and soon enough, no more of your dad.

Together we curl up on the couch, feeling his absence like fog settle thickly over the house.

"Mom," you say, holding up a wilted balloon as red as blood on a string, "the balloon didn't last forever."

Your eyes fill with tears, and I know that you are thinking of more than just the red balloon. Your thoughts are on your dad so far away and in so much danger.

I merely hold you closer and whisper, "The next one will last forever, sweetie."

However, as more tears fall, I know that you can feel it just as acutely as I can. Your dad isn't coming back, and there will be no more red balloons.

Five weeks later, you find me sitting in the hallway, sobbing as I crumple a letter in my hand.

You carry an envelope yourself, unopened, and sit down next to me.

I hear the crinkle of paper as you open the letter.

"Mom," I hear you say in a choked voice, "look what Dad got me."

I look up, and there in your hand is the last red balloon your dad ever touched, never blown up.

I close your hand around it and whisper, "This one will last forever."

And in my heart, I know that it is the truth.
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I figured that I needed something that wasn't quite as intense as the others in this collection, so that's where the red balloon idea was born.
This story was slightly hard to write. I'll admit that I teared up a bit while doing it.
Interesting fact: this story was originally titled Facing Loss and the child was the one supposed to die.
As always, please review and comment.
Abigail