#61 Beautiful Balloons From Big Hearts.

Essie suffered some losses recently. The losses were hard for her, but harder on loved ones even closer to those who passed: beloved in ways words cannot adequately convey. Her heart broke every time they entered her mind and she imagined their beautiful faces. One face belonged to Zander.

A few weeks prior, in early October, Zander’s parents celebrated his 11^th birthday. Zander unexpectedly died as a result of a stroke last May. He was his mother’s only child. The spirit and courage it took for them to have a party to celebrate his life was beyond anything Essie could imagine. Organized by some amazing parents, a small group of kids gathered and attached tender notes to balloons from former classmates and hockey teammates at his parent’s home on east 57^th Street.

One child made a birthday cake honoring Zander’s favorite baseball team: The Mets. A blue and orange tie-dyed cake was not easy to make, but it was a success thanks to this intrepid and determined young friend. The kids gathered around the dining room table and wrote additional notes, chatted and ate pizza enthusiastically served by Zander’s mom who told Essie, as she scurried a plate of cupcakes into the dining room, “I miss doing things for Zander. This makes me so happy!”

Those words settled on Essie like confetti landing, with slightly sharp edges.

The cake glowed with lit candles and everyone sang Happy Birthday. Everyone ate a piece of cake, and finally, the kids gathered the 20 or so blue and orange balloons, crowded into the elevator and babbled happily to the park on Sutton Place. Right on the East River with a view of the 59^th Street Bridge which lit up like a diamond bracelet replete with a full silvery moon nestled close by-brilliantly illuminating the faces of the children. The kids held the balloons and on the count of three released them cheering for Zander to find them above, in the sky. Perhaps headed towards heaven.

They all watched until the last one disappeared from sight. The kids filed out of the park and headed home to do their homework. Zander’s parents looked delighted. It was a beautiful evening; one which will forever remain in Essie’s heart.

#60 I Went To Yale. I Went To Yale.

I went to Yale. I went to Yale. My mom is coming to town this weekend. She is coming to town.

He beat his arms against the window in a rhythmic way.

Kill, kill, kill. He chanted in an easy tone as he fluidly moved his body around the subway car and barely brushed against a couple who looked on nervously pretending to be cool with this Ivy League oddity wearing a dark magenta blazer and a deep plum shirt. His curly hair sweaty and matted.  He is smiles and stern.

Essie knows what this is and gets up and moves away and remembers the time she had her studio in Soho and found an old friend on his knees praying to Jesus or the Art Gods or someone to help him (he was also at Yale).

Dave, come with me she said leaning over him. He looked up at her and his eyes were teary red. Dave. Now. Come with me. He got up from the sidewalk and obediently followed her to the studio at 552 Broadway, 5^th floor.

Dave, what is your doctor’s name?

He knew exactly what she meant and he gave her the number. She left a message.

I found Dave on Broadway and he is having a psychotic episode. Please call me back at this number so we can help him.

Within minutes Dave was on the phone with his doctor and she sent him to Bellevue in an ambulance. The parametics were gentle and kind.

Dave thanked her and they never saw each other again. He knew exactly who she was.

He was someplace in between here and there. Before she found him, more there than here.

I went to Yale grabbed the ceiling bar in the subway car and lifted his legs up and curled them around his monkey bars. His own jungle gym. Mumbled very important information to himself and to those present.

Essie stands up and walks to the end of the car and says to a stranger: he is having a psychotic episode. He isn’t well.

Stranger: he looks so normal.

That means nothing.

I will tell the conductor and will not be popular.

At 23^rd Street she slips into the next car and opens her book and reads the rest of the ride.

I went to Yale.