Zayden's Red Balloons

Zayden's Red Balloons

My name is Zayden. I just turned three, and I love to climb. Dressers, couches, railings—anything I can get my feet on. Climbing makes me feel like Spider-Man. Maybe it's because up there, I feel noticed. Maybe it's the only time someone actually sees me.

My mom had me when she was only 18. She had just graduated from high school. I don't know what that means exactly, but I know it’s young. Too young, maybe, to carry all the weight of life—me, a baby brother, broken dreams, and a broken heart.

Mom and Dad split up when I was two. I don’t remember why. But I remember how they yelled, always about me. "You take him!" "No, you never show up!" "I can’t do this alone!" Their voices felt louder than cartoons.

Dad promised to visit me a lot. Sometimes he did. Most times he didn’t. He always had something to do. Or somewhere else to be.

Mom tried. I could see she was tired. Not just sleepy-tired, but tired in her bones. Zion, my baby brother, cried a lot. Bottles, diapers, rocking him back to sleep. Her arms were full with him. So she sat me in front of the TV. It was easier, I think. But I missed her. I really did.

When she was busy, I climbed.

Climbing made her look up. “Zayden! Get down from there!” Her voice—mad, scared—was still her voice. Her eyes finally on me. Even if only for a second.

At daycare, I had friends. But I still got in trouble. I didn’t always wait for my turn. Ms. Shannon always reminded me, “Zayden, did you ask first?” I didn’t. I just wanted the toy. I wanted it now.

Sometimes Ms. Shannon would play my favorite song, just so I could dance while I waited. I loved dancing. It made me feel... okay.

On Sunday, Dad said he'd pick me up.

He didn’t.

Mom didn’t say anything. She just got the stroller ready, tucked Zion inside, and told me we were going downtown. We walked. We always walked. We didn’t have a car.

The streets were busy, noisy. I held onto the stroller until we got to the bridge. My legs were tired. I didn’t want to walk anymore. I wanted to climb.

So I did.

I climbed the railing. Just like I climb at home. I thought maybe Mom would notice. Maybe she’d stop thinking about Zion and think about me.

She did notice. But too late.

Her scream echoed. Her hands reached, but I was already falling.

Into the water.

It was cold. Loud. Silent. All at once. It pulled me down like it wanted to keep me.

I didn’t feel scared. Just... small.

Then quiet.

Then light.

Now, I float.

I’m not gone. Not really. I see Mom crying on the bridge. Her face twisted in pain. I see Dad yelling. Blaming. Regretting.

But I’m here. I still climb. But now, I climb clouds.

I go back to the bridge sometimes. There are red balloons now. With Spider-Man on them. My favorite.

Some people come with flowers. Others just stand and cry.

I watch the water. I watch the boats. I see the man in the orange vest pointing. I think he sees me. Or maybe he sees my little shoe.

Will they find me? Does it matter?

I feel like wind now. I dance in the breeze.

Then I see him—the shiny man. All in white and gold.

“Hi, Zayden,” he says. “Welcome. From now on, you’ll be your mommy’s and daddy’s guardian angel. You’ll watch over them. You’ll live here, with me.”

I smile.

I’m not cold. I’m not sad.

I’m light.

And every time the wind moves through my mother’s hair, every time a red balloon floats into the sky, that’s me.

I’m Zayden.

And I’m still climbing.