Unusual Narrators

Chapter Four: Balloon

"He always said he'd never let go no matter what happens."

It was a during a cold Saturday morning in October when we first met each other. The sky was particularly gloomy, and the surrounding was darker than most mornings. It just rained a few hours before, but it was predicted to rain for the whole day. The path to the hospital didn't smell like asphalt or gravel, but rather of dewdrops on leaves and the familiar aroma of wet grass.

His friend brought me along to the hospital to cheer him up. I declined to come, but when she grabbed hold of my hand, there was nowhere for me to escape.

We got into the elevator, and I tried my best not to hit my head. Once we got out of the elevator and onto the third floor, I quickly noticed a sudden change. The ambiance was rather melancholic, filled with the distinctive scent of medicine which wafted through the hallways. I could also hear the shrieking of families as they bawled their eyes out for the patients, losing hope in everything they believed in.

We entered his room, and there he was. With two white pillows supporting both his neck and back, he sat upright, reading a novel while sipping on a cup of coffee. He didn't instantly notice me which I was thankful for since I didn't really want to talk to him.

But once he spotted me and we exchanged gazes, I immediately knew there was something different about him. His aura was unique from the others in the room. The others reeked of a myriad of emotions ranging from anger to sadness to happiness. His, on the other hand, only had one: acceptance. He was more accepting of reality, of the outside world. Something I've only seen once or twice my entire life.

He was the opposite of who I was. He was a realist while I was a dreamer.

I dreamt of seeing places in a new perspective. I was tired of always seeing everything from above everyone else. I wanted to know what it was like to see things from a new point-of-view. What it was like to see things down low.

Although saddened by what had happened to him, he accepted the fact that there was nothing he could have done. It was just the way life was. He neither blamed reality nor himself for what happened. Instead, he embraced it with open arms.

He stared at me with his eyes, inspecting every part of my being down to the most minuscule detail. And although I was wearing a black dress with red polka dots, I could feel his gaze penetrate through my clothes as he peered into my soul.

"He was dangerous," I thought to myself, but I wanted to know more about him the same way he wanted to find out more about me.

He talked with his friend over the most senseless of things, while I stayed silent and motionless at the corner of the room away from him. I often caught him stealing short and quick glances at me and with each one, I felt my being drew closer to him.

After two hours, his friend left the room to attend to some personal business leaving me alone with him.

I tried to ignore his presence, blocking out every sound he would make, but I eventually failed. Images of how he looked at me surged through my mind, and it was the only thing I could see and remember.

His eyes were like blueberries. Deep, dark, blue ones. What secrets they held were far beyond what I could figure out, but I had a feeling that some were not meant to be known.

He positioned himself at the edge of his bed as I watched in secrecy. He grabbed one of the crutches nearby and placed it in front of him. He put his right hand on top of it and his left on the steel rail by his bedside. Using every force he could manage, he began to pull himself up with every strength in his upper body. Veins began to appear as he started to yell and writhe in pain. Although unsteady, he eventually managed to pull himself up as he used the crutch to support his body.

He first stepped with his left foot, struggling to move it even by an inch, followed by his right one. He repeated the process, again and again, screaming in agony and sweating profusely until he finally reached the windows several feet away from his bed.

He opened it slightly, allowing the wind to blow in the room, which caused my body to lose its balance. I began to wobble around, trying to grab hold onto something, but the vacuum of the outside world was too strong. I eventually started to head towards where the windows were until he stopped me by grabbing hold of my hand.

He had a tight hold of my hand, yet it was free. It was guarding, but it was caring at the same time. His hands were much bigger than mine, but for reasons I didn't know, I started to feel safe within them.

He closed the windows, with my hand still tightly clenched by his. With me by his side, he stared outside the barrier between the two of us and the world. "One day, we'll see the outside world again and savor every moment of our lives. So, I'll never let go no matter what happens."

Although I despised believing in such words, I left a reservation within me that perhaps his were not lies. That his words could be true. That I could trust them the same way I trusted him when he held my hand.

He eventually collapsed with his lower body unable to carry the burden brought by his accident. A nurse had to eventually help him to his bed with my hand still clutched within his.

For the next month, I stayed by his side and although I still saw him from above, I started to learn something about him and me. I needed him, and he needed me. He provided me with the assurance that I would never fly too close to the sun chasing my dream, while I provided him with the hope that he would get better. Over time, I came to realize that I was fated to meet him. That he was the one whose hand fit mine.

He only stopped holding my hand whenever he needed both of his to perform an activity, which I didn't mind him doing so. At the end of the day, he always assured me of one thing.

"He always said he'd never let go no matter what happens."

I wanted to believe in those words. I wanted to think that he'd always be there to safeguard me, to protect me, but I was afraid. There was a constant fear in my heart that he'd eventually let go because of who I was.

I wasn't exactly perfect. I mean, no one is, but I was certainly far from one. Everything about me was fragile from my body to the stability of my mind. I could explode with all the emotions inside me that were waiting to be released any second. I was afraid that he wouldn't want to continue being with me. That he couldn't handle who I was.

As days passed by, he continued to assure me. Every night, he always said he'd never let go no matter what happens.

And although it took a look time, I finally believed him. I finally believed that he'd never let go no matter what happens.

But, maybe I was too late in doing so. Or maybe I didn't fully know, and understand everything about him. Because the first thing he did after four months of being confined in the hospital once he stepped foot back into the real world, was to let go of me.

"He always said he'd never let go no matter what happens."

Maybe I was too much of an idiot for actually believing that someone would never let go of me. I mean, why wouldn't he? I'd do the same thing if I was him. I mean, no one could stand me. I couldn't even stand myself. Maybe I was just meant to fly alone in the world, riding the wind of loneliness, into the void of broken promises.

After all, the man with deep, dark, blue eyes, whom I fell in love with, let go of me even though he always said he'd never let go no matter what happens.