"I feel almost guilty for doing this, considering this balloon is probably not biodegradable, but I feel... I'm not sure what I feel. I hope someone reads this and it isn't lost or eaten. I pray it isn't eaten.
"My name is Anna May. I live in California, in the United States. I love strawberries and my father died today. His heart gave up while we were cloud-watching in our favorite strawberry patch. He sighed as the sun turned a burnished shade of gold. I asked him a question and, when he didn't respond, I thought he'd fallen asleep.
"I will never eat strawberries again."
She slipped the note into the balloon and slowly filled it with helium. She glanced around, guiltily. She wasn't supposed to be here, but she had used her key to sneak in with a tiny white balloon.
Her mother had always said white was the color of mourning. The color of sorrow. The color of death. It was why she had worn white for a year after her mom had left. It was why she had picked this particular balloon.
The moon was a large, cream colored, disc in the ocean of the sky, reflecting into the endless mirror of the ocean of the earth. It seemed fitting that the moon would be full on this night, the same color as her balloon, as if all the world was in mourning as well.
She had lain beside her father's cooling body for an hour, in shock. He had gone so quickly, as if he had simply fallen asleep and slipped away. She was so bewildered and shocked that she couldn't even cry as she had called the paramedics. She'd ridden with them, in the ambulance, to the hospital, holding his stiffening hand. Her eyes kept trying to force breath into his lungs, imagining his chest rising and falling. She could almost imagine he would sit up and laugh at her for falling for such a silly prank.
It was amazing all the little details one notices when faced with a crisis. She noticed the light red of strawberry juice staining the corners of his bluing lips. He had forgotten to clip his fingernails and they looked slightly ragged. His hair was thinning, when had that happened? His glasses had a crack in one of the lenses. His eyes were closed and he looked so young to her. Too young to have died in the middle of a field of strawberries.
The kind paramedic, the one with the purple gloves and the orange tipped braids, gave her a bucket when she became sick. Once she started throwing up, she found she couldn't stop. And, even worse, she couldn't stop sobbing in-between heaves. The paramedic rubbed her back while she tried to purge all the hideous reality out of her body. Her father was dead. Her mother had left them, in the middle of the night, when she was twelve. She was alone.
She stepped up to the edge of the water, the waves tasting her toes, her balloon appearing like a second moon in the mirror of the sea. She whispered a prayer to the sky before she let the balloon go. It drifted, slowly, over the water, out to places she had never been. She sat down in the sand, pulling her knees up to her chest, and watched it disappear over the blackness of the horizon. Long after it had disappeared, snuffed from her view like a pinched candle flame, she watched the horizon.
The first edges of dawn reminded her of strawberries.
"My name is Anna May. I live in California, in the United States. I love strawberries and my father died today. His heart gave up while we were cloud-watching in our favorite strawberry patch. He sighed as the sun turned a burnished shade of gold. I asked him a question and, when he didn't respond, I thought he'd fallen asleep.
"I will never eat strawberries again."
She slipped the note into the balloon and slowly filled it with helium. She glanced around, guiltily. She wasn't supposed to be here, but she had used her key to sneak in with a tiny white balloon.
Her mother had always said white was the color of mourning. The color of sorrow. The color of death. It was why she had worn white for a year after her mom had left. It was why she had picked this particular balloon.
The moon was a large, cream colored, disc in the ocean of the sky, reflecting into the endless mirror of the ocean of the earth. It seemed fitting that the moon would be full on this night, the same color as her balloon, as if all the world was in mourning as well.
She had lain beside her father's cooling body for an hour, in shock. He had gone so quickly, as if he had simply fallen asleep and slipped away. She was so bewildered and shocked that she couldn't even cry as she had called the paramedics. She'd ridden with them, in the ambulance, to the hospital, holding his stiffening hand. Her eyes kept trying to force breath into his lungs, imagining his chest rising and falling. She could almost imagine he would sit up and laugh at her for falling for such a silly prank.
It was amazing all the little details one notices when faced with a crisis. She noticed the light red of strawberry juice staining the corners of his bluing lips. He had forgotten to clip his fingernails and they looked slightly ragged. His hair was thinning, when had that happened? His glasses had a crack in one of the lenses. His eyes were closed and he looked so young to her. Too young to have died in the middle of a field of strawberries.
The kind paramedic, the one with the purple gloves and the orange tipped braids, gave her a bucket when she became sick. Once she started throwing up, she found she couldn't stop. And, even worse, she couldn't stop sobbing in-between heaves. The paramedic rubbed her back while she tried to purge all the hideous reality out of her body. Her father was dead. Her mother had left them, in the middle of the night, when she was twelve. She was alone.
She stepped up to the edge of the water, the waves tasting her toes, her balloon appearing like a second moon in the mirror of the sea. She whispered a prayer to the sky before she let the balloon go. It drifted, slowly, over the water, out to places she had never been. She sat down in the sand, pulling her knees up to her chest, and watched it disappear over the blackness of the horizon. Long after it had disappeared, snuffed from her view like a pinched candle flame, she watched the horizon.
The first edges of dawn reminded her of strawberries.
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