Faithful Are The Wounds Of A Friend

He masquerades as a funny, little fellow. Brimming with helium and tied to a brightly colored ribbon, the balloon pretends to be a child's faithful friend. Mom knots the string to her child's wrist. Both are amused at the pleasure it brings. The balloon smiles down on its owner, bouncing and bobbing playfully. The child squeals with delight as she pulls her friend close and squeezes tightly. She laughs when the balloon boings back up to its watchful place.

Most toys, when forgotten, lay still and lifeless. But not so with Mr. Balloon. He dances and sways to attract the attention of others. A boy standing nearby notices. He too wants a leash wrapped around his arm and a pet balloon to walk. Mr. Balloon caught my attention on Saturday and I yielded to his friendly demeanor and glossy allure-a birthday balloon for my grandson.

Ethan played with Mr. Balloon until he opened his birthday presents. Megatron emerged as his new partner. Together they road in his truck, crawled in the tent, splashed in the sprinkler. But Mr. Balloon was undeterred. He hovered around the house all day. Desperate for attention he bumped & bobbled against the touch lamp; on, off, on, off...but to no avail. Ethan was out in the garage adding real gasoline to his battery powered truck. Mr. Balloon was finally successful after Ethan was dragged inside, showered off, and required to play indoors. He found the balloon dancing quietly in the corner.

Dinner was served outside, and the forever faithful friend was invited to eat with Ethan. He was tied to the chair so he could freely play in the wind. But Ethan kept untying him. Mr. Balloon was looking a little tired. His chest wasn't proudly puffed out anymore. Instead of bobbing quickly to the end of his string, he fluttered quietly beside the chair. I feared he was close to losing his floating ability. I watched as Ethan pulled loose the string. Mr. Balloon's bouncy bubbly self was slow in response.

But he's a tricky little fellow. Ever so slowly, he meandered to the edge of the deck. He lingered for just a moment, contemplating his next move. And then without looking back, he darted out. As fast as he's ever moved, he took flight. Over the houstop he went. Realizing his balloon was headed over the house, Ethan sprinted from his chair. Running as fast as he could, he made his way through the garage and onto the driveway. Words were spilling out of his mouth. His arms were pointing and signing towards Mr. Balloon, who was quickly becoming a speck in the sky.

"Ethan, the balloon is gone. I'm sorry. We can't get it back. Let's finish eating." Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He continued motioning with his hands and babbling as if to say we surely didn't understand that he wanted his balloon back. In those moments I'd give anything to know what Ethan was saying. I tried to think back to the times when my own children had balloons desert them.

"Will someone find my balloon?"
"Do you think another boy will play with it?"
"Maybe it will fly up to God and he will send it back."

I offered answers to words I couldn't grasp. But nothing I said could stop the alligator tears rolling down his face. I don't know how many times we dragged him back to the table, coaxing him to take one more bite. Over and over he ran to the front, in search of his friend.

Sometime after dinner, Ethan gathered Megatron and his other transformers. He set them up in the driveway. And then I saw him gesture. He pointed to the sky and his arms were signing. He spoke to them with words that only the toys could understand. I could only imagine. But I think he told them to never trust a balloon.