She found me when I was most vulnerable. When I wanted to stop breathing, trying, thinking…she found me. When I wanted to take a turn down the left lane, she’d found me. As I release this balloon tonight, I hope she’s watching. I’d like to find her, too. I’ll be watching for her even if she isn’t there. I’ll be watching. I promise.

                I waited all night for her balloon to fly high in the sky, but it never showed. I remember myself darting to the phone, my fingers pressing the small buttons—it was the fastest way to reach her. In a panic, I called her, and the first time there were five point five rings before an operator picked up. It wasn’t her voice, and I was enraged with fury. Why was she not answering? I dashed back to the window in a panic, searching the sky for any sign of a balloon. I reached for the dingy pair of binoculars that sat, resting neatly, on my pile of freshly stacked notebook paper. Compulsive me. I pressed them to my eyes, zooming in as I scanned the city carefully. No…no, no, no. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. I didn’t know what overcame me, but as soon as I heard the phone ringing, I swallowed loud.

Uh oh…

Two Months Earlier

                From what I can remember, it was an early morning in June; maybe a Saturday. Now that I think about it, it was definitely a Saturday. I know so because I remember how packed the streets where. I was walking north. No, not North. I was walking northeast—approximately fifty-five point five degrees latitude. No, scratch that. I was walking fifty-five point four degrees latitude. I’m sorry; usually my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder does not get this bad.  Show me making a right turn—now show me making a sharp left again. I must have forgotten my I.D on that park bench I’d been sitting upon.

Okay, got it.

                Now show me darting forward in a rush, my surroundings enclosing my tiny, but muscular body. I remember smelling such a dulcet scent; strawberries and pomegranate. Well, there was a hint of orange that day, but I’m sure my senses were being quite supposititious. I felt very gallant that day, almost as if I were ready to take on anything and everything. I remember seeing the water brushing against the shore almost as if it were asking for a hug. But every time, instead of a hug, the shore gave the water a kiss. I timed it. I took my watch out, leaning on the bridge above the water, and started to time it. I counted how many kisses were given in a full minute. That’s sixty seconds. Every sixty seconds, the shore gave the water eight kisses, but it was actually eight point five kisses. That’s counting the lingering second that I forgot to push the ‘stop’ button.

                I felt so inquisitive. I wanted to run around and time everything and anything. Anything, anything, anything…Okay. Anything. Right, I wanted to time anything. Put pressure on the last word; add pressure to the last word. Alright. Now, show me sprinting down the street, not a care in the world. I don’t know how fast I’d been going, but it was pretty fast because the wind was pushing against my burning skin. It was hot. So, it was definitely a June. There was a young girl settled upon a bench that she’d pushed close to the curb. Curiously, I remember myself running over to her. Remember how I felt inquisitive and gallant? I sat next to her and stared up at the balloons above her. Before I spoke, I rubbed my lips together approximately four times.

“Can I have one?” I recall myself asking.

She watched me quizzically, and I remember her dark hair covering her right eye. She’d brushed it away though, “But…I’ve only three balloons…” She explained, shoving the balloons at me. It was almost as if she’d felt as though I thought she’d been lying. Well, I saw the balloons beforehand. So thank you.

“Well, you have three balloons. If I take one balloon, you’ll be left with two balloons. Two is an even number, so if you split two, you get one. What would you get if you split one balloon?” I asked, but I was not expecting an answer, “You get one half.” I explained.

“Are you…” She started.

“Very.” I finished, and I swear that I heard a small chuckle eliciting from her thin lips.

                I couldn’t help but to notice a small, pink bow that was clamped into her dark, brown hair. She was wearing a blue jean, acid washed jacket that was cut off by the sleeves. Underneath, she wore a white t-shirt with some type of design. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen to wear the jacket. If I can recall just right, approximately two seconds after I’d made my full-body observation, the wind blew by and a balloon escaped from the cluster. Before it got too far, I was able to reach a hand up to return it to her. She smiled to me as I tied it around her wrist instead.

“Hold on to this.” I said, giving her a warm smile, “I really like balloons, and I’d be heartbroken if one of these were to fly away. Do you like balloons?”

                From there, our conversation blossomed into emotion and passion. I’d never met someone so…so…God, what was the word? Oh. I’d never met someone so graceful. The way she talked, the way she blinked, the way she laughed, the way she’d think; they were absolutely and positively appealing.  Her story was a lot worse than mine, you know? For a first meeting, she went into depth. She’d even showed me the scars if I hadn’t believed her. She was so certain. She acted on impulse. Before I could question, she’d pulled up the leg of her pants quicker than my mind would be able to process.

                She told me where her love for balloons derived from. Pay close attention, because it gets complex from here. Balloons are symbols of freedom. Sleep on that.

                Show me blinking, taken aback by her oxymoron. But before that, show me chuckling faintly. She’d told me something. She consistently released balloons every night at twelve o’clock. Whatever she’d been feeling that night, the balloon told her story. She informed me ‘code colors’. She’d taught me that red meant displeased, blue meant troubled, yellow meant blissful, green meant                tranquil, and orange meant fatigued.

                I asked her why she’d always release a balloon instead of venting to someone. Her answer was very complex, but facile all at once.

“The sky is a better listener than a human being, you know?”

“Where’s your proof?” I asked, but simply because I’d been offended by her answer. I was a good listener—she didn’t know what she was talking about. I could listen all day. Maybe sometimes I chose not to, but I listen.

“All around us,” she explained, her voice lowering to a low murmur, “All around us is my proof. My…my evidence.”

                She stumbled for the last words, and I mentally took notes. The way she would fumble for the right word. She’d take all her precious time looking for the right term. She contemplated things carefully. From that day, I remembered how careful she’d been. Maybe this goes into depth a bit too much, but the way she’d wrapped her tiny, dainty fingers around the string of the balloons, you could see the redness of the blood. It sat underneath her milky, white skin, and the color reddened with every word. It was as if she’d been holding on to her words tightly. It captivated me, really. Every other sentence, her grip was tightened as if some force was helping her to do so; then it loosened. But after another sentence, the cycle started again. I counted, while clicking my teeth together.

Pause.

                Show me, Jung Yonghwa, clicking my teeth in contrary patterns. Now show me, Jung Yonghwa, counting aloud while she watched me, baffled. Now fast forward a few frames, and show me, Jung Yonghwa, my heart pumping quickly in my chest, threatening to explode inside of my body. Show the blood running through my veins and the butterflies settling inside the pit of my stomach. Now show the butterflies forming into something bigger. What’s bigger than butterflies? Love? I’ve never been in love, and I was not familiar with this feeling. Show me snapping back to the conversation, spurring away from my muddled thoughts.

Resume.

                She might have tapped my shoulder, because I recall myself jolting upward as if I were being reprimanded. Her face was perfectly rounded, and her cheeks were full. Her eyes were made up of two large, dark pools. But if you look closer, they told you a story. If you look into my eyes, they told you no story—at least you’d never detect one. There was nothing special about me. I was evidently O.C.D, but that’s about all there is to it. Compared to her fresh, red blood, my blood was thick and dark. There was nothing special about me, my story, or my blood.

                I’d like to thank her now, though. As I’m writing this to look back on, I give her praise for finding me when I’d been most vulnerable. If I hadn’t been so vulnerable, I would have been such a cowardly bastard. If I was not planning on wiping my existence from the face of the universe that night, I would not have been out on my last Saturday—or at least I thought it was—morning walk. If I had not been on my last Saturday morning walk, I would have never met her, and I would have never known her story. I would never have gotten the chance to tell my story to her. But, my story is not important. My blood is thick and dark; therefor it is not as interesting as her blood had been.

                From what I’d remembered, it was a quarter past noon when I’d decided that it was time to return home. I’d always returned home from my morning walks by one. On a bad day, I returned home at a quarter ‘til one. I’ve always been this way. This was what I’d done my whole life. I have a mental schedule, and it’s etched into my mind. I have to follow by that schedule. I have to. I have to. I have to.

                Before I’d left her that day, she finally handed the balloon to me. There was a sense of trust when I felt her tie it to my wrist, and I couldn’t help but to chew on my lip in approval. “Here, keep this, stranger.” She smiled, a faint laugh slipping from the bottom of . “Remember what I said.”

The way she addressed me as ‘stranger’ was something beautiful, “Thank you.” I paused, turning around as I made it a few steps from her, ‘Tonight at twelve.” I answered, giving her a thumbs up. “I’ll ‘see’ you then.”

                As I made it down the street, I remembered turning around, feeling as though I’d missed something. Her name. I forgot her name…what an idiot. I waved my arms in the air when I sensed she’d been watching me. “What’s your—“

“Seo Joo Hyun!” She called back before I’d finished my sentence, “My name is Seo Joo Hyun!” She enunciated the syllables of her name, and I couldn’t help but to repeat it approximately four point five times as I returned home that day. The point five was when I’d only been able to get the “Seo” out, because I’d stopped to remember her. But when I turned back around to see if she’d still been sitting at the bench, she was gone, and so was my sanity.

                By the time dusk arrived, I’d been lounging across my bed, cradling a pack of flat balloons against my heaving chest. I took deep breaths, worrying if I would be able to see her balloon from here—but if not, I could always go with my alternative plan and seek with my binoculars. I spent approximately ten minutes contemplating what I felt at that moment in time. Was I blissful? There was nothing to feel happy about. Was I displeased? I’d always been displeased, but at this particular time, I wasn’t. Was I fatigued? In some way I was. Was I troubled? That is a perpetual feeling. Was I tranquil? Yes, I was, so I decided to release a green balloon.

                A few hours later, I rolled over onto my stomach, viewing the digital clock that rested upon my nightstand. It was five minutes until midnight. In a rush, I grabbed the first green balloon that I could, and blew into it strongly. After a count of five seconds, the balloon was full of air. I tied the bottom, smacked it around the room, and jogged to the window, leaning over the sill. It was wet with fresh rain drops, and as soon as the palms of my hands touched the damp wood, I wiped them on the side of the house. I checked the clock once again and made a sprint for my binoculars.

“Just in case,” I whispered to myself.

                When the clock struck midnight, I set free my balloon from the window and watched as it floated into the air. In my peripheral, I could see a similar shape a few apartment complexes down. Curiosity took over and I briskly lifted the pair of binoculars to my face, zooming into view—

“A green balloon!” I whispered in excitement, peering from the window as much as gravity would allow. Below me, the roar of car engines and bus doors shot into my earlobes, and the sound of a patio door swung open a few feet below. It was her. I knew it had to be her. But much to my disappointment, it was only Grandma Lee that stepped from her apartment.

                I leaned away from the window sill cheerlessly and latched it shut. Languidly, I threw myself into a recliner and intertwined my hands together in thought, crossing my legs. And it was like that for two months. Every night at midnight, we both released balloons. In the course of time, we’d exchanged phones numbers and email addresses; we’d use that as much as possible.

But, after a while she’d stop sending balloons, and was gone just like that.

Present Day

                 I remember my hand shaking vigorously as I stretched for the phone. All at once, bleak, melancholy emotions settled in the pit of my stomach as I picked the ringing phone up from the hook and pressed it to my red, hot ear. I swallowed slowly, chewing on my lip nervously as I took quick glances out of the glass of the window.

“I don’t have any more balloons!” was what I desired to hear. But it did not come that way. In fact, it was the exact opposite, and for a moment, I wished I’d never answered the phone. “Jung Yonghwa…” she started, assuming that I’d answered, “I have something to tell you.”

I tried to keep my voice steady and calm, but my voice cracked as I spoke, and I immediately felt the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. “What is it?”

“It’d be completely informal if I were to tell you over the phone,” her voice wasn’t the same anymore. In just two months, her voice had gone from soft and graceful, to forced and painful. “Meet me downstairs, Jung Yonghwa.”

“Okay…okay, okay, okay…” I was only satisfied with the feeling of the last word on my tongue, but soon after that, I’d hung the phone up and started to hastily speed downstairs.

                For the first time in two months, I was able to see her again. Ironic—I know—because we only lived two apartment complexes away. But if her voice was the only thing I was capable of hearing, and if that meant I was a step closer to actually being with her, I would accept it; and I did. Well, I learned to. I forced my hands into the pockets of my jeans, scanning the lobby for her. After a while, she appeared through the double doors, but this time she was not standing. In fact, this time she was sitting. In a wheel chair sat the same, small, young girl that I’d met only a few months back. Her milky, white skin was no longer milky; it was only white. Nervously, I stepped closer to her, my knees wobbling in the process. As we wheeled over to a bench, I sat in front of her.

“It’s polio,” she started, and I felt my heart drop to my knees. Not my stomach, but further down to my knees, “and I’ve had it since I was younger. But its gotten worse, and I’m losing feeling in my legs.” She paused, probably to take a breath, “It’s too late to prevent it, as you can see. So now, my family recommends I move to the country. Maybe Busan or further south.”

“They don’t think that it’d be alright for me to stay here in such a busy city. Last month, I’d been on a walker, and I could have tolerated the throngs of people…new faces and bodies…But now, I’ve been requested to use a wheelchair.”

“But why?” I asked, even though I’d heard everything.

“You still ask questions when everything has been answered?” She chuckled quietly, “It’s paralyzing me, Jung Yonghwa.” She explained, “I can’t live in the city—”

“No. Why didn’t you release a balloon tonight?” That was the only thing that I’d been worried about. She promised that she’d release one every night.

She paused, cleaning underneath her dirt-filled nails. Her hair fell over her face in loose locks, and she began to chew on her bottom lip in thought. To me, it seemed as though she’d been searching for the most believable alibi. I was going to do whatever it took to not give in. A promise is a promise; it’s just that.

“I was just too worried.” She finally spoke in the haunting quietness that surrounded us. Even in the dim of the light, I could see her frown growing gradually, and I pursed my lips shut until I could piece out what I would say.

                After two months of sending balloons, here we were. After two months of confessing feelings, here we were. After two months of not talking, seeing, feeling, here we were. Caught up in the midst of realities finest ups, we were. Here I was, getting caught up in something that I’d been better off not to. Something told my feet to dart for the door, but there was a force that shook me back down to my bottom. I crossed my legs in thought, rubbing the palms of my hands together approximately four times. It took the silence five minutes to ward off, and I listened to what she had to say; I took it in because it’d be the last I’d hear her say.

“It’s hard on you?” I nodded in between the brief pause of her words, “Well, it’s even harder on me. Why would you get so attached to me, Jung Yonghwa? Why allow yourself to get so attached to a stranger?”

“I didn’t know your situation.” I retorted.

“So if I you knew of my situation, you wouldn’t have gotten attached?”

“I never said—”

“But you intended to say so.” She interrupted, her head now hanging.

                I pursed my lips again—more out of anger rather than uncertainty—and let my head roam around the lobby. I remember the cool air hitting against my boiling skin, and then I’d done it. I’d done the unthinkable. Leaning in to her, I placed my hands on either side of her cheeks, my forehead resting against hers, and I started to speak quietly, softly, to her. I didn’t dare raise my voice. I was to savor this brief moment forever.

“If this is what you want,” I began, speaking through gritted teeth, “then okay. Okay, okay, okay. Alright, but I promise that I won’t forget you. I will try and—”

“Please,” she choked out, “please don’t forget me…”

I let my eyes look down at her plump lips before I pulled my head away from hers. She threw her arms around my hard body and rested her cheek against mine.

                After this day, I have decided to document my feelings. I have decided to keep track of every balloon that I release at midnight. Even though she’s no longer here, I will forever continue our promise. It has become a new ritual of mine. Seo Joo Hyun, if you are out there anywhere, please know one thing: I, Jung Yonghwa, will always remember you.

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