One Red Balloon

Belief comes from within in this charming short story

- Sarah K. Goldsmith

IS this you, Grandma?” I had been resting my eyes while the grandchildren played and now blinked the sleep away to take the photo album from my granddaughter, peering at the grainy photograph she pointed at with her stubby little finger.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said, smiling at the memory of that wonderful day.

“You look happy,” she said. “Who’s the other girl with you?”

“Oh, I was the happiest I’d been in a long time. The other girl was my best friend, Daisy. I met her that day.”

“That balloon’s almost as big as you are!” my six-year-old grandson exclaimed, dissolving into a ball of giggles as he contemplated a balloon as big as his granny.

Matthew’s merriment spread through the room and the three of us laughed. I waited for them to quieten and said in the most dramatic voice I could muster, “That was a magic balloon.”

The children looked at me with a mixture of wonder and disbelief across their faces.

“A magic balloon?” Holly said.

“Really?” “Absolutely. Shall I tell you?” The children leapt at me, clamouring for me to tell them the story, their voices rising with excitement.

“Hush. Now, that photo was taken on the best day of my life. I was ten years old and the fair had just arrived in town.

“I wanted to go, but although I had one or two friends, I didn’t have someone I thought of as a best friend.