Balloon Ride by Astrid Paramita

Do you remember when people said: “At the last moments in your life, you will see your whole life flashing before your eyes”? If that was what supposed to happen, I should be experiencing it right then. But I didn’t feel anything. Nothing flashed before my eyes, and all the memories of my past seemed obsolete. Perhaps it was just another proof that my life was pretty damn boring.

I didn’t know whether it was pure stupidity or a brilliant self consciousness that brought me up to this point. Up to a moment ago, I believed I was just an ordinary girl, with an ordinary life, and everything about my life was nothing worth saying to anyone. The only spontaneous thing I had ever done was to take this balloon ride. It was a trip for fifteen minutes, cost fifteen Euros, guaranteed for the best view of Hamburg (or so the booklet said). You might ask, “What was so special about an air balloon ride?” I didn’t know either. What I knew: it was neither as daring as bungee jumping nor as glamorous as skydiving, but I was neither a daredevil nor rich.

So there I was, as excited as a cat hearing the sound of a can opener, and as nervous as going to the umpteenth time job interview. The balloon itself was an amazing sight. It was bright colored, in all seven colors of the rainbow, with a big advertisement of the city newspaper. The passenger place fitted nine people. It was not as big as I thought, I felt quite cramped in there so I kept my gaze outside the basket, ready to view the city. I was determined to maximize every second of my fifteen minutes.

At first, it was all wonderful. There were yelps of excitement as the balloon started to fly above ground. I could see the city slowly getting smaller beneath me. We started crossing the river Alster. It was gleaming from the sunny blue sky, as if the sun’s reflection exploded into a million sparkles. At that moment I felt lucky I had chosen to go that day.

I wanted to turn around to the other side because there was a flash of red dot catching my attention on the other side of the river. Then suddenly I heard it. There was a soft swooshing sound, coming from the rope. I could see small strains from the rope slowly disintegrate itself from one and another. Bits by bits, string by string, one after the other. None of the other passengers seemed to notice it. I could not blame them; they were much more interested in taking pictures at the scenery. Nobody would take a picture of the rope. I would have agreed with them. Except it was the very rope that held us floating in the air.

I was quite sure that nobody else heard the swooshing sound. They were busy chatting amongst themselves. A couple was commenting on everything they saw from up here, playing a game of pointing out the landmarks and possible locations of their friends’ apartments. A pair of love struck boys casually leaned to each other, whispering something that sounded like words of love into each other’s ears. An elderly group chatted about their neighbor, the one who chose not to take this trip, on how weird her decision not to go just because that day was a Monday. I wanted to tell them all what I saw. I wanted to scream at them, to warn them of what could happen. But I only could remember feeling how hard it was to move any muscle on my jaw. It took me forever only to open my mouth. I was frozen.

I started to see things around me in slow motion. Strangely, I felt more excitement than fear. Finally, something interesting would happen to me. Maybe I will be in the newspaper tomorrow. I must make sure I remember every tiny bit of mundane details, like the strange way the couple in front of me held their camera. I could see the angle was awkward, and they caressed the camera too gently as if it was a small baby. One was holding the lens steady and the other pressed the shutter. I wondered if it would work at all, but from the way the couple smiled at the camera, I thought they had done it before.

I would also remember the big brooch placed on the upper left breast jacket of the elderly lady. The brooch was bronze with delicate tiny spiral patterns. It has some sparkling jewels on it. I wondered if the sparkling jewels were real diamonds. Would diamond survive falling from the sky? I might find out soon enough.

I heard another swooshing sound. Another rope was failing. Still, nobody else noticed it. Not even the pilot.  Wasn’t it supposed to be his job? Did anybody see my shocked expression? Was my face not capable anymore in showing any emotions?

Somehow, I could feel the basket was still steady, partially because the failing ropes were on the opposite side and we were all standing on a perfect balance. I thought of trying to warn everyone again, at least the pilot. But I cannot. To me, everyone around here seemed to be dancing their last dance. It was too beautiful to be interrupted with a shriek.

The elderly group pulled out their bottle of wine, which I could see from the redness of their face, was not their first bottle of wine today. It was a dark burgundy red wine, with a logo of a chateau and sunflower. At least they would have their final toast.

The third swooshing sound. The third rope. The basket started to tilt. I kept my eyes to the last rope. Plop. It was broken. I put my hands to my ears, kept my eyes shut, and just let my memory everyone’s last dance replied in my head.