The Real Story

The Real Story

It was a picnic at the park. Sounds delightful, and would be more so, if it were a fun outing at a town park instead of me and my sandwich on the grassy corner of Sycamore and Burrows sitting on the bus stop bench. I do like to exaggerate.

I’d bring my book and pretend to read as I leaf through it. I’d go to the real park but it was five miles away. Too far to walk, and I couldn’t afford the bus every day. That got me out of my apartment for a couple hours. I’d see people, sometimes even talk to them. It was better than being alone all the time.

That day as I sat there soaking in the fresh air and sunshine, suddenly something tickled my arm. Thinking a bee, I quickly swiped my hand across my arm to shoo it away, but my hand came back tangled in string!

I jumped up, in surprise mostly, and at the same time heard a “Yay!! You caught it!” from down the street behind me.

Whipping around, while looking along the string at the same time I completely lost my balance. But, I was caught mid fall by strong arms. “Are you all right?”

That’s how I met Harold. He was taking his great grandson Jackson for a walk when Jackson’s balloon got loose and decided to land on me.

And that’s why I always tell people that Harold and I were introduced to one another by a balloon at the park. People always think I’m looney when I tell them that. I actually kind of like it.