Stealing traffic cones from the Information Superhighway since 1989 (original) (raw)

The Balloon's pretty and Blue hides things from it. Little things, like the fact that sometimes the way the Balloon moves through space kind of disturbs Blue, makes Blue think of some kind of weird alien, and bigger things, like the fact that Blue's not quite sure if it's in love. But the Balloon loves Blue so much. And the Balloon is so the perfect lover. The Balloon is so cute that when they are together, everyone stares. The Balloon is cute in a way that everyone knows about, the utterly uncomplicated cute that makes other objects jealous and a bit uncomfortable, leads to statements like, "I guess, I mean, if you are into that kind of thing, I like my things a bit more quirky."

The funny thing was that the Balloon knew all about this, but avoided thinking about it, focused its energy instead upon its own neuroses, the strange and unexpected uncomfortabilities that haunted its social interactions. Pretty people take for granted the extra attention that is paid to them, and the Balloon's awkwardnesses bloomed into delicate flowers that might make it leave a party at any second, or refuse to meet on a certain corner.

Blue understood. Blue was charmed. Or rather, Blue loved the Balloon offhandedly; in the way Blue loved everyone. Blue reacted to the Balloon's eccentricities with lighthearted laughter, or a vague shrug, and the Balloon was smitten. When someone loves you more than you love them, you are afforded certain luxuries. You get to be inattentive, and uncommunicative, and it comes off as independent and mysterious. Blue was lovely, a whirl of color and softness and intrigue, and the Balloon would whisper endearments to Blue at any given moment, in an empty room or in a crowd, sing "Oh Yoko!" in the morning, replacing the Yoko with "Blue-O," making Blue giggle.

The Balloon loved the sound of Blue's laughter, loved making Blue laugh. It would bob about, make a fool of itself, just to hear it happen again. The Balloon delighted in wooing Blue, appearing when Blue least expected it, taking Blue to see all its favorite secret spots.

The Balloon was like a person who would give you a mix tape, having carefully thought out the exact meaning of every single song on the tape, the juxtapositions, the cohesion of the tape as a whole, and how it was a perfect expression of the feelings that defined your relationship at that exact moment. And Blue was like a person who would thank you, smiling like an arrow to your heart, and then put it down somewhere, forgetting to listen to it. And when you got up the courage to casually ask what Blue thought of it, Blue might color, and say, "Oh shit! I know it's somewhere-I'll listen to it tonight or something," and somehow, the sheepishness of its answer, combined with its obvious lack of remorse, would charm the pants off of you, and you'd be more in love than ever.

The Balloon would tell stories about their future together, and Blue would look at it kind of absently and change the subject. Sometimes it amazed Blue that its small cruelties never hurt the Balloon, especially given how fragile the Balloon always seemed, but the more they fought, the more the Balloon wanted Blue. Blue was a petty tyrant, a charmer, and the Balloon danced to Blue's whims. When Blue pouted at it, the Balloon was a nervous wreck, rushing to fix whatever was wrong. Blue let itself be spoiled, collected tribute, and never quite gave the Balloon everything. At the same time, Blue was so sincere in all that it did give that the Balloon just wanted more.

It wasn't that Blue was mean; it was just that somewhere deep inside Blue knew that they would never fit the way they should. How could the Balloon possibly win against Blue's foregone conclusion?

Blue did its best to love the Balloon anyway, as well as it could.