You Will Know
It has been some time since Maryann, and I collaborated on a story together. It feels good to reconnect through storytelling.
No matter how old we get, balloons always bring a smile to our faces. They come in many colors, shapes, and sizes; some have words or pictures. Some are gripped with joy, while others float lifelessly. I have sparkling colored balloons. I have been down on myself lately. I hoped the brilliantly colored vinyl would raise me over the black hole of depression.
I guided these glittering wonders into the sitting room. I tied the strings to my favorite chair by the window. I noticed one of the balloons had writing on it. I curiously read them out loud, “You will know.” I didn’t see the words earlier. I am baffled. Those words have turned my attention away from guilt and toward curiosity, a much-needed distraction.
Step aside Nancy Drew, and make room for Fern. I am going to find clues to uncover this puzzle. The first piece of the puzzle, where do I even begin to look?
Maybe the first pointer is that the words are on my favorite colored balloon. Why do I like green? Nature? Renewal? Dreams? Sipping my tea, I wait for an answer to come to me.
Inhaling the warm aroma of peppermint, I have a vision of my bare feet walking briskly along a track. I try to look around me. Everything along the trail is blurred. I don’t hear anything except for my breathing. A yellow balloon popped, drawing my attention back to the cup of tea.
My mother died not too long ago; we were zipped at the hip. We did everything together. Suddenly, like the yellow balloon, she was gone. When she passed, half of me went with her. I remember kicking my boots off at her graveside and smiling as the blades of yellow-green grass tickled my feet. I do miss her.
Was my mother trying to send me a message? Was she telling me to get back on my feet and sweep depression away like dirt from my toes? My faraway thoughts returned to my cooling tea when the blue balloon popped.
My mother and father painted Joey’s nursery blue. I was allowed to pick from two shades. Naturally, I liked the color closest to green. I recall my mother dabbing paint on dad’s nose and laughing as he chased her around the small room. Fun-loving giggles left her winded. When he caught her, they both lovingly rubbed her pregnant belly. I was startled when the red balloon popped. Damn, my tea is cold.
Dad was always known for his red flannel shirts and how he favored Joey. Yeah, Joseph, the wonder child of the family. Joe walked when he was eight months old. He could say and write the alphabet by three years old. The only time I was close to dad’s heart and his flannel was that night. Just before the tear left my eye, the multicolored balloon popped.
I stood in front of the mirror, brushing my hair. It started playing out like an old movie reel — distorted and discolored.
I passed my driver’s test and have a New York State driver’s license. Mom and dad asked me to drive us to the local diner. Nervously and excitedly, I grabbed the keys from the counter and met everyone in the car.
I don’t remember an evening so dark. Dad sat in the passenger’s seat. I could smell his cologne — this was a special day. Mom and Joey sat in the backseat. She smiled at me through the rearview mirror.
The rain fell hard. It smacked against the windows and filled all of the potholes. The front wheel hit a pothole strong enough for the car to bounce off the road and roll down the embankment.
Dad’s limp body lay across me. His flannel filled with rain and blood, “Dad! Dad!”
I couldn’t see mom or Joey in the rearview mirror, “Mom! Joe!”
I cried, “Someone, answer me.”
Blackness. Pop! The black balloon.
I thought back to the anniversary of the accident; I visited the cemetery where they lay in eternal sleep. The groundskeeper found me barely breathing and barefoot on my mother’s grave.
“Fern, I’d like you to come to the group today. The hardest part is confronting our thoughts and feelings. If it helps, sit next to me.” Dr. Joy smiled, “I’ll see you there.”
I sat on my hands with the green balloon tied to the back of my chair. “I feel lost and alone. Most of all, I feel ashamed and angry that I killed my family. I wonder if they miss me too.”
I closed my eyes. I could smell my dad’s cologne, Joey’s grape juice, and mom’s sweet perfume. Mom’s essence whispered, “My beautiful Fern, you didn’t kill us. It was an accident out of your control. We miss you as much as you miss us.”
After a long pause, I felt a gentle breeze pass my other ear, ‘Now you know.”
The last balloon popped.
THE END
Maryann Lindquist & Mojha MacDowell
November 17, 2022
