There once was a young fellow named Ricky who was a shy, earnest lad with a heart made of gold. His parents were paupers, but they made sure than him and his six sisters always had enough to eat for supper and proper clothes for the frigid Maine winters. Oftentimes, he would go unnoticed by his peers, but he was a bright, hardworking boy who had neither the time nor the care for socializing.
One day in late October he was sitting in the back of the class with his nose in a book while his classmates took full advantage of their teacher being ten minutes late. Suddenly the class grew quiet as the door burst open in the typical Mrs. Worchester way. "Sorry I'm late, class. I had another bout of car trouble this morning. That's what you get for trusting a used car salesman." She turned towards the chalkboard. "Please open up your readers to page 17," she said as she wrote the page number on the board.
A low groan swept through the classroom as the students begrudgingly took out their readers and opened to the correct page. Not Ricky, though, no. He's already read page 17... and 18 and 19 and 20. In fact, he's already read half of the reader. He decided to gaze out the window and daydream about his upcoming birthday. He was going to be nine years old, which excited him because he only had one more year to go before he hit the double digits.
Since his family was so poor he didn't expect much more than the usual birthday brownie him and his sisters always get on their birthdays and a small gift from his parents. He still loved his birthday, though, for it was the only day of the year in which he was the center of attention. Every other day of the year he pretty much didn't care if anyone noticed him or not, but this day was his and he wasn't ashamed to take full advantage of it. Thoughts of the whole town singing happy birthday to him while his dad carried him on his shoulders amidst balloons that nearly outnumbered the people played in his mind's eye like a movie.
CLAP!! "Ricky! Hello. Earth to Ricky!" The obnoxious sound of Mrs. Worchester's voice jolted him out of his daydream. Rubbing his eyes, the class snickered and jeered at him. "Huh?" he grumbled, feeling out of sorts. "Welcome back, Ricky," Mrs. Worchester said snottily. "Would you care to read the third paragraph on page 18 as soon as you've fully removed your head from the clouds?"
The class snickered again, this time making his cheeks turn crimson. He read the passage, but couldn't shake the daydream from his mind. Glancing out the window as the rest of the class started their multiplication tables, he was awestruck by a lone balloon floating toward the clouds. Captivated, he watched it go up and up until he could no longer see it. Suddenly the daydream floated from his mind's eye not unlike the balloon in the sky. Everything seemed to float away as he went through the rest of his day in a sort of haze. Every time he tried to focus on something it would slip from his focus like satin from a mattress. The more it happened the more frustrated he got, which, would thus make it happen even more.
Wandering around town after school he decided to stop for ice cream at his favorite parlor. Sitting at the bar, he gazed out at the street. A boy of about his age was sitting on a bench next to an elderly lady. She seemed to be telling him something very important because his eyes kept getting bigger and bigger until they nearly popped out of his head. A few minutes later the boy got up, took two steps and disappeared.
Ricky nearly choked on his ice cream as he rubbed his eyes roughly with the sides of his hands. "What in the world--?!" he thought as he looked again at the spot where the boy had just been. The elderly woman was now standing there holding what looked like the same balloon he saw earlier. Winking at him, she disappeared into the crowd.
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