Unwanted Objects
----------------------------------------------
There is a pink helium balloon 2 feet up in the sky. It's stoic, completely still.
The word "PRINCESS" was bold, crooked and took up the center of the balloon. It had insanely ugly designs. I'm not entirely sure if these even qualify as designs or just three day old bird poop.
I squint my eyes at the white mess.
Rotten bird crap, might I add from the looks of it.
The string (or more like pieces of fiber delicately held together by lord knows what) looks like it has been worn on dozens of 6 year olds and fought over by those savage creatures as well.
Here it is, the world's ugliest balloon just a little above my reach. It hurt to look at. The smell was even worse.
Behind me, was a wooden bench decorated with whaddyaknow, even more bird crap.
These pigeons have been going at it lately, makes me wonder if people should stop feeding them heaps of breadcrumbs.
I gulped. Was I really going to sacrifice the bottom of my shoes for this? Even if it happens to be my brother's Adidas which I inconspicuously borrowed, without anyone knowing.
It's worth it. This is worth smelling like feces. You can do this. I think. I mean, I'd like to believe.
Screw rationality and common sense, I jumped up on the bench and leaped to grab the girly balloon. I can feel these worn out shoes making contact with the splattered crap. Really, you can never get more of an exquisite feeling.
My hands skimmed over the poor excuse of a string until I got a good grip on the very ends. The balloon slowly gravitated towards me and looked even shittier up close.
Alas, the ugly balloon is mine.
There is a totally normal calming yet assuring reasoning behind this. I am not crazy. I believe I am an adequate human being. (with a tinge of insanity here and there)
My point is, there is a reasoning. I have a collection. Not of rocks, books, jewelry or anything else that can be put into the normal category.
I gather ugly things. Things that I find hideous lying around Mapletown. Things that I know people have no use for. Things that I know need some caring.
Inspiration struck me a few days ago when I got a real good look of my no-good chemistry teacher's face.
"Damn, she is hideous," I calmly pondered one day.
That's when an epiphany conjured up in my head and I realized: Ugly things need love too.
I'm kidding.
(Mostly).
I collect things that the world would probably enjoy more if it disappeared. For instance, this crappy balloon. Who knows how many scares this flimsy thing gave to little kids and hobos alike?
But this crappy balloon is now my balloon. I will cherish it's ugliness and preserve it along with my other hideous antiquities that is to come.
I wiped my hands on my knees and started walking home with the balloon tied to my wrist.
I got wild stares from everyone on the street. It went from strangers, to acquaintances, to neighbors and alas my parent's.
My eyes meet their squandering eyes. There they are. They say that we are created in pairs, however I think my parents are a prime example that the notion remains to be simply just a notion.
First it was my dad.
"Allyson, what in the world is tied to your wrist?"
Then it was my mom.
"Ally, is that..bird poop dripping in my living room? I just mopped the floors."
Biting my lip, I looked pitifully at the floor. Yes, my mother was correct. There was in fact bird shit making a nice puddle on the floor just three inches away from my ratty sneakers.
Very nice.
I conjured up a reasoning with a bright smile, like a perfect bow finishing up a birthday gift.
"You see, I have a collection again, parents. The balloon is essential to my collection."
"Honey, it has feces all over its edges."
"Mom you don't understand. That is exactly my point. I am now the bearer of unwanted things."
My dad sighed and gave a sympathetic look to my mom. My mom scrunched up her forehead and rubbed it with her thumb and returned that look to my dad. I can decrypt the hidden message.
"What is our daughter doing? Does she need help? Is this another one of her collections? Matthew, I'm worried."
Yeah, stay worried.
"Ally are you okay?" My mom asked this question with all the sincerity in this world and Jupiter.
"Yeah mom. It's just a balloon."
A few awkward seconds later, I eyed both of my parents left to right and ended the conversation.
"Just a balloon," I muttered to myself and held on to the pieces of the string even stronger.
They have been worried about me for a while, ever since the accident occurred. Everyone has been. Worried, worried, worried.
I took a slow turn and started trolling straight down to the garage.
Discard the senseless thoughts. Discard. Discard.
And so I did.
The garage held many significant mundane objects, such as a lawn mower or a trashcan. However, the most important thing it carried, was my special collections. From rocks, to seashells, lollipop wrappers, gum wrappers, socks with holes, silverware and now my most recent: unwanted objects.
I pride myself with these collections.
I started collecting ever since-discard.
For a moment, I just breathed until oxygen didn't feel suffocating anymore.
I walked over to the little white table in the very corner of the garage and tied the balloon to a hook.
It was a grand white table indeed. There were several small containers on the surface, literally containing my collections.
Unfortunately, a container cannot contain a helium balloon.
I brushed my hands again and looked at my shitty balloon and gazed with vast wonder. The very first of my new collection.
My collections tend to last for three weeks at most and I begin a new one all over again whenever inspiration hits me straight in the gut. Though, something tells me that this collection might be a keeper.
After putting the balloon at my safe place, I strolled right out and made my way back home. My parents continued to eye me with concern as I made my way out of the kitchen into the dining room.
I ignored their boring eyeballs and made my way upstairs to room. If I could, I would totally choose sleeping in the garage rather than my room. The garage makes me happier.
Unfortunately, my parents said no to that a few weeks back and asked me to do my math homework instead.
Nice.
I leaped on my single mauve colored bed and started sequencing my life in order. I used to do this 5-6 times a day, to get my mind off of chaotic thoughts that used to disrupt my head and my train of thought.
I do it once a week now.
Allyson Baker
Parents call me Ally.
I don't have friends that call me anything else. Hah, I don't have friends in general.
Born on August 7th, 2000.
My parents took two weeks to give me a name because there was a staggering argument between Hazel and Katalina, until my grandma came into the picture and decided my name would be Allyson.
My grandma is quite the dictator.
When school came around, I never did fit in. I was a tomboy amongst 8 year old girls and they didn't like the fact that I was different. They didn't think it was normal for me to not carry princess coloring books and lip gloss. Yeah, 4th grade was clearly a high point in my life.
I got bullied for a minor portion of my life and decided to change my personality when middle school came into the picture. Although, I don't think the change exactly worked. By the way, I was still a loner throughout these three years as well.
High school flew in and I went from a tomboy just to a simple weirdo. Acquaintances and 3 minute conversations made up most of my freshman and sophomore year. People didn't really talk to me, I'm not exactly sure of the reason why. Maybe it was my hair? Major shoutout to my severe split ends, you turned me into a social outcast.
Fast forward to now, I still happen to be a loser with more online friends than real ones. The only different between now and then is that I have one less person that I could talk to.
I have the best social life ever, honestly. Divine, really.
Thinking back, I realized that I lied to myself earlier. My inspiration for this collection really wasn't my chemistry teacher.
Deep deep down, I just wanted more objects that were more like me.
I am totally not a loser.