The Dark Balloon

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Gerard, who now has a story about death.

Gerard remembers receiving an aluminum foil in the mail, some ashes of his wife. It was all he could afford.

GERARD REMEMBERS A RINGING SOUND VIBRATING THROUGH HIS EARS AND SOUL.

Gerard visits a cemetery every third of the every month to place flowers on his wife’s grave. When the angels remember, these flowers pulled up into the mesosphere by golden, apotheosistic threads. When the angels forget, the flowers are beaten into the ground by wind and water.

SHE DIED OF CANCER.

Though weak from symptoms and treatment, her body looked like the love of his life until the end. This was because her soul belonged to Gerard, which Gerard never wanted but it was given willingly, anyway.

Anyway.

They had perfect maps of each others’ souls. She will soon pass on, and Gerard will have to find a filing cabinet large enough to store all the maps Gerard has that he will never have to use again.

IF GERARD IS LUCKY, GERARD WILL BE UNABLE TO FIND ANY SUCH FILING CABINET. IF GERARD IS UNLUCKY, THE SAME.

Gerard still wakes up every day and reenacts the same six-year old routine. Gerard climbs out of bed, makes silently down the stairs, and pours a glass of water for his wife. Gerard makes back up to give this glass of water to an empty side of the bed, which is perfectly made.

Gerard puts his hands into his arms, less frequently now than before, but some nonetheless.

WHEN SHE DIED, SHE LOOKED AS IF SHE HAD THOUGHT ABOUT HIM EVERY DAY FOR A VERY LONG TIME.

She kissed Gerard softly, lips to lips, before she died. She turned her face toward him and smiled and closed her eyes. Color and sound seemed to drain from the room. The life monitor’s whine seemed miles and miles away. A silvery substance poured out of her. From her eyes, her mouth, her pores, her womb. It flowed past Gerard and splashed onto the floor. It pooled around her bed.

Breathe.

The torrent subsided. It had flowed around the tears Gerard marked on his wife’s arm. They formed the shape of a starling, a light white mark on her flawless arm.

Breathe.

GERARD LEAVES THE HOSPITAL AND CONTINUES HIS LIFE.

It seems like a different life entirely. But he embraces it with closed eyes, arms to his side. It is not the most glamorous superpower, to beat back your fears and doubts and live not for one but for two. To carry your head high because she would want you to. But it is a superpower nonetheless.

(mp3)

SOMETIMES THAT IS GOOD ENOUGH.

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Gerard, who now has two stories about him.

Gerard can’t remember meeting Big Love. But Big Love, a large Hagrid-like blond man with cheerfully blue eyes, is Gerard’s nemesis.

BIG LOVE LIKES SITTING.

Big Love’s evil power is sitting on things. Sometimes Big Love sits on people’s chests until they can’t take it. Big Love gets up, wanders around, and comes back to sit some more.

Sometimes Big Love sits on friendships, cutting off circulation until a limb dies. When Big Love stands up, the necrotized issue travels throughout the friendship, tiny little bits of resentment, anger, and jealousy. Death by a million little pieces of necrotized tissue.

BIG LOVE MAKES MISTAKES SOMETIMES.

Big Love has been known to sit on two people at once, fusing their chests, sometimes permanently. These pairs of people must then live together and share the maps they’ve made of their own souls to each other. Big Love tries not to do this too much.

BIG LOVE HAS A REPUTATION TO PROTECT.

Big Love’s other evil power is removing taste from food as soon as Big Love leaves the room.

GERARD HAS NO TROUBLE TRACKING DOWN BIG LOVE.

Gerard has a keen eye for the person in the group of friends who stares at his hands and feet while everybody’s having fun, the person who always laughs a few moments behind, or the person whose smile seems thin and difficult. Gerard has had no trouble seeing these signs ever since Gerard began wearing contacts.

BUT YOU NEED MORE THAN CONTACTS.

Gerard remembers kneeling on the lawn in front of a boy and a girl, a messy scene in the aftermath of Big Love and his sidekick Unrequited Love. Gerard kneels and looks at both in the eyes. To the girl, Gerard says in perfect French: “You must know—”

The boy and the girl, children of expatriates, interrupt and tell him they do not know French. So Gerard switches to accented English and addresses the girl again:

“You must know that everything heals with time. You must know that your soul’s foam will gradually reshape and form better molds for different, better people who will navigate them with better maps. You must know that the time machine we are given, the one that moves one second per second, is not shabby, not shabby at all.”

The girl looks at Gerard, smiles radiantly, brushes back a strand of her shoulder-length hair beneath her ear, and runs off to play in the wind and sand.

HOW GERARD WAS ABLE TO GET RID OF BIG LOVE.

Gerard snapped a twig off of the orange tree growing on the lawn. He threw it at Big Love. Big Love is finicky and hates oranges.

THE GIRL SMELLS OF SUNSHINE AND BUOYANCY.

Gerard turns to the boy.

“As for you, ….”

Gerard carefully inspects the boy.

“Ah, you were in love all along because of this.”

He reaches behind the boy’s elbow and flips a switch.

“All along, all you had to do was flip the switch. It was that simple, all along.”

Gerard pats the boy on the hand and stands up. He walks off the grass and onto the driveway. He jogs around the block and is gone.

WHEN GERARD STANDS UP, HIS PANTS SLIGHTLY RUSTLE.

The boy looks around. Nobody is watching. He looks at the switch behind his elbow. Carefully he flicks it back into its original position. He listens to the gears turning inside him.

SOMETIMES THAT IS GOOD ENOUGH.

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Gerard, who now has a story about him.

It’s time to talk about Gerard.

GERARD, WHO IS IN A CAFE SIPPING ESPRESSO.

Gerard is a middle-aged Parisian man with a long thin mustache and a beret. The beret was given to him by his father shortly before his father died. Gerard has no last name. Gerard has no father.

GERARD, WHO IS ACTUALLY A SUPERHERO.

Gerard does not remember when he got his powers. Possibly last year, possibly a few years back. In Paris, time passes like molasses and Gerard does not own a calendar. He does not own a television either.

IN HIS FREE TIME, GERARD READS NEWSPAPERS AND BOOKS.

Gerard’s favorite flavor of espresso is vanilla. He sips it hunched over his usual outdoors table. The table’s sleek black umbrella covers his sleek body, hunched over his tiny cup of coffee on its tinier saucer. He picks up the cup handle with his forefinger and thumb, brings it to his lips, and tilts. He drinks coffee as we dream people should.

GERARD SOMETIMES FIGHTS CRIME.

When he sees a lady being mugged, Gerard unconsciously feels his mustache and sprints into action. Running across the softly lit streets of Paris at dusk, he looks not unlike a black-and-white Luigi. “Stop, sir!” he cries in beautifully enunciated French, which is probably something like “Monsieur, sacre bleu!”

GERARD KNOWS FRENCH COMPETENTLY, NOT LIKE US.

The criminal unhands the lady and sprints away. Gerard rushes to catch the woman as she faints. Her eyes flutter open at his touch.

“Oh, Gerard,” she says breathlessly, “it’s you.”

Gerard is famous among the Parisians, even he knows that now and cannot deny it.

“Yes, ma’am.” (What is that, “Oui, madame?” Tsk, tsk.)

GERARD IS SINGLE, HE HAS REASONS.

At age thirty, Gerard lost his wife. His wife was as sleek as he was, but more angular and vivacious. She wore dresses that fit just perfectly. Gerard remembers her tinkling laugh as he helped her into and out of them. Gerard remembers all the times she ever kissed him (7,381,281), especially the last one as she passed on in the hospital. She had full lips that always seemed bigger than his. She is missed.

GERARD IS A SUPERHERO IN SMALL WAYS, MOSTLY.

Gerard remembers walking past the small child sitting on the curb, his head in his arms. He leans down to this child and talks to him in a low murmur. He whispers, “You did the right thing.” to him, stands up, and walks away. The words are almost no comfort at all, but they are the best, if not the only, conduit by which anyone can reach the boy, who is distant and lonely and lost. That is all we can hope for. That is all we can be.

GERARD IS NOT THE BEST SUPERHERO, BUT HE IS A SUPERHERO. SOMETIMES THAT IS GOOD ENOUGH.