Larry would always remember it as the day of the black balloon. Not that the balloon itself was black or anything, in fact it was of the brightest shade of red he’d ever seen. Rather, it signified the color of the cloud that now loomed over Larry’s life ever since that fateful evening with Samantha.
Larry and Samantha had been spending their evenings strolling down the village roads ever since the two names had been placed together in a single sentence. On that particular evening, Samantha was telling Larry all about the party her aunt had thrown in their garden the day before (to which of course, Larry had not been invited). She’d got to the part where Mrs. Miller had accidentally spilt some black pudding over Mrs. Peabody’s bodice when she all of a sudden stopped in the middle of the road as if struck by lightning. Larry followed her gaze but all he could see was a small child holding on to a string from which was suspended a red balloon.
“What happened?” Larry asked. She did not answer. He asked again, louder than before – “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, nothing,” was all she said as she turned her gaze downwards. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“But something’s the matter, Sammy. Tell me.” He’d grabbed her by the upper part of her naked arm as he said this and could feel the heat rising.
“Why on earth are you so insensitive? You see that child there; see that’s beauty, poetry, sublime. But you, you’d never see any of it. All you men are interested in only that one thing. You’re such a pig.”
Later, he confessed that it was the pig bit that had hurt the most. “But I’m sensitive, too,” he protested. “Tell me, didn’t I risk my neck trying to save your kitten when it climbed up that tree?”
For a moment it looked as if she did understand. Her gaze turned moist and she looked at him intently. But the very next second, he made his second mistake for that evening. “Just because I don’t go all potty over every human-ling in diapers does not make me insensitive!”
That did it. She turned on her heels saying, “I have to go. My aunt needs to take her medicine,” and stomped her way back to her aunt’s place. He did go to her place once or twice after that but a week later he was told that she was off to the city to look for work.
It happened a year later while he was sitting at the local tavern. He’d already had a few more beers than what would have been enough to lay him out cold but he’d held his ground. All of a sudden his gaze fell on a small article in the newspaper. The headline went – “Penguins perishing in Antarctica. Scientists fear they may be extinct in the next twenty years.” As soon as he read it, he collapsed on the floor blubbering like a baby. The kindly old gentleman on the stool beside him tried to help him up. Soon a small crowd had gathered. “I’m sensitive, too, you know,” he kept saying to each of them, “See, I cried for the penguins. Come on Sammy, I dare you to be quite as sensitive as that!”
Yours sincerely
Jude
