the way the hallway is set up, I can hear people talking intimately at either end of the building; their cell phone conversations and idle chatter haunt and brighten the the third floor. the basement is a burden upon the second floor the same way we hear them up here: a child psychologist, a dentist, a pharmacy, and three non-descript doors that are always shut, the people that go in and out of them. we get all kinds. trying to fix their conflicts.
"no sir, the family practice moved across the street; no I don't know the new address."
"no ma'am, we didn't run the other attorney out of business; he's actually dead."
"no; no one needs a phone book anymore."
a mother was at the south end today with her two young children, just leaving the dentist. the dentist gives the kids balloons when they get their teeth cleaned. I've seen them; they don't even have to be good to get the balloon. hardly any of the kids are good. mostly because they don't have to be. they still get the balloons either way.
one of the children carelessly let the balloon from his grasp and it slowly drifted up toward the third floor ceiling, beyond anyone's safe reach. i saw it lingering there while he was crying to get it back. the other kid held onto her balloon with a firmer grasp than before. they all had matching outfits in and of themselves. all a bit different, but still from the same collection. the mom looked like she might collect something unusual. the balloon-less kid was still going on about losing his balloon.
"you can't get it back," the mother told him. she paused, anticipating the child's curious 'why'. "it's gone to heaven."
the kid put his balloon-less hand into his mother's and the other child did as well and when they walked through the door, the other balloon was released not into an office building but into the sky. where the 'real heaven' is.
i think i just saw a bird choking on it.
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