Lighter Than Air

 

 

A puffed-up full moon was peeking over the treetops.

Leon chewed.

I paced.

We were inside Leon’s kennel. My dog ate kibble as I gave him an angry Mac and Better Bertie and Mom and Morton gang update. Mom and Howard were spending the night at the hospital with Mac. Tabitha, the six remaining Morton relatives, and I were camping out at Howard’s house.

And that’s why I was angry.

Five minutes earlier, I was doing fine. I was in the pantry scooping dog food into Leon’s bowl when I overhead a Morton aunt on her phone. I don’t remember her name, but she had unnatural red hair, bad taste in shoes, and a big mouth. “Pathetic, pinning all their hopes on a toy car.” Big Mouth’s tone turned into rattlesnake venom. “And that girl, the one who caused poor Mac’s condition to begin with. Oh, I can’t even look at her, I just can’t. She makes me sick. Howard is a fool for taking them in.”

When I left the hospital, I felt hopeful for Mac. I’m talking super-hopeful. And Big Mouth stole that feeling from me. Thief! The police should probably arrest her and toss her in jail.

Yeah, I could imagine Better Bertie saying I was “choosing to be angry.” Too bad! A girl’s got to blame somebody, right?

My lungs were knotted so tight it stung to breathe. While Leon chewed kibble, I paced, and finished giving him the update.

“Operation Monkey Butt is officially a go,” I said. “By this time tomorrow, Dad will be here. We are going home, Leon.”

Leon looked up at me and farted.

It was time for the glasses.

Sliding them on, I saw a bright light shine from the roof of the doghouse. Better Bertie stood atop it, glowing, radiant. In her hand was a small yellow card.

“What’s that card you’re holding?” I asked.

In a flash, Better Bertie vanished from the doghouse roof, then she reappeared on the other side of me. “It’s for you.”

Taking the card, I saw it was a Get Out Of Jail Free card from Monopoly. I was pretty sure Better Bertie was shaming me for leaving the hospital. And, come tomorrow, for leaving Altoona with my father.

“Ha-ha!” I said. “Are you trying to make me even angrier?”

“No. You do an excellent job of that on your own.”

“Yes, I do.” It actually surprised me that I was agreeing with Better Bertie. My chest kept saying I needed help. I found it harder and harder to breathe. “Why do I do that? Why do I beat myself up?”

“Do you really want to know?” she asked.

“Oh, c’mon, man! Do you always have to answer my questions with another question? How can you be a better version of me when you’re so annoying?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Before I could reply, Better Bertie laughed. “Sorry, girl, you can’t tee me up like that.” Putting on a more serious expression, she said, “Here’s the deal. People beat themselves up because they don’t know how to let go of things. Instead of letting stuff pass, they hold onto it. And sometimes, when it gets really bad, like what you’ve been doing for almost three years now, they hold on so tightly it hurts.”

“So how do I let go of things?” I asked. “Do not say ‘Do you really want to know?’”

She didn’t.

Instead, Better Bertie told me to fetch a magic marker and some of the “get well soon” balloons that various visitors had left for Mac. She said to write down whatever I was mad at on the balloons. One problem: I had a lot of anger, and only three balloons. Those puppies filled up fast. I started writing tiny, and I still ran out of room. I needed a hundred balloons to get it all out of me.

I scanned some of the random things I had written.

“Mac’s hurt so bad because of me.”

“Big Mouth Aunt is a hope thief.”

“Legalese Daddy.”

“Stupid divorce.”

“Mom is angry at me.”

“Ruined Mom and Howard’s relationship.”

“Tabitha wants to smash my face.”

“Miss my Carver City friends.”

“Scared of what Sandra Morton’s ghost wants from me.”

“Marker fumes are giving me a headache.”

Minutes later, I met Better Bertie on the roof of Howard’s house. I clutched the balloon strings, feeling ridiculous.

Better Bertie motioned to the moonlit sky above us, while smiling like a glowing idiot. “Release the balloons,” she said, waving her arms. “Let ‘em go.”

Here’s the thing: I didn’t want to let the strings go. I’m not sure why, but I was hesitant. “This feels so dumb,” I said. “Plus, I didn’t have enough balloons.”

“Girl, you don’t need a few more balloons, you need a balloon factory! Now let go.”

So I did it. I released the strings.

The balloons floated up.

My eyes followed the three balloons bearing my list of angry and fearful messages. They rose above the trees, toward the full moon. They drifted and danced higher and further away, moving in the same direction like migrating birds.

“What now?” I asked.

“You released your problems to a higher power,” Better Bertie said. “How are you feeling?”

I told her the cold hard truth. “I don’t know. I mean, I get that you want me to tell you that you were right and you’re so smart and wonderful. But sorry, dude, it’s not like I’m feeling anything new or better or different going on.”

“You’re not paying attention, Bertie. This isn’t about gaining something, it’s about losing something. Flip the script, and think about what you’ve lost.”

A few deep breaths later, I began to laugh.

“Oh, you’re good,” I said. “You’re really good!”

“Better believe it, baby girl.” Better Bertie grinned. “Keep talking!”

“Well, you were right: I have lost something. The tightness in my chest is gone. I’m like seriously breathing easy. Wow, it feels good. Ha-ha. This is crazy!”

“No, Bertie. This is letting go.”

It felt like a great weight had been lifted off me. I felt light. Lighter than air. Until …

“Who are you talking to, Froot Loops?”

Tabitha. Her head stuck out of an attic window. She posed another snarky question.

“And why are you on my roof, wearing sunglasses at night?”

Technically, she had posed three snarky questions. I had to admit, all of them were legit.