From a Balloon

Greta watched the world go by. And yet there it remained.

In her ninety years, she couldn’t understand how the human race continued to exist. Everyone lived through chance encounters, like molecules of air bouncing off each other. Yet somehow, things got built. Babies were born. Civilizations rose and fell and were replaced by newer, better, shinier civilizations. How did all this happen?

Greta spent most of her life alone. Even when married, she had felt alone. Was that her fault? Or is that just how things are? The demands made upon her outweighed the benefits received. At least that is how she saw it.

Every day she sat in the park and pondered; how the hell did I get here?

She remembered the days of the blitz in London. She came home from school one day to discover her building and her family gone. Blown to bits by Nazi bombs. Social workers put her and other kids on a bus out of London to safety. She remembered watching the distant smoke rise. And the military observation balloons suspended far overhead.

Those balloons became a model for how she saw things, tethered to earth yet disconnected from everything. She fantasized cutting their cables and setting them free. Did they shoot ten year olds for being spies? 

They brought her to a farm and put her to work. In exchange for her labor, she received room and board. After the war, distant cousins in America took her in. She always felt a barely tolerated guest who had over-stayed. But she had nowhere else to go. Once grown, she and they lost their tenuous connection.

It occurred to her that other people had connections to each other, which she did not. Greta felt they must.

Life felt like riding alone on a train which passed other trains occupied by passengers also surrounded by solitude. Destinations unknown.

Nowadays, she sat in the park watching people. Many, especially children, spent their precious time sitting, swiping away on their smart phones. No connections there. Yet, someone provided these devices. Someone built them, marketed them, and empowered them to fill the time. Who were those people? Did they have deep connections to those around them?

Young couples strolled by, laughing and talking. The man laid his hand on the woman’s waist. Guiding her where? The woman smiled broadly at him and laughed.

But Greta could see distance in their eyes. She saw they were desperate to connect, unaware connection is a myth. Commercials on TV promise connection if only you buy their product. Greta bought lots of things but never felt connected.

If she summed up her whole experience, Greta would say it boiled down to people getting what they could. There might be fair exchanges. Of course, one gets the sandwich in exchange for its price. But she saw nothing more, nothing deeper.

A tree grows and then drops its leaves.

The puddle evaporates, and then it rains. The system seems to work. It always had.

But Greta wanted more. Even though she knew the myth of human connection, something within her craved it. What would it be like?

Who invented this myth? How would anyone conceive of it in the first place, if it were mere fantasy? Just to sell products meant to satisfy a gnawing, but imaginary hunger?

A ball rolled to a stop at Greta’s feet. A young boy ran toward her from a clutch of others. Greta instinctively stepped on the ball to keep him from taking it.

The boy stopped short, surprised. Grownups don’t act like that.

“May I have my ball back?”

“It’s mine. It came to me.”

“Billy accidentally hit it too hard. I couldn’t catch it.” The boy pointed back to the others who watched.

“Billy will learn his lesson, won’t he?”

“Maybe…” The boy struggled to understand. “Please? May I have it back?”

“What will you give me?”

“I don’t have anything. Oh, wait. Do you want some gum?” He reached into his pocket.

“Keep your gum.”

Greta nudged the ball toward him with her foot. “There you go.”

The boy picked it up and threw it toward his friends. He turned back to Greta. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

“Greta. And yours?”

“Thomas.”

“Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Why would you want to talk to me?”

Under his breath Thomas said, “Kids are kind of boring.”

Greta bit her tongue. “But why talk to me?”

“You’re alone. I thought you might like some company.”

“What would you like to talk about, Thomas?”

“I don’t know. Grown-ups have good stories.”

“They do?”

“Kids don’t know anything. Grown-ups know a lot.”

“So you want me to entertain you?”

“If you want. Or teach me. Or just pass the time.”

“You want to take my time, then.”

“Only if you want. I’ll give you mine.”

“A fair trade then.” Thomas nodded. “Come sit. What would you like to hear about?”

Thomas crawled onto the bench. He thought for a moment. “Tell me about when you were a kid.”

“Now that is a topic… Let’s see. I remember going into the country when I was about your age. There were these giant balloons up in the sky. Big enough for people to ride.”

“Wow!”

“They were attached to the ground with long, uhm… ropes. Yes, ropes.”

“Like giant kites?”

“Well they were balloons. With men up in them. And they could see way off into the distance.”

“That’s cool.”

“I always wished I could go up in one and fly away.”

“Where would you go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Someplace away from strife. Away from all the fighting.”

“They were fighting when you were young? I mean, when you were my age?”

“I think there has always been fighting, Thomas.”

“Oh…” Thomas looked down. “But if there is fighting all over, where would you go?”

Now Greta paused. She didn’t know how to answer this.

“I guess I’d just keep going up, then.”

“All the way to heaven?”

“Heaven?”

“You know. Where God lives?”

“Oh that place. I don’t know… I doubt if they would let me in there.”

“Why? Were you bad?”

Greta smiled at Thomas. “I may not have been so bad, Thomas. But I’m not so sure I am always so good either. I hear it’s pretty exclusive.”

“Oh… My Mom said that isn’t how it works.”

“Really? What does she say?”

“Well, she says people get it backwards.”

“How so?”

“She says, being ‘good enough’ is like trying to buy your way in. If that’s true, then only the rich would get in. Do you think only the rich get in?”

“I hope not.”

“She says it isn’t how good we are, but how good God is.”

“I don’t know…”

“Once I was bad. For something stupid.”

“Oh come now…”

“I didn’t hurt anyone, exactly, but Charlie, over there, he told me how we could sneak into the movie. But we got caught.”

“Oops.”

“A big whoops.”

“What happened?”

“The usher guy took us to the manager. And he told us he was calling the cops.”

“He could do that.”

“I know. I wouldn’t blame him. But I sweated Mom and Dad finding out, big time.”

“I would hope so.”

“So we apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“And?”

“He made us sweat for a while. But then he gave us free passes, if we promised never to try to sneak in again. We only missed the previews.”

“So, are you telling me, you can’t sneak into heaven? You can only buy a ticket?”

“No. Uhm… Well, what my Mom said, he gave us a pass. And our being good came out of our getting the pass. Not the other way around.”

“Your Mom sounds very wise.”

“Of course, she gave me extra chores…”

Greta laughed. Thomas sat for a minute.

Then he said, “You kind of tricked me, Greta.”

“I did?”

“You were going to tell me about when you were a kid. But you got me talking about getting caught.”

“I did, didn’t I? But your adventures are much more entertaining than mine. I promise.”

“I should go now. You mind if we talk again?”

“I would like that. I sit here pretty much every day.”

“I know. I’ve seen you.”

Thomas stood and thanked Greta for the conversation. He shook her hand, made a little bow and ran off to join his friends.

Greta watched him go. She felt light. Like she had been riding a balloon.