Little Red Balloons

Chapter 1

I sat there, staring. It was blank. “How long have I been sitting here?” I asked aloud. The canvas did not respond, I did not expect it would. I used the back of my palms to rub my eyes, as I ran my fingers through my hair sighing aloud. I looked at the clock, 8:00pm it read, I have been sitting here for three hours now. I read the assignment again: Create an image that describes your life right now, your feelings or a moment that you remember vividly. Just then I heard a knock on the door.

“Honey,” the door opened a crack, it was my mother, “you have locked yourself in here all afternoon are you sure you don't want some dinner?” She finally saw my canvas and her eyes went dark. “You know your father doesn't like that kind of stuff in the house.”

“I know, but I need to work right now, I will tell you why later.” I responded to her, trying hard to not roll my eyes or give her attitude. She hates attitude.

“Fine, just please put that stuff away before he gets home.” I looked at her for a moment. She was always gorgeous, even now with her colorful silk scarf covering her bald head. She used to have bright red hair, ‘like fire’ my father always used to say. We don’t talk very much about her hair. She looked me right in the eyes, a look of pride rang in her eyes that slowly sank into a look of of disappointment. She closed the door and she left.

I went back to my canvas, it looked so plain. As I stared longer I realised that I quite liked it like that. Suddenly like an explosion inside of me, I knew what I had to paint.

 

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My father always got home at 7pm sharp. He was a big-shot lawyer from a blue blood family line. He loved his job, because he never had issues getting what he wanted.

My mother was younger, she was 23 when she married my father and had me that same year. She grew up on ‘the other side of the bridge’ as they called it. We haven’t seen her family since she married my father, they had told her that they never wanted to see her again if she married my father, he was a ‘bad man’. This might have to do with her being his third wife, or that my father was 48 when he married my mother, I still don’t really know.

This night I told my mother that I was going out with my girlfriend, Melanie. Melanie was one of those typical rich girls. Her father worked on Wall Street, so like many, she had her first nose job in the 6th grade. She was beautiful and classy, the kind of girl my dad always wanted me to end up with, a girl like my mom.  

Sometimes I felt like my dad liked her more than he should, but I pushed it aside because I think I love her.

The limo arrived at 7:30, I chose a really nice restaurant and had a very special plan set out for the evening. I would pick Melanie up at her apartment and get a chance to speak to her father for a moment...alone. Then we would head out to this lovely restaurant in Brooklyn, something posh yet laid back, like me. We had been dating for almost three years now, I wanted to make the night special.

By 10:00 Melanie and I sit in the back of my limo. The drivers radio plays quietly in the front seat. I hold her hand, she holds back but rather rigidly. I look at her, she has her long blonde hair straightened and loose hanging down her back. She won the ‘genetic lottery’ as many of our classmates liked to say. Melanie is tall, blonde, green eyed with a beautiful sophistication to her that only girls that grew up in a rich Manhattan penthouse could have.

But something was different about her tonight, she sat uncomfortably, her eyes never left the window and when I went in for a kiss she turned her head and made no eye contact. This was unusual for her, and even know she sat in complete silence.

“So.. how was your day?” I needed to break the silence. I could see her head perk up as if the start of conversation was unexpected.

“Oh.. um… it was fine.” She responded sourly, she still had her body faced completely towards the window. I could feel her hand start to sweat and twitch unexpectedly. She was nervous about something, I could tell.

“Is something wrong?” I asked her sweetly as I leaned my body forward in attempt to make eye contact. She let go of my hand, and quickly ran her fingers through her hair as if she felt unkempt all of a sudden. I couldn’t take it anymore, if she wasn’t going to tell me… I was going to ask her what I came here to ask. “You know, Melanie, we have been seeing each other for a long time,” I sat up and got down to one knee in the middle of the limo, thank god the car was stopped so that I could do this without falling over, “I think we are at a point in our lives were this question should become present,” She looked at me in shock and sadness, I didn’t understand why, I thought she would be overjoyed throwing herself in my arms in sight of the small box I had pulled out of my pocket. “I love you and I would like to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“Stop the car...” At first she said it quietly like a whisper to herself, “Driver stop the car!” She yelled. Soon the car came to a stop. A tear ran down her cheek as she opened the car door, looked me in the eyes and mouthed out, “Sorry.” She got out and slammed the car door.

I sat there in shock, I didn’t even realize that the car was moving. I felt sickened and I was alone.