The Red Balloon

The guest of honor is celebrating her 90th birthday. That's some accomplishment. I'll be lucky if I make it 90 hours. I am just a balloon after all. Helium balloons do last longer than regular balloons, however, so I may be down, but not out, come Wednesday.

I know it's a 90th birthday because the balloon across the way from me says Happy 90th Birthday in bright red letters. Right now I'm sitting pretty tied to a chair at the entrance to the restaurant's private room. This is a great spot to watch all the guests arrive, but I hope I'm not here for the whole birthday party. I think the view the party balloons have across the room is better. From their perspective I'd guess not a party moment would be missed. You know the moments I mean. A secret kiss, hand on a thigh.

The room is filled with large round tables covered with mauve colored tablecloths. The place settings are formal, with white china plates, ornate silverware, and a wine and water goblet. Napkins have been delicately placed on each salad plate in a diamond fold with small flowers sticking out. In the center of each table is a beautiful floral arrangement. Red and pale purple roses with white lilies and sparse greenery are bunched inside a short round glass vase. At each seat is a small silver antique picture frame with a name in the picture spot. As guests arrive, they mingle and greet the guest of honor. I'm witness to enormous amounts of adoration and awe. If I'm not careful, I think I might burst.

I came to the party with a huge balloon delivery. We were grouped together by color and character. Helium balloons bundled in white, pink and purple were the largest cluster. A bunch of mylar balloons with well wishes written on them were also included. And then there were the red balloons. That's my group. I'm a red balloon and proud of it. We are the largest single balloon and as a group are very easy to see. At ninety years old I imagine the bigger and brighter the better.

Oh no. Tell me it isn't so. Tell me they're just going to peek at the room, not stay. Tell me my survival rate isn't about to drop fifty-percent. I'm a birthday balloon and should be treated with respect, not sticky fingers and dirty faces. Nope. No such luck. The tug on my ribbon sends a shock through my latex. "Mommy, can I have a balloon, can I please?" "After the party honey, not now." Phew. I'm saved. For the moment anyway. Although I have to admit, it's nice to be wanted.

The party is now getting started. Guests are sitting down and servers are filling drink orders. It looks like I am stuck here. It's not so bad. The three other balloons that are keeping me company however, aren't much for talking, they'd rather just cling to me, which is okay because the static electricity is always a thrill. I'll just try and listen in on party conversation. If I get bored I can check out the rest of the restaurant also. Those two attractive women over there are engrossed in a whispered dialogue that looks interesting.

Once everyone is seated a younger man stands to make a toast. Everyone raises a glass and then drinks. I don't have a clear view of the guest of honor but the mylar balloon with the happy birthday writing is exceptionally chatty so hopefully I'll bump in to her later for details.

While everyone is eating lunch we balloons pretty much just hang around. I'm shocked when I see a white balloon start to droop slightly. It can't be. It's impossible to start to descend so quickly. We are top of the line birthday balloons. Balloons for special occasions are made to order, which leaves little time for pre-party flight. And certainly the short ride over in the delivery van wasn't enough to steal her air. It must be an abnormality. I will try not to think about it.

While guests are eating lunch a movie is played on a large screen at one end of the room. Music accompanies the moving pictures and everyone is delighted and enchanted by the film. It begins with black and white photos of a young girl, continues with celebrations of matrimony, anniversaries, a family reunion, graduations and ends with pictures of the guest of honor today. Midway through the presentation, the dark grain of the film turned to color, revealing a bright portrait of life lived to its fullest with lots of family and friends.

An enormous birthday cake ablaze with candles is wheeled by me, causing a sway in our balloon group. I watch as other party balloons feel the heat and waver slightly. The lights are dimmed and everyone breaks into song. In the glow I can make out happy faces and tender expressions. The candles are blown out with some assistance from family and the birthday cake served to all.

I'm happy to observe the eating of cake and listen to talk of the past when without warning, something pops up in front of me. With cake in the corners of her mouth and frosting on her fingers, a little girl drags on my ribbon. "It's this one, Mommy. I want this one." Her mother, making her way over is now happy to oblige and I am free from my chair. I guess I'm the chosen one. Not bad for a red balloon.

 

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