Writer's Secret Santa: The love story you never thought you needed

HEYO! MERRY VERY LATE CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!! (I KNOW I'M SO MAD AT MYSELF THAT I'M LATE!!!! SORRY IT'S BEEN A KIND OF HECTIC PAST FEW DAYS AND SO THIS WAS KIND OF THE FIRST BREAK I COULD CATCH XD)

HAHA. But you know that Writer's Secret Santa I told you about earlier? WELL! I finished mine and gave it to my friend who was ther person I was the secret santa for and she liked it but I have to shout out to her for the prompt because OH MY GOSH:

"Balloon park bench romance. (NO humans unless very minor character)"

You can bet I had fun with that.

When I first got it, I was definitely thinking something along the lines of dogs meeting at the park or something? But I don't actually know all the match about dogs so that vetoed that idea. And then I realized: how about the romance is actually between the park bench and the balloon???

You'll be surprised where that ended up.

Anyways, mind you, I had a deadline so it's not edited at all and there are some events and lines that I'd rather have changed and wish I'd included, but all in all, I think it's pretty OK and I didn't post on Christmas so I got to bring you guys something so here it is:

(And it's also real cheesy. Like, I didn't know I could be this cheesy but apparently I can.)

FALLING UP - a short but sweet love story

By r.k.

It was the same story every year.

The kid came by with the human I presumed to be his mother every year around this time. Mid-summer. Rainy season. He’d hobble on and about with his yellow rain jacket, a tuxedoed penguin adorning the back, and he’d slosh around in the mud until his worn gray sneakers were wet, his socks stuck, his feet stank and he sneezed like an unfortunate horse with hay fever. Every year it was the same, his mother came, holding the umbrella. No one else was about. He’d dance around in the rain, help snails back to their perches on tree leaves and they’d hug and yell and wander about until his mother looked down at her watch and ushered him in the direction of the soccer field, where they’d disappear over my horizon line.

They confused me. And also were the most constant thing in my life.

Hello. Bench 27589 of Dalewick Public Park. A pleasure to meet you.

I’ve seen a lot of things since the day the park was built. My serial number isn’t the only thing engraved onto my metal links and wood. Lovesick teens carved their initials into my teak only for the boy to return the next week and scratch it all out. Let me just say – ouch?! Have you no humanity! I mean, I had to witness the two of you make out for an hour last week and this is what you repay me with?

So if you wanna know how I got these scars – there you have it.

But I digress.

The boy and the woman came back every year. And each time, they always had one thing that caught my eye: brilliant red, floating high above their heads with some unknown force that made me catch my breath.

A balloon. At least that’s what they called you. Their words were kind of muffled over the rainstorms so I’m not entirely sure. But it was the first sunny mid-summer day in what seemed like forever. And so instead of skipping in puddles, the boy and his mother danced in sunshine and overdue mayflowers.

And they forgot about the balloon.

So you were tied to me, out of all the other benches in the park and for a long time we sat in silence, watching them. For the first time I saw the number drawn onto your shining surface in messy black sharpie - “7”. I thought about bringing it up. But you didn’t say anything. So I didn’t either.

When it started raining, the people ran for shelter, out past the soccer field. I heard you start to call out after them but eventually you gave up. You cursed under your breath as the thunder rolled in and the rain drops and winds thrashed you about and knocked you around. I stood my ground – like usual. It sucked to be wet and I could feel the gross stickiness of mould developing in cracks under my finish from pent up moisture. But you seemed to be struggling far more than I so I was hoping you were alright.

“Fine weather we have here, isn’t it?” I asked rhetorically.

“Buzz off,” you said, visibly, slumping.

“Sorry, that was mean. Allow me to introduce myself: I’m Bench 27589 of Dalewick Public Park, nice to meet you.”

“I said to buzz off.”

I paused, uncertain on how to tread further. “I can’t really though…I’m a bench.”

You sighed. “Please just stop talking.”

“But then it’ll get awkward -”

“It already was.”

I thought about saying something else but decided against it. The gold ribbon wrapped around my rail was tugged and pulled at by the winds. Do you know how uncomfortable that is, physically and mentally? In human terms, it’d be like if someone was sitting in your lap and constantly shifting their weight but refusing to say a word to you. I knew you couldn’t help it though. It has probably been a rough morning for you. After maybe another ten minutes (Five? I’m not good with time) you finally spoke up.

“I’m – “

“Seven.” I said without thinking. Then looked up at you. “Right?”

You didn’t say anything, instead gently bobbing up and down. Though, that could’ve meant anything, or nothing at all. It was windy.

“What kind of magic are you using to stay afloat like that?” I pondered aloud as you hit the dirt ground a couple times with the force of the rain before bobbing up again between the droplets.

“Magic!? Ha, no, no, this isn’t magic – it’s science.” You reprimanded me like a mother scolding a child, and I was quite taken aback considering how much older than you I was. “I contain an element called helium. It’s ‘lighter’, or less dense than air so it desires to rise above it. And thus I float - unless …tied down to something, such as yourself. I mean no offense, but this isn’t exactly the ideal situation.”

“I get what you mean,” And I did. I was grateful you didn’t blame me, but also knew you’d always associate me with being left behind anyhow. Wonderful what kinds of circumstances life throws at us. It was unfortunate, because you’d always be in my mind as a moment to cherish.

The rain was lightening, and you seemed to straighten up a little. “Thank goodness that’s about over,” you muttered, composing yourself. “I’m sorry, I wish I could leave you in peace, but until

someone unties us, I can’t really do much…”

“No, no, I don’t mind. You can stay as long as you need to – er, as you have to?” I stammered.

“Thank you.” You said. The streetlamps were just beginning to flicker on and it finally approached the one above us. The bright golden glow crashed down, creating a round circle of light inscribing us within it.

“Why, I can’t say I’ve always wanted to be a Broadway star, but the spotlight is flattering.”

I laughed. “Where’d you get your sense of humour?”

“The factory.” You said smugly. “So much you can pick up just listening to the casual drones of the machinery.” I smiled to myself. Wondering how chance provided such a place in time and space for these exact events to occur in the span of my life.

Our shadows were distorted against the dark sidewalk before us, your red translucence eclipsed on to the pavement below, and my wooden bars elongated against the backdrop of night. We were both quiet for a while longer.

“Science.” I said. Explain it to me.”

And you did.

“And there’s something called static electricity too!” You exclaimed. “These electrons, you know? I did go over that right? In chemistry?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re in all the elements, right? And we’re made up of elements?”

“Yeah.”

“What static electricity does, it that certain parts of the object have a higher concentration of protons to electrons, or electrons to protons! And you remember that law I told you about?”

“Ohm’s?”

“Yes! Opposite charges attract and like charges repel! Thus, a negatively charged object would be attracted to a positive one, and vice versa. Objects can usually be charged by friction – or rubbing them against each other.”

“But you said objects could be neutral too?”

“Right! There’s another thing about that!”

I learned a lot from you. Things I never knew I could know. Like, how the street lamps lit up. Or the forces at work that meant I couldn’t float around like you did. Both our knowledge of humans was limited, however. All we really knew was that whatever was made by them was used by them, for one purpose or another.

“So I’m for being sat in. What about you?”

The night was eerily silent when you didn’t respond. For the first time that evening, I felt the chill of the midnight breeze.

“Seven?”

You hesitated. “Don’t you ever feel like you want to be something else? Want to do something else?”

“Seven, you didn’t answer my question - ”

“You’re a park bench. I’m a balloon. Haven’t you ever thought about what it would be like to be human? To be as inventive and creative and interesting as them? Because…” You stopped.

“What is it?” I asked softly.

“I’m mass produced in factories, placed in bags for a dime a dozen. Pack of 24 at every dollarama. A rainbow of colours, blue, pink, orange, green, magenta, black. You could buy one of me with a cheesy slogan. I’m for six-year olds birthday parties, ninety-year old’s funerals! Tie me into an animal and sell me at the zoo! Give me to your kid at a magic show! Weddings, festivals, amusement parks! Ninth-grade science experiments!”

“That sounds like a pretty eventful life.” After I said it, I immediately knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.

You sighed. “You just don’t get it, do you?” You bobbed downward, closer to the black tarmac. You’re ribbon around my armrest felt less taut. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re a park bench. You stay here, waiting to be sat on for your entire life. You’re a good candidate for an artsy photo shoot. You’re named after famous people sometimes too. You’re the embodiment – maybe even the symbol of eternities.” You paused. “I’m certainly not.”

I thought about that. It finally sank in. I swallowed.

“So…?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah.” You said, blankly, looking out over the soccer field where the one hope you’d invested in left you and wasn’t coming back.

“And you know what the worst part of it all is?” You said. “Wedding, birthday, funeral, you don’t choose where you go. You just have to go there. And the weird thing? Humans use different colours to provoke different emotions! Like, all the black balloons are sold out for funerals.”

“I did think they were rather gloomy looking…”

“White ones are usually at weddings. Along with silver and gold.”

“Makes sense.”

“All the pastel-coloured ones find their way to baby showers.”

“Understandable.”

You laughed. I smiled.

“Hey,” you said. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

I thought about that.

“Not sure, I don’t really know anywhere else besides Dalewick Public Park.”

“Really? But what about a place where it’s snowy all the time, not just in winter! Or where it’s dry all year round so you’d never have to worry about mold again!”

“There are places like that?”

“Sure there are! I mean, probably. I’ve only really heard of a few of them. It would be wonderful to see them in real life.”

“Is that where you want to go?”

You floated a bit higher again.

“No. I just want to go…up.”

“Up?”

“Right now, it’s just like, I don’t really care where I go…but if I just had a taste of – of the sky, then maybe it would make up for all those places I’ll never see.”

“You’ll get there. I’ll make sure of it.”

“No, no…” You said. “Don’t…don’t make promises you can’t keep. You just don’t understand.”

“Well, then let me understand!” I said, louder than I intended.

You shrunk back. I faltered.

“I would’ve had maybe a week indoors.” You said quietly. “Outside…at best three days.”

“Three days?” I asked, not believing what I was hearing.

“I was made to be dispensable!” You yelled. “You can find me in a stupid garbage can if you ever wanna see me again!”

We were silent again. Humans really were numbskulls. They make so many things, create so many beautiful things…only to have them be thrown into the trash when they’re no longer of use? It was…it was disgusting. It was horrible. It was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

“I barely remember my life before this – like, when I was a tree?” I started, quietly. “But I do remember the stark feeling of death as I crashed to the forest floor. What was probably hundreds of years and as many rings to show for it, just gone. And the next thing I know, I’m here. A number in my back and bolted to this ground. I can’t even really call it that, the earth I grew up in had such a far different feeling. It’s just not natural here. But yet I’m doing the exact same thing. Standing in place. Watching. Listening. Waiting for things to happen. I never really found it to be so bad. Wood is used by humans for lots of things…but I can’t help but think, what if I was made into something else? What if I was like, a table, feeding some family in Russia? Or a book, feeding knowledge to the hands that scan my pages? Life’s full of so many ‘what ifs?’ And standing still was the thing I was destined for. But you?”

You were drooping now, your beautiful red gloss leaning against my back board.

“Seven? Seven!”

You stirred upwards “Sorry, I’m just…tired. That rain storm really knocked a lot out of me.”

“Your helium, it can escape?” I asked, panicking.

You made a clicking noise. “Gases are tricky elements…”

I paused. You didn’t have much time left. Dawn was breaking. I tried to calculate the hours. How long had you been pumped with helium before we’d met? A day or two? A few hours?

There was a tree across from where we were. I’d never talked to it before, but its arms were pretty long. Maybe...wait, could I move my branches when I was a tree? I couldn’t remember.

“Excuse me? Excuse me!” I shouted.

“I know what you’re asking.” A voice came from the other side of the path. “And I’m really sorry. But I don’t think I can. However…Barb?”

“Huh?” A voice came from behind me. I’d turn around if I could’ve. There had been a tree behind me this whole time and I’d never even known?

“These two love birds, they need a hand!”

“Oh sweet! I’ve been watching the two of you all night! Best drama I’ve seen in EVER! I’ll be glad to help!...if I could. The wind’ll have to pick up at the just the right time and angle, I’m not sure if we can make it…”

“We are not love birds…” You said tiredly, floating in closer to me. I thought fast. “Birds. Birds. Birds!”

“Oh, oh!” Barb said. “I think I’ve got some living in me! They kind of owe me one…HEY! JEFF! JULIA! I HAVE A FAVOUR TO ASK!”

I felt a fluttering on my arm as two red-breasted robins landed.

“Oh, well, this looks like a pickle!” Said one with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, buddy!” the other one said. “We’ve got this!” They began pecking at the ribbon, taking

parts by the beak and tugging this way and that.

“Hey, Seven, it’s going to be alright.” I whispered to you.

“I know,” You said. “I know.”

And with that, the ribbon went loose. And the helium did its lighter than air business.

“Ha! Haha!” You laughed. I could hear feel your smile as you beamed down at me. Jeff and Julia hovered with you, up towards the sky. Towards the rising sun.

“Thank you!” You called down. “Thank you! For everything!”

I watched as you descended over the trees. Higher up than I could’ve ever grown. Higher than the streetlights the two of us were once confined in. Higher than I’ve ever seen someone fly before.

“I’ll never forget you.” I whispered.

I heard cheers from the trees around me; the robins were flitting about, giving each other high fives. I was suddenly slightly embarrassed, realizing how all night everyone around us had been watching. But that didn’t matter now. I felt a pang in my center as I came to terms with the fact that I would never see you again. Your red glow. Your stern voice. In the few hours that I knew you, I learned so much. I thought so much. I discovered a world of the “could have beens”. You joined that world. And as I fell further and further into a love that could never be, you were flying.

And there you went, and kept on going – up.

#christmascheer #characters #alittlebitofrandom #writeon