by John Brantingham
You tie the helium red balloon around Cyndi’s tiny wrist knowing full well she’s going to lose it at some point, but she bounced seeing it at the vendor and you were just buzzed enough in this late afternoon on the boardwalk to say what the hell and buy it while your wife was in the tourist shop.
And when she comes out of the tourist shop, she sees the balloon and laughs and lifts Cyndi off her feet by the wrist where the balloon is tied. She feigns fear and says, “Oh no, Cyndi is floating away!” Cyndi squeals in laughter and dangles, and fuck this is just so fucking perfect so you take a nip from your flask.
You laugh and say, “Holy shit you’re wonderful.”
Your wife says, “Holy shit.”
Cyndi says, “Holy shit.” Holy shit not being her first word but maybe her three hundredth. She says it almost like another kid might say a prayer.
You say to your wife, “We’re going to have to teach jellybean to curse right.”
She says, “Well we are pretty good at it.”
And you think this is a moment of unabashed joy. There aren’t many times in life when you can point to a moment and say, yes this is perfect or this moment is wrong. But yes this one works out and even one third drunk you can recognize how good it is.
And then the balloon slips off her wrist and it floats out over the city and you point at it, and your wife points to it and Cyndi starts to panic, but your wife saves the day and says sweetly, “Bye bye we’ll see you soon.”
Cyndi says, “Holy shit” in prayer to this sacred moment: red balloon suspended in air and floating away over a city, you holding all that matters to you, wife and daughter knowing this moment will slip away, but holy shit it is here.
© 2025 John Brantingham All rights reserved.
Click or tap here to see John Brantingham’s profile.
Use the “Leave a Comment” form below to submit comments on this piece.