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It's hard not to notice the balloons floating against the ceiling. That's mostly what Ellie thinks about as she wanders up and down the aisles. She prefers to concentrate on the balloons because today is her birthday. Sixty-five means she is now officially an old age pensioner, with old being the operative word. The weight of this number makes her tremble. Still single, she will probably never get married, she will never give birth to a child, there will be no one to share her retirement with, and she will grow old alone. Inside her purse is a governmental form letter listing the date she will receive her first pension check. The letter is like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
It's the Cranberry Cove annual Daffodil Day Tea and Bazaar. The community hall is filled with gaily decorated tables displaying everything from crafts to home canning to bedding plants to heirloom quilts. In a far corner, surrounded by wide-eyed children, a bright green pen holds a litter of weaned piglets. Three happy-faced clowns carrying buckets of candy thread their way though the crowd. Over by the concession stand, seated at an elderly piano, Myrna, the village piano teacher, pounds out a colorful tune.
And then there are the flowers. A thousand and more daffodils, each one a miniature drop of sunshine, decorate the hall. Their delicate scent mingles with the smell of hotdogs, hamburgers, spiced jam, and freshly ground coffee beans.
But the balloons still interest Ellie the most. Every child clutches at least one. The balloons on the ceiling are the escapees. Every now and then an adult climbs atop a chair and attempts to corral the wild herd bouncing and bucking overhead.
Ellie wonders why the balloons have snagged her attention. They are nothing more than pieces of latex vinyl filled with helium. They do look pretty against the creamy backdrop of the ceiling - a steadily shifting rainbow - but Ellie has the strangest feeling the balloons are looking back at her, as though they have become sentient beings.
Another balloon escapes from a tow-headed boy. Bemused, she watches it rise gracefully to join its mates, pulling the boy's bright laughter up with it. The hide on this one is white. It gently nudges two red balloons; they drift apart to make room for the newcomer.
A silver balloon rubs up against a pale blue companion, which in turn moves away and bumps hard into a pair of ebony twins. The twins flee into the safety of the herd. Soon there are dancing, shuffling balloons everywhere.
Two balloons have paired off and moved away from the crowd. One is a bright sunny yellow, the other a frosty green. They bow to one another and begin a delicate waltz in the moving air currents. They bump and twirl across their impromptu ballroom, pausing occasionally to nuzzle gently. They remind Ellie of old lovers, but mingled with their beauty is a sense of aloneness that makes her heart ache.
The sounds around her fade to white background noise. Her world shrinks to the lovers waltzing to music only they can hear. For the space of a heartbeat, Ellie almost catches the ghostly strains of the "Beautiful Blue Danube" waltz.
The rational part of her mind disapproves of such whimsy and sends forth dire warnings of brain tumors, dementia, and Alzheimer disease. It pulls out all the stops and dredges up one of her mother's cautionary tales. "Watch yourself, kiddo, I'm positive insanity runs in your father's family!"
Ellie suddenly has one of those rare flashes of insight: The lovers have never been alone. They are part of a much larger community that cares deeply about them. Just as she herself is part of something larger. She has made many friends over the thirty-two years she has been postmistress. The entire village is her family. Her retirement will not be faced alone, she will not grow old alone. Her family will always be there for her.
The lovers have ceased to be. They are once again ordinary pieces of latex vinyl bobbing against the ceiling. Ellie grins. It doesn't matter. She will be forever grateful for the message of the balloons.
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