balloon

Red spheric cylinder crawls up and on to heaven. Soaring from the the hospital driveway, long-distance vision, hopes on a string scattered. Tears from a crying child in a wheelchair who accidentally let that one go. Little does she know, there will be others. And she is better now. And this should be a happy time. The doctor frowns, stethoscope around his neck and runs back inside to the gift shop. Where he greets the cashier with familiarity and puts a dollar on the desk. She says nothing, smiles knowingly, blushes with a little tear she hastily wipes away from her cheek. The automatic door opens and this doctor approaches the crying child with shaven head and broken arm. He carries over five balloons: One yellow, two get well soons, one blue, and one red. She suddenly stops her wailing. Her eyes blinking back tears to acknowledge the kindness the set before her. The doctor smiles and hands her a tissue in his other hand. She quietly accepts both, her breath still regulating and calming down. Her harried, blonde hair mother is grateful and quietly expresses her thanks, smoothing her daughters hair behind her ear and kissing the top of her hand as she gazes up. Her mother goes to wheel her away when she suddenly turns around and says, “Thank you!” The doctor grins and smiles and waves back.