A girl (me) and her brother (Patrick) walk into a bar, ten years before the oldest can legally drink, looking for a good time. That’s not accurate. We came with our parents. And there’s a restaurant on the other side of the bar, and a play area for little children who are too energetic to sit quietly at a booth to wait for their food.
I’m not telling this joke well.
So a girl and her brother walk into a bar, looking for a good time. It’s the brother’s birthday, and the two head straight for their favorite booth. The girl picks up a menu. The boy stares at the ceiling and sings incoherently to himself. He is autistic, and he eagerly awaits the end of the meal, when his favorite part of the birthday ritual begins.
The waitress stops at our table. I attempt to get Patrick to respond to her and order his food and drink. He orders a cheeseburger and fries, with a Coke, just like always. I order whatever the waitress suggests, like always. Our parents sit down; Dad beside me and Mom beside Patrick, like always, and they order their food. The waitress leaves, and our parents and I discuss topics of little importance. Patrick shreds a straw wrapper.
The food comes, and we finish our meal without event. Dad leaves to pay the bill, and my brother and I slip away to truly commence the birthday celebration. We weave our way to the entrance, and I ask the host for a balloon. Patrick hastily adds, “Red,” before the host can select one at random. Patrick’s face lights up as the shiny red balloon passes from the host to him. I thank the host, and we rush to the parking lot, anxious to begin.
Rain spits over the parking lot, covering us and the balloon with a fine mist. The October chill fogs our breath, and for a moment, we exhale slowly, enjoying the swirling smoke we make. Then, before either of us can inhale again, Patrick releases the straining rubber balloon, and I make a belated swipe at the fluttering ribbon, though we know that I won’t catch it. The red balloon dances above our heads, shaking collected raindrops off its sleek surface. We lift our faces to the sky, blinking against the descending rain, to watch the red orb fade to a pinprick.
I’m not telling this joke well.
A girl and her brother walk into a bar, looking for a good time. They leave with a red balloon, releasing it as they step onto the pavement. The girl watches the glistening balloon and perceives a year of strife leaving her grasp, allowing her to start again with her brother. The released balloon symbolizes forgiveness, her brilliantly red shortcomings disappearing into the gray evening. The brother watches the shining balloon and perceives nothing more than happiness for releasing the balloon. Perhaps he perceives far more, but the girl only witnesses his joy, and marvels at his blissful ignorance.
The balloon disappears by the time our parents emerge. They only witness their eleven-year old daughter clutching their son’s hand and smiling.