My sister, Madison Jirikowic, loved her adventures across the world. Most of the time, she travelled on her tennis scholarship. She was a careless person. She would tell me of her adventures in England with the wealthy, in Afghanistan with the poor, and in New York with the elite. I once asked her why her tennis tournament was in Afghanistan, and she laughed at me like I was a fool. In reality, she was shocked at my question and could not answer it. She would act that way when we were children, too. I would be playing a game with my friend, and suddenly Madison would appear at my shoulder. When I asked her if she knew how to play, she would laugh like an infant and grab whatever toy my friend and I were enjoying. Then, she would run away and hide in the shed in the backyard. If she didn’t know how to play, then no one would get to play. My little sister was selfish like that. Some of it is my fault, though. I would never tell her off for her foolishness.

One night I received a call from Madison. I was living in Chicago by that time, and unfortunately the wind was by far outdoing its usual standards. Trapped in my room all by myself, I was longing for a human voice. When my sister called, the longing for human contact shriveled up and died. We drifted apart long ago—when my mother went away. My mother was really the only person holding the family together. I remembered her by the long, thinning blonde hair and sharp, passive eyes. She would tie her hair up, rest her hands on my shoulder, and demand I tell her a story. I thought she loved my stories. I would spin exotic tales of vast amounts of incompetent heroes defeating an extremely intelligent villain—I believed those plotlines were the main source for my mother’s amusement.

The day came my mother stopped coming home. She was constantly away in those days visiting some family in the Netherlands or some place in Europe. She was supposed to return home a week after she left. A week passed, and then another week did. I received a postcard from my mother apologizing several months after she was meant to come home. It had no return address on it. She told me her life was changing too rapidly for her. She couldn’t stand the chaos anymore; she couldn’t stand my stories anymore. Tears wouldn’t come to me. I showed my father the card, who in turn cried for days. He burned it, but I did not care. I didn’t want the reminder I drove my mother off. Madison blamed me, telling me that if I stopped judging the good guys so harshly mother wouldn’t have left. Madison told me I was a fake, terrible person. My father never said it out loud, but I knew he thought the same. I would never tell a story ever again—at least, not until after the trip.

“You don’t know what they have been through, Aaron,” my father scolded me the day I left for college, though I have not judged anyone since my mother left. “They might’ve gone through hell, Aaron, and your judgments just make it worse.” Then he realized what he said, frowned, and went back into our small suburban house. I recognized my father’s grief, for he knew the type of person I was. My mother was the same. We weren’t compassionate people. He did not feel like saying goodbye to another Suzy Jirikowic—he knew neither of us would come home again. I left without saying my farewells and drove to Green Bay to catch my flight. After I landed in Hartford, I rented a cab. I was headed to Yale and never meant to see my father again.


The call from my sister was unwelcomed, but good news. She wanted to let me know that she had an extra ticket to a year long air balloon ride around the world. It was an all-expense paid trip because it was a science experiment. Scientists at Harvard wanted to see what would happen to twenty strangers living in an air balloon. The experiment seemed strange to me, but I was thrilled. At the end of the year, the participants received one hundred thousand dollars each. I wanted to quit the bank where I worked in Chicago so I agreed as soon as I found out I would be gaining money. “I’m going with you, you know,” she told me.

“Of course you are,” I said, shocked at her rudeness.

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed with my company.”

“I—” I gulped, and brushed hair from my eyes. “I love you, baby sister. Thank you for the offer,” she sucked in her breath while I was saying my words, and I could hear it slam against the phone as she breathed out. Guilt washed over me for a moment until I knew why my sister and I weren’t close. She wanted change. She wanted me to care for her, to love her, to lie to her and say I wanted her company. She wanted me to be a liar. I couldn’t bring myself to lie. We weren’t close because we wanted different things. She wanted the tale, and I wanted the truth.

I went into the last room, which was the massive bedroom everyone would share. Bunk beds were nailed to the floor, much like the table and chairs on the floor above me. I counted ten beds in all, and wondered how long I could stand being in such close quarters with people. I was never good with people, and am still not. I sucked up my grievances, though. I wanted to make Madison happy, for once. She deserved happiness.

A hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I spun around, and grabbed the girl’s hand. She giggled loudly, crooning in a squeaky voice, “Oh Aaron, I haven’t seen you for years!” I backed up, and studied her. The girl’s pale face turned bright red, her curly brown hair draping gently around her smiling face. Her brown eyes peered into mine, and I saw nothing. No emotions gave the girl’s thoughts away. A face clouded with makeup hid her true thoughts. She touched her lips lightly, and kissed me on the cheek. “How are you, my love?” I was so shocked I lost the ability to form words.

“Ch-Ch-Charlotte?” I stumbled over her name.

“Oh, call me Charlie, dear!” She laughed at her aristocratic name, and slipped into a bed. I crinkled my forehead and sat down on a bed across from hers. She lifted her hand, as if summoning a non-existent maid from mid-air. Amazingly enough, a twelve-year-old boy came running into the room with a vine of grapes. He handed her the grapes without speaking, and bowed to me. I felt as if I were in the seventeenth century. “Aaron, I’ve been having a tough time,” Charlotte’s voice suddenly pierced the silence. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I fell asleep as soon as she began to speak.

What Charlotte was saying to me was depressing, I found out after the trip ended. I was grateful for my exhausted body, because I’m not sure if I could have lived through two life stories in one day. Her life was full of self-inflicted tragedy. People did not respect her because she was a ditz. She had a mask on that feigned stupidity, but in reality she was smart. Not extremely intelligent, but smart enough to get along by her own. She fell in love with a soldier, but ended up marrying a rich man. Charlotte hated her life in Connecticut with her racist husband. She didn’t like him, but she was in love with him. She had a good friend in the soldier, but he died. No one knew how, but I suspected her raging husband had something to do with the death. She came onto the balloon after the soldier’s death to escape her husband. Madison informed me that he was screaming at her as the ship took off into the air.

I woke up in a shock. Beautiful, eerie music was coming from above deck. People were crowded in the bedroom, lying on bunk beds or playing cards. My feet collided with a body asleep at my feet, which I found confusing. The most confusing aspect of the situation, though, was the face floating above mine. Shocked, I slammed the woman in the chest with my palms, and she fell off me coughing furiously. “Bloody hell!” She coughed, and everyone in the cabin turned towards us. Embarrassed for the second time that day, I sat up and held my aching head. I looked at the end of my bed through my fingers. A dog, which I thought was a chocolate lab, was lying there as if he owned the bed. I was indignant. “That’s my bed,” I groaned mournfully. He opened one eye, peered at me, and went back to sleep. I rub the sleep from my eyes. The woman I pushed to the floor leapt up to shake my hand. “How do yah do?” She giggled furiously, and suddenly became solemn. She turned around, walked out the door, a little girl following her. I was completely confused.

“Don’t worry about her,” a man sat down next to me. “She’s crazy,” he continued talking. “She’s from Massachusetts, poor thing.” He scratched his chin. We sat in silence for a while, watching the rest of the people play around the great room. Eventually, they all left the room. I was alone with the man. He stood up, stretched, and exited as another man walked in. I recognized the other man immediately, and sat up with my hand outstretched. He gave me a curious look, then a light sparked in his eyes. His dark skin flushed, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Aaron?” He whispered. I nodded, grinning.

“Hello Howee,” I grabbed his arm in greeting. Howahkan Bluebird went to Yale with me a couple years back, but we weren’t close. He was very quiet. He was also very brilliant. His ideas were magnificent; he worked for the government to improve Native American treatment. I was surprised he hadn’t won a Nobel Prize by the time I saw him again. Bluebird was silent, but practically all-knowing. I knew him in college a bit, but we never kept in touch after Yale. He went off to medical school in New York, and I moved to Chicago. His brown hair now had gray streaks in it, though he was younger than me. His eyes looked worn down and jaded. Years had passed, and we became strangers again. I wouldn’t get the chance to know him like I did before.

“Small world,” he smiled back at me. Suddenly, the boy I saw before helping Charlotte bursted into the room. His face was pale with exhaustion, and his blonde hair was plastered on his head. His eyes were wild and full of life as he searched the room.

“Jim!” He shouted, spottingthe dog. Jim warily watched his owner bound towards him. “I’msosorrymistahit’llneverhappenagain,” he gasped at me in one breath. He put a rotting leather leash around the dog’s neck, and rushed out the door. Bluebird and I met eyes, and began to laugh hysterically. “It’s dinnah time by the way!” The boy’s face reappeared in the door. I thanked him, and followed Bluebird to the top deck.

The table was already piled with canned food and hungry faces. Everyone was silent as Captain Mo told us what the trip would consist of. Country names floundered about in my head, passing through one ear and out the other. Russia, Egypt… My conscience began to drift from me when a cold hand gripped my arm. “Aaron, say something,” My sister hissed menacingly. I looked up at her with glazed over eyes. Where had she come from? Everyone stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak. The man I met before had pity in his startling blue eyes.

“Uh…” I began, and gave the older foreign woman a curious look. She smiled grimly, and whispered in a thick accent, “Your name and where you come from.” Realization dawned over me, then laughter. I couldn’t control it. Madison was horrified. Her pale face flushed, and I could see her eyes sharpen and lips tighten in anger.

“Jesus Christ, Aaron!” She shouted, and pushed me. I couldn’t stop laughing. My stomach was starting to hurt.

“I—am—so—sorry,” I gasped in between laughs. The foreign woman quickly gave me some water, which I gulped down like a dehydrated dog. I thanked her quickly, swallowing more water. Finally getting my act together, I looked up at the disgusted faces. They were all embarrassed for me; at least someone was. I wasn’t embarrassed. I knew I should have been, but I stopped caring years ago whether I made a fool of myself or not. Smiling, I told them, “My name is Aaron Jirikowic and I am from Glenmore, Wisconsin.” The table seemed disappointed with my anticlimactic disclosure, so we moved on.

I learned where the foreigners were from. Italy, the woman said. Her name was Alisa Noce, and from Venice. She was as silent as me, but the boy, Claudio Memoli, attempted to tell his story. Once he began talking, he would have to be forced to stop, I later learned. His thin mouth burst out with elaborate, confusing tales of love lost and old women. As the boy talked, the woman’s mouth became increasingly thinner. Her eyes were colder than the first time I saw her. Right before the boy was about to tell the table about his deceased wife, the woman kicked him under the table. Or, at least, tried to. She hit me instead. Pain shot up my leg as her metal-toed boots connected with my shin. I yelped in pain, and guilt rushed over her face. Claudio stopped talking, glanced at Alisa, and fell silent. Stunned, I apologized for the disturbance. Captain Mo shrugged, enraptured with the story, and told the next person to continue.

The American, Matt Butler, was next. He told the story he told me, beginning in the same way. Apparently, he was on the trip to cook, because he owned a restaurant back in America. His deep voice changed with lifts and turns as he insisted his father began McDonalds, the ultimate American food. I doubt his story to this day. The boy who helped Charlotte’s name was after Matt. “I was born and raised in Mississippi,” he stated proudly. “My name is Timmy Duke, and I looooove my doggy, Jim,” and he grinned at the dog lying on the ground next to him. The dog barked happily, licked Timmy’s hand, and went back to sleep. “Jimmy and Timmy!” The boy exclaimed in an excited burst, and fell silent. I caught Captain Mo watching Timmy as he talk, and a shadow drifted over the man’s eyes. Suddenly, the shadow was disappeared like it had never been there.

A couple introduced themselves as one. Their names were Donald and Dorothy Famer. They were both from Massachusetts, and had never left the state in their entire lives until given this opportunity. Dorothy looked so happy, but I noticed guilt in the husband’s blue eyes. His tanned farmer skin glistened lightly with sweat. Dorothy attempted to make a joke, but the rest of the table was focused on themselves or on Donald’s face. He had handsome features, but sorrow and constant work in the sun caused stress lines. Dorothy was pretty in a sporty way. She was less tan as Donald, but just as muscular. They looked like teammates rather than couple. Between them was a constant air of awkwardness, like something had gone wrong while they were deciding to be with each other. While Dorothy was lively, Donald was calm. They described themselves as yin and yang. When I looked at them, I saw more of water and ice—one flowed through life without failure, and the other attracted all the troubles of it. They weren’t opposites; in fact, they were practically twins. They had the same emotions in different magnitudes.

An older Asian man stood, placing his hands gently on the table top. His glasses threatened to topple of his nose as he smiled at the crowd. “Hello, good friends. Today we’ve met once, but we will be spending many months together as family. My name is Martyn Sun, and I had a dream before I came here that life would change for us all,” and he bowed his head. Sitting back in his seat, my eyes met his. He gave me a small, sad smile. Apparently, his dream was not good for me. I took a deep breath, and clasped Madison’s hand. She gave me a funny look, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel some human contact, much like the night she called me telling me about the hot air balloon trip. Unlike the last time though, Madison’s presence made me feel safer.

Captain Mo coughed, and told Charlotte, who was sitting next to Martyn, to introduce herself. Charlotte laughed nervously. “I am Charlotte Kuwosky from Connecticut. Originally I came from Wisconsin, but—” her voice faded out. Her face flushed as she realized how many people were watching her. She sat down abruptly. I had to suppress a laugh. Charlotte used to love to be the center of attention, but suddenly she seemed… Broken. She was shy, depressed, and alone. My desire to laugh died. I remembered what my father said before I went to college; before he died. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I tightened my grip on Madison’s hand, who yelped. She poked my shoulder, and growled something about how her hand was breaking.

A woman name Chantrice Franklin talked about she was a singer from California, but she had basically lived everywhere. She was hoping to get dropped off in Venice, but apparently that was not one of the places we were going. Since she couldn’t get off the balloon ship, she would sing to us and give us some music where there was none. She also wanted to be a songwriter and was currently working on her latest melody. Chantrice sat down as the woman who was on top of me in my bed and her daughter stood up. She lazily judged each of us, and became stern as she assigned each of the passengers a story. “I am Sophia Gikas, this is my daughter Abauro, and I am not married,” her eyes dared us to challenge her. When no one did, she continued, “I am from Massachusetts, but my family originally immigrated from Greece. That is all you,” she said the next word with disgust, “people need to know.” The daughter sat down, smiling brightly. Sophia stroked the little girl’s beautiful black hair, and glared at all of us in turn.

Taksheel Delhi, a young Indian-American doctor, stood up while twisting his fingers and smiling. He coughed once into his hand, and looked us each in the eye. “My name is Taksheel Delhi. My wife sent my daughter and me,” he pointed to a small Indian girl, “on this trip. She needs some time… Alone…” His voice drifted off as he watched his daughter pick at the splintered table. His lips pursed. “Abhati, stop that.” The little girl glanced at her father, and placed her hands solemnly in her lap.

“I want to go home,” the girl whispered. Taksheel’s beamed earnestly, but I saw the anger in his eyes. He wanted to be on the ship about as much as the little girl did, but he had to pretend to enjoy it for his wife’s sake. Something was wrong with her, obviously. He sat down, slapping his daughter’s wandering hand. Tears sprang to her eyes. I wondered where the wife was, and why she didn’t join her family. Abhati glanced towards Abauro, but the strange little child was staring blissfully at the clouds, ignoring this whole endeavor. Taksheel took Abhati’s hand and clutched it, much like I was holding my sister’s. An older woman stood up quickly, trying to erase the awkwardness of the moment by crying, “Hello there!”

The entire table sighed. “My name is Elizabeth Connor, but you can call me Lizzie! I am also from Massachusetts,” she winked at the Famers and gave Sophia a dirty glare. Abauro stuck her tongue out the woman, who put her hand to her heart like she was offended. She smiled at the rest of the table and kept talking, “but come from a little town called Boston, the center of the world!” Howahkan coughed, “That’s New York City,” but Elizabeth ignored him. “I volunteer at all sorts of places! Nurseries, dog pounds, football stadiums—”

“I’m sorry, but how do you volunteer at football stadiums?” Matt, the American, asked, completely serious.

“Aren’t you just the snarky one?” Elizabeth growled at Matt. His face fell and he sat lower in his seat. “Now, can we move on? I graduated from UCLA, joined the Peace Core, and started a family all in the same year. I have two beautiful twin boys, who grew up to be lawyers. I have been happily married for twenty years with the most wonderful man in the world. Unfortunately, we’re taking a break at the moment but I’m sure he’ll come crawling back to me. I wrote at least twelve novels in my life. I am the top reporter for the Boston Globe,”

“How does the person she’s interviewing even get a word in,” Madison whispered in my ear. The wine I was drinking rushed to my nose as I snorted. I began to cough hysterically, grabbing the nearest napkin and pressing it to my face. Tears streamed from my eyes as Madison and Alisa giggled. Elizabeth glared at me, trying to force my lungs to start gulping air and stop coughing. Her leers made me laugh, leading to another coughing fit. Captain Mo stood, evaluating the best way to prevent the situation from getting out of hand.

“Mr. Jirikowic, please get a hold of yourself!” Elizabeth cried, shaking both her hands at me in a dismissive way. I stood up, trying to escape. Madison stood as well and led me downstairs. There, we both collapsed in laughter.

As joyful tears poured down Madison’s cheeks, she squealed, “Look at me, I’m Little Miss Perfect!” My stomach was tightening with laughter, beginning to hurt again. Madison stuck her chin up in the air like she was balancing an egg, and pronounced, “I’m an uptight reporter from Boston. Do you know the place? Boston? The center of the world? Hmm?” I stopped laughing, as did my sister. We looked into each other’s eyes, and both saw something there we didn’t like. Cruelty.

Dizzy from all the laughter, I climbed the stairs. Blackness crept into my vision, but blinking usually stopped the headaches. Standing in the doorframe to the upper deck, I turned and watched Madison drag her feet up every step. We were both exhausted from shame. I took her hand, and we walked silently to the table. Howahkan had already introduced himself, and a woman was finishing her life story. When I sat down, I leaned towards Charlotte and whispered, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing. Mrs. Connor finished her story, which took at least another ten minutes. Something about winning the Nation Spelling Bee when she was eight…” Charlotte pressed her lips together, and smiled thinly at me. “Mr. Bluebird,” she pointed her thin, polished finger discretely at Howahkan, “said something about being a writer for the New York Times or something, and Mrs. Orchard told us her name and nothing else,” she finished as she turned her finger towards a young woman with bright blue eyes. Her long blonde hair flowed down her back, and as her head swung to stare at me I felt as if she were trying to penetrate my mind to figure out my story. I didn’t like the intensity of that gaze, so I quickly looked back at Charlotte.

I spotted the man I was talking to before in the cabin. He was standing at the stern of the boat, stretching his arms behind his back. “Who is that?” I whispered to Charlotte. She shrugged, watching the man as well. I saw how the light in her eye was twinkling.

“It can’t be…” Charlotte murmured, and slammed her hands on the table. No one noticed, but I grabbed her arm.

“What’s going on, Char-Charlie?” I demanded, tripping over my words in a very undemanding way. She gave me an elfish grin, and walked towards the man. Her figure became drenched in shadows as she passed under one of the looming balloons overhead. I shook my head, clearing my mind of all her nonsense. Madison tapped me on the shoulder, murmuring something about food finally arriving. I looked up as the little boy, Timmy, hurried to the table struggling under a giant stuffed turkey’s weight.

“Our last taste of fresh meat,” Madison told me, fatigue lacing her deep voice. I smiled, and squeezed her hand.

“Any regrets, little sis?” She smiled and punched me in the shoulder.

“None at all, bro,” she tore a piece of turkey from the body, and took a great bite.

The turkey was not our last piece of fresh meet, we soon found out, for our first landing was in Russia. The lush fields of Tasheba became clearer as Captain Mo decreased the amount of fire going into the balloons. Miles of green flooded my vision—I didn’t like how plain everything seemed. A farmer looked warily at the hot balloon, and continued with mowing his sweeping fields. The balloons floated over the fields, bumping softly into the rocky ground. After another hour, the ship finally landed with a creak in the middle of a field. A car was waiting for us to take us to Abakan. “Behave, Abauro,” Sophia kissed her dark, little girl’s forehead. The little girl’s face turned up at her mother with large, brown doe eyes.

“Why are we going to Azkaban, mommy?” Abauro asked innocently. Sophia’s identical eyes darkened and her eyebrows furrowed. I laughed. The mother turned to me sharply, giving me one of her fuming glares. She got down on one knee in front of Abauro, taking her daughter’s hands.

“How do you know about Harry Potter, my rose?” She glanced at me suspiciously. I shifted my feet, feeling slightly guilty. “You are much too young to be reading that idiocracy.” Charlotte’s mouth twitched. She turned towards Sophia and wrapped her slim fingers around Sophia’s thin arm.

“Please, Sophia, let’s be civilized. I gave her the books, every child ought to read them,” and her eyes became darker, daring Sophia to object. The mother’s lips tightened, so I moved away quickly before I witnessed a full blown fight. I stood next to Alisa, Claudio, and Madison. The four of us had quickly become close on the ship. Stringing my arm through Alisa’s, I whispered in her ear,

“Tell me you have read Harry Potter.” She fluttered her eyelashes, and rubbed her wrinkled chin.

“Is that the story written by some British maid?” I nodded solemnly, hiding my smile. “Of course, you little fool! I would read it to Ju—” her voice faded, and her eyes drifted to Claudio. His eyes, which had lost their dreadful sadness, filled once again with sorrow. He walked away from us, picking his nails and sucking in his breath harshly as if trying not to cry. Alisa watched the boy as worry lines laced across her lips. She had become closer with the boy over the past few weeks, I’d noticed. They would talk rapidly in Italian, laughing and becoming younger right before my eyes. Alisa followed Claudio, murmuring under her breath. I turned to Madison, who shrugged and bit her thumb.

Russia was a strange place, completely outside my world. There were meats I had never heard of, fruits shaped like rocks, and some of the most superstitious people I had ever met. Elizabeth Connor and Taksheel Delhi hated the liberal, communist setting. I was not, and never would be, sure of Russia. Madison despised it; we stayed in Russia for about five days, and after two Madison retreated to the hot air balloon. Silver Orchard and Howahkan seemed indifferent to the trip; let me just say now that these two always seemed passive throughout the entire adventure. I truly could not figure out what they thought about the entire endeavor. Howahkan seemed impressed with the atmosphere, which reminded him of his tribe most likely. Mrs. Orchard clutched at her heart whenever a sulking Russian teenager passed us.

Sophia loved Russia. She was immersed in everything Slavic. She told me on the third day, “I am moving here, it is decided,” then she added with a mischievous grin, “Do you agree, sir?” I smiled, and put my arm around her shoulders. “Of course, mademoiselle!” I exclaimed. She pecked my cheek, and led me through the streets of Abakan.

We departed late in September, waving goodbye to the few friends we had made. I peered down at the crowd, seeing someone in the crowd I recognized. My eyes widened as the ship rose to fifteen feet in the air. “Stop!” I screamed, running towards Captain Mo. He turned on me with those brown eyes always filled with understanding. I pointed to the ground, squeaking, “The man! James, the man! He’s still down there!” Charlotte lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes becoming large, ivory stones. Captain Mo shook his head like it was an unfortunate, but predictable, turn of events.

“I know you liked him, Aaron, but he didn’t belong here,” Captain Mo spoke, his deep voice and arm sweeping across the deck, and radiating through the passengers. My nerves tingled; I wanted to fight back for once in my life. My teeth clenched.

“We should go back,” I said firmly. Captain Mo shook his head again, meeting my eyes.

“We’re already too far up Aaron. I think you need to cool off,” and he turned from me. I stormed away from him to the second floor. It didn’t seem right at the time, but it makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

The air was calling to us, according to Captain Mo. He explained our next stop would be Egypt, but for the time being we would stay in the air until we needed fuel. After a month of having dinner conversations involving troubles with government, living outside the barrier of reality, human nature and rights, and issues with marriage, we passengers demanded Captain Mo take us to the ground. Our minds were fried with the talk of life, and the children were beginning to act more solemn than usual. Timmy, who’d attempted to join the conversations, sunk into a deep depression. He decided Matt Butler was God, the perfect being, which highly aggravated Mrs. Connor. Abhati and Abauro were caught reading Harry Potter with Charlotte, who stopped talking to Mr. Delhi and Sophia immediately after they caught her red-handed in her supposed crime.

Chantrice Franklin’s voice was about the only thing keeping me sane. For the trip so far, she had graced the passengers with covers of famous songs. About two months into our journey, I heard her singing her own original song in the bedroom when no one else was there. My ears rang at the beautiful noise coming through the door. “I hear America singing,” each note rang woefully. “The varied carols I hear—” I sunk into her singing, amazed. None of her songs had ever sounded like this. The notes cracked like wet leaves in fire as the words “The shoemaker singing” the rhythms smoothly caressed my ears. The song was so full of Chantrice’s soul I felt slightly embarrassed to be listening to it. This song obviously strongly emotionally affected her, and I was intruding on her precious moment. A sudden need to leave overtook me, but I couldn’t move. My mind was glued to the spot, awaiting more delicate music. Part of me wanted Chantrice to stop, for tears had begun to seep down my face. “At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs,” the last syllable pulled out into a long, weary note. I heard a strained sigh, and realized the song was over.

Egypt affected us more than Russia did. Sophia tensed up as soon as Captain Mo informed us we were going to land in Alexandria. A shadow crossed over her mind and remained there, even after we left Egypt. Abauro would creep around her mother, and sleeping on deck or in the kitchen to avoid her. Everyone could see the trip to Egypt was pulling the inseparable family apart. It was like watching a single person being torn in two. We all watched as the light in Sophia’s eyes dimmed as slowly as our descent. Captain Mo didn’t seem worried, but the passengers became concerned. Everyone took turns taking care of the second part of her soul while she struggled to fix the first part. She became grim and unresponsive. She knitted constantly, and would only speak when forced to. Charlotte and I became very close with Abauro as Sophia sunk into her depression.
As soon as the ship touched the ground in Egypt, a man appeared at the plank. A heavy discussion pursued between Captain Mo and the man; the rest of the ship observed the tall man with uncertain, confused gazes. I recognized the man from somewhere, but could not place him. His back was bent against the weather, his light hair plastered to his pale face. His stature was humble, but his chin was pointed up, giving the impression he thought highly of himself. Captain Mo shrugged, as unsure as the rest of the crew. Even after a few short months, we had become a family that was unlikely to accept strangers. However, we soon found out we couldn’t resist the man. He was independent, but charming as hell. He made Charlotte fall madly in love with him within five minutes of talking to her. “We are all individuals, and this experiment will show how successful a group of individuals can be without government or classes,” he told us, giving grins that made us forget how communist his ideals were. Or, maybe we embraced him because of his communistic nature. He could not accept that people were bad, and believed government was best when it did not exist. I tended to shrug him off.

We left Sophia on the ship—we had to drag Abauro away from her mother so the girl could see the world. As we exited the ship, Mrs. Connor’s face brightened at the interesting sight. “Look at all the covered women!” She cried. “No one is dressed inappropriately at all! What modesty! What a delight!” Her eyes were opened as wide as possible, trying to take in all of the covered Egyptians. Captain Mo laughed as he and a few Egyptian boys tied the ship down. A woman completely covered in black bowed to us, her dark eyes peering through her linen veil at Abauro. She reminded me suspiciously of Sophia.

“Welcome to Alexandria,” she murmured, her voice thick with an Egyptian accent. She held out her hand to Abauro, who took Chantrice’s and mine. We walked through the streets suspended over the gorgeous blue ocean. Ships dotted off shore while the towers of Alexandria threatened to overtake the rebelling sea. Abauro stared off dreamily into the distance, as if she were remembering a better time. I squeezed her hand and smiled at her distracted face. She looked at me curiously, and turned back to the ocean.

The woman’s name, I found out, was Hafsah. She was mysterious, lovely, and seemed to radiate nature. Alisa hated her at first sight, as did most of the passengers. We never saw under her dark, linen dresses. Her dark eyes were penetrating and imitating to look into. She reminded me of Abauro, honestly. She was deep, full of constant thought. She was in control of everything. Not just her life, but her entire world. I was impassive to her at first until I found out her true nature. Like one day, about a week into the adventure, Sophia had finally left the boat. Hafsah saw the fear and sorrow in her eyes. A light burst from the clouds and shined upon the grim woman. Sophia shivered, and pulled Abauro close to her. She rejected the Egyptian witch immediately.

We were supposed to leave Egypt earlier, but it began to rain. The passengers huddled solemnly below deck for several hours until Captain Mo came downstairs and informed us we would not be leaving for a couple days. “But we’ve flown in rain before,” Sophia insisted, “Why can’t we now?”

“Because we’ve flown in rain, not taken off. We can’t start off in this weather. Just stay calm, Sophia, we’ll be leaving soon,” Captain Mo told her, his voice filled with understanding. Sophia was not having a good time in Alexandria. The locals considered her a whore because she was with a child and no husband. They did not give Mr. Delhi and Abhati a hard time, but that was because he is a man; Hafsah explained this to me.

The rain ceased after two days. Everyone’s mood was dampened; even Captain Mo seemed less relatable than usual. We took off, happily saying farewell to the creepy witch woman. “Be aware, Sophia Gikas, the past will catch up with you!” Hofsah shouted at us. We all turned to Sophia, whose face burst into color. Abauro looked at her mother curiously.

“What did she mean, Mommy?” The girl’s large voice vibrated through our skulls. Her mother’s eyes thinned intensely, and she pinched her daughter’s shoulder.

“Be quiet, my rose,” Sophia snarled; it was the most unloving thing I had ever heard. She stormed from the deck. Abauro watched her mother go, waiting expectantly for an apology. I doubt she ever received one.

We were up in the air again. With so little to do, talking became more common. One day I had philosophical conversations with Mack Throo and Charlotte while playing poker; Mack’s ideas were intense and passionate, unlike my own observational ones. He accidently let it slip that he was a scientist from Harvard. As soon as he said it, he shut down. I couldn’t get any more information from him about the meaning of the air balloon trip. He stood up and left me with Charlotte. She was blushing heavily. “Did you know?” I demanded from her. She sat straighter, pointing her chin in the air and looking down at me with heavy eyelids.

“Well, Mack and I have become very close. He trusts me more than anyone on this trip, my dearest. Do forgive him for his shyness, he does not know how to interact with people well,” she sounded like an owner explaining her pet’s problem. “He has been living alone for a very long time… That is why he came on late. He didn’t know when we were meant to take off. He had to pay for a plane ticket to get to Egypt and intercept us! Isn’t that ridiculous?” She was awfully proud of knowing Mack so well. I snorted, passing it off as a cough.

“Okay, Charlie, I see you are quite the good friends with Mr. Throo. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then,” I was highly annoyed. I thought by playing this card game I was becoming better friends with the two, but apparently they were not letting anyone else in. I would not let anyone else in either, then.

We went back to Europe for our next adventure. “Ireland, the land of the poor,” Madison said grimly. I laughed at her. Alisa and Claudio giggled along, their dark eyes bright. Their interwoven background hadn’t affected their moods since Russia.
Ireland was very green. Hundreds of miles above the country displayed no details, but Timmy was infatuated. He picked his ninety pound dog up and forced him to look over the edge of the ship. Jim moaned and fought against the boy, who eventually gave up and put him down. When we landed in Newry, a smaller town near Dublin, Jim refused to get off the ship. Timmy gave up and stayed with the dog. Mack offered to help and take care of Jim, but Timmy refused. He wanted to be with Jim because they had been through everything together, the good and the bad. The dog definitely looked the bad part. He was torn up, his fur sticking up in patches. Despite Martyn Sun’s efforts to clean him, Jim would not be clean. Mrs. Connor once joked Jim was not getting clean on purpose. Timmy’s face was grim as he said, “If Jim don’t want to be clean, Jim ain’t gonna be clean. He can do whatever he wants.” Everyone left Jim alone.
The time in Ireland went by quickly. In Newry, everything was simple and out of control. Life was spontaneous, but modest. The Irish believed in doing things for other people; selfishness was not a virtue. They liked money and hated aristocracy. There was no upper class, really, and those who were richer helped those who were poor. Everyone was fortunate. We took many pictures and showed them to Timmy at the end of the day. “That’s my type of place, friends!” He exclaimed loudly, patting Jim on the stomach. Madison offered to take care of Jim. Timmy refused once again.

Leaving Ireland was surprisingly easy. We were off to brighter places, according to Captain Mo. Our trip was halfway done. No one noticed, including me. Time passed, weeks acting like minutes. Moments became sacred, even the most insignificant ones. Sophia became glummer, Abauro acted happier. Claudio and Alisa were attached at the hip now. Some became quieter, talking even less as the year elapsed. I was farther from being friends with Howahkan than I was before.

We arrived in Greenland. The place was covered in white. Dorothy’s face flushed at the sight of snow, grabbing Donald’s hand. His eyes darkened angrily. “I thought Greenland was full of trees and grass,” he whispered. I almost felt like laughing. Captain Mo, apparently, also couldn’t hold his amusement in.
“Donald, my dear friend, Greenland is famous for its vast amounts of snow,” Captain Mo smirked. I laughed heartily, slapping Donald on the back.
“Don’t worry, Don, we’ll be out of here in no time,” but my words made no affect on his grim look. Donald and Dorothy’s eyes met, and they stalked off in opposite direction. I turned to Madison, thinking she would understand, but apparently she didn’t. The balloon ship landed softly in the snow, cold rushing onto the deck in a fog. Goosebumps rose on my skin as if they were trying to fight off the iciness of Greenland. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I knew something would go wrong here.
Donald and Dorothy refused to leave the ship. It seemed someone did in every place we went. Dorothy was usually happy, so her sudden change in mood was shocking to everyone. Captain Mo attempted to make the couple comfortable in this new setting, but they just wouldn’t settle in. Finally, after a week in Greenland, Captain Mo told us we would go off on our own. “Let’s make it an experience, shall we? All come back to the ship in a week and tell me how it was for you,” he grinned at us all in turn. Donald wrapped his arms around Dorothy.
No one else reacted to our surroundings as much as the couple did. After complaining about the chill of Greenland for the weeks before we arrived, Dorothy became obsessed with the snow. She begged Donald to take her sledding. I went by myself to the top of Sermitsiaq Mountains for the week to ski. I felt immediate relief when I was by myself. I called my friends back in Chicago, who demanded to know everything I had been doing for the past few months. I ate meals of blubber, fish, and birds. I drank a lot of imported red whine. Greenland depressed me, but I sure loved the skiing. It was amazing to slide down the slopes I had never been on before, and I couldn’t figure out the mountain even after skiing on it for a week. I was constantly being surprised by every turn and trail. I did not want to stay in Greenland, but I didn’t mind the scenery. Greenland was beautiful, cold, and mysterious.
When I returned to the balloons, everyone was already on board. My friends all looked fine, except for Donald and Dorothy. Dorothy was sobbing profusely, her face shining with black and blue bruises. Donald looked ten times worse. His arm was broken, as was his nose and possibly his left foot. My eyes widened at the horrifying sight. Then I realized the two were staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. Madison walked over to me and put her arm through mine. “Dorothy’s pregnant,” she whispered in my ear. My heart stopped for half a second.
“I didn’t even know they talked…” I murmured. Madison giggled. “What happened?” I asked, louder and to the group.
“We got into a sledding accident,” Dorothy giggled. “The sled was heading for the tree, but neither of us realized,” Don’s face flushed with guilt. “At the last second Don turned the sled and it flipped over and we slid. But that doesn’t matter anyways!” Dorothy hugged me. “Darling, my precious Aaron, we’re having a baby!” She kissed both my cheeks, then clutched at her ribs. I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. I glanced at Captain Mo; his face was serious. He believed their story as much as I did. They were attempting to kill themselves for some odd reason—there was nothing we could do, I decided.
Greenland shrunk quickly as the balloon got higher. I was glad to be leaving Greenland, for I couldn’t stand the thought of losing someone. I barely knew the Modles, but I recognized the fact if they ceased to exist, the world would be losing two very good, very smart people. The world, and the balloon ship, needed them.

France was next on the list. When Captain Mo told us, I asked him why were were going back and forth from random countries to Europe. He smiled, and told me, “That is for me alone to know, Aaron.” I accepted it, because truthfully he intimidated me. The wise eyes would wander deep into a soul and find its darkest secret. Though he would not tell anyone a secret one did not want to be told, it was still frightening to have someone see that far into one’s mind. I did trust Captain Mo, but I couldn’t truly look him in the eye.
We could smell France long before we saw it. A cloud of pollution surrounded the balloon ship so Captain Mo had to work even harder to prevent us from crashing into the ground. Léon, Paris wrapped us in its rainy arms and kissed our bones with chill. It was still winter, which meant more snow. However, the two-hour train ride into Paris meant a warm pickle and salami sandwich at the end, so I was content. Claudio, unfortunately, became grim. He sunk into his original depression. This time, Alisa did not join him.
The defining moment in Paris was when Claudio killed himself for love. Paris, apparently, reminded him of his dead wife. He couldn’t stand living without her any longer. He left the group with Captain Mo’s permission. Alisa tried to go with him, but he refused to let her come. According to Don, Claudio returned to the boat and said goodbye to all the people who had remained. Then, he found a cold river in Léon and put rocks in his pockets. I was buying a sandwich around the time Claudio placed the last stone in his sweatshirt, and sunk into the murky cold water. I was returning on the train home when a family who lived in the house next to the river found Claudio floating, his clothes spread out over the water. When we were told, Alisa burst out crying and swore heavily in Italian. She kissed Claudio’s face over and over, as if wishing he would come back to life. Abauro kept trying to get a good look, but Sophia held her back. Everyone left Alisa and went below deck, trying to take in the unfortunate event.
Alisa took the boy’s body back to Italy. Chantrice Franklin travelled with her, but would part with her in Venice. Our small balloon community was slowly falling apart as the weather got itself together. The people on the ship were invited to the funeral, but we had to keep moving. Had to keep going on, living. No point in mourning the dead, my father used to say. Just enjoy the fact they were once alive.

The year was almost over, I found out as the ship landed for the last time. Captain Mo kept wiping his eyes that were now as cold as ice. The ones we lost were missed desperately. Whenever I thought of them, tears rolled down my already puffed cheeks. Madison refused to speak to anyone now. Everyone was in a state of deep depression. I thought we would never get out of it—until we arrived in Luxembourg City.
Trees surrounded castles while a fountain spurted pure water. The sky above was as blue as a sky could possibly be. A wall prevented the massive amounts of trees from spilling into a clear, blue pond. The streets were empty of litter. It was like stepping back in time to the beginning of the nineteenth century England. Or, where the rich lived in nineteenth century England. Girls and boys in designer clothes stalked by us adventurers, sneering at our clothing. I heard one feminine teenage boy say in French, “That girl looks like a dog s*** on her non-stop for three days,” giggling and pointing at Charlotte. She heard them, and the light in her eyes dimmed. I was about to put my arm around her when Mack did. I stepped back, brushed off my jeans, and continued walking with Madison.
We shopped for days. I realized why Luxembourg was the wealthiest country in the world—their clothes are ridiculously expensive. I felt out of place as soon as I stepped onto the ground, but it was interesting to watch everyone else’s reaction. Madison and Charlotte loved the way of life, while Mack thought the extravagance was too much. I tended to agree with him. The others had different opinions, but I never really found out what those were.
The castle we were staying in was separated into two wings. I slept in the West Wing with Captain Mojag, Mack, Timmy, Matt Butler, the Modles, and Sophia and Abauro. The East Wing consisted of Mrs. Orchard, Howahkan, Mrs. Connor, Taksheel Delhi and Abhati, Madison, Charlotte, and Martyn Sun. Madison joked she was in the better half of the castle. I didn’t say, but I thought her half was not better, just more wastful. That side spent money like it was nothing, because they were all doctors, athletes, or earned money in other ways. On my side, we were aware. Well, most of us. Some were just poorer. Mack and I spent most of the three weeks in Luxembourg City talking about the necessities of life.
Matt Butler and I took Abauro and Abhati for edible diamond-encrusted ice cream on the last day. Each scoop cost about a thousand dollars, but Mr. Delhi had given us his credit card so I had no concerns. We bought the ice cream from a cute little shop that was far from modest. It seemed everything in Luxembourg City was made out of the most expensive materials money could buy. I would bet an entire year’s salary people in Luxembourg gave out more than money to afford these excises. Matt Butler bought the ice cream, took a quick bite from Abauro’s, and handed the whole wheat cones to the children. Abauro giggled—I suspected she had a bit of a crush on Matt Butler—as she took the ice cream, licking where Matt had just put his mouth.
Abauro took my and Matt’s hand as we walked back to the castle. We were all feeling down because we were about to leave… And for other, painful reasons. As Abhati stumbled over a loose tile on the sidewalk, a man with bright red hair grabbed the girl and took off running in the opposite direction. Matt and I shouted after the man and ran after him. Abauro attempted to follow, but her little legs were unable to keep up a solid pace. The man turned a corner; my stomach was twisting in knots, and I knew I would never catch him. I stopped, not wanting to lose Abauro as well. Matt kept going, as he was much more fit than me.
When Abauro and I finally caught up with him, Matt had tackled the man. Abhati ran to me and began to sob. The man shoved Matt over, gaining the better position. His fists bled as they slammed into Matt’s face. Abhati shouted, “Do it, Abauro, do it!” Abauro’s face flushed. I pushed the man off Matt. He leapt up from the ground and jumped me as I was helping Matt up. I crossed my arms over my face, trying not to black out from fear. Matt was trying to help with I felt something cold at my neck. Cold sweat poured down my back. My friend backed up, putting his body in front of the girls’. As the man pointed the gun at my friend and was about to pull the trigger, I struggled to stop the man. His knees were pressed on my arms—I couldn’t move. I watched as the bullet left the gun like it was in slow motion, heading towards Matt’s face. The little piece of metal moved like it was being shot through mud. I thought I was imagining its sluggishness when it stopped in mid air and fell to the ground. Matt’s eyes that were so ready for death widened in confusion.
Suddenly the burglar screamed. He covered his ears, crying out for something close by. He was saying, “I’m sorry, my love,” in French over and over. “Je suis désolé, mon amour. Je suis désolé, mon amour,” the beautiful words crept up and down my spine. I pushed the man off, and turned to Matt for an explanation. Strangely, he was looking at Abauro with a horrified expression. Her face was stern, moving back and forth between the man and space right in front of him. I felt my entire body heat up, fear joining the feeling of confusion. I placed my hands on Abauro’s shoulders, and shook her gently. Abhati cried out, “No! You’ll hurt her!” I stepped back. My nose was bleeding, but Matt looked much worse. We needed to get the hell out of there.
I shook Abauro as hard as I could without hurting her. She was disturbing Matt and I so deeply I doubted we would ever recover. She couldn’t seem to leave her trance, so I picked her up and carried her to our castle. Matt was breathing heavily despite of the fact he wasn’t the one carrying a resisting eight-year old. I had the greatest urge to slap the girl, but I couldn’t do it in the face of my morals. I thought I could still hear the robber sobbing from a mile away. I placed the girl on a couch, and followed Matt out into the hallway. “What the f*** was that?” He cried, his usually calm face breaking down into a diverse visage of confusion and fear. “How the f—” I pressed my hand to his lips.
“Matt, shut up, we don’t need to figure this out,” I snarled. “This is not our problem, okay?” He nodded, tears welling up in his weakening eyes. I took a deep breath, and made an attempt to smile. I don’t think it helped Matt at all, but he seemed relieved he would never have to relive the experience by discussing it. We went to separate bathrooms to wash up. After the incident, we never spoke again.
Despite this incident, I left Luxembourg reluctantly. It was by far my favorite place we’d been to that year. The people were aristocratic, the clothes too expensive, and the food too bland. However, it was the most interesting place I had ever been in. Luxembourg was the final step to figuring my life out. I realized didn’t need anyone or anything to make me happy. I was alone, and I was okay with that. The friends I made, though we promised each other to keep in touch, would most likely not go to my funeral. I would not call them back, and if they called me I would not answer. I tend to make plans without the incentive to put them in action. I was okay with the fact I was not perfect. In fact, I was ecstatic with that fact. Though I still held impossible expectations for myself, I found myself not being disappointed with not living up to them. Like Martyn Sun had said, “We create goals for ourselves just to make new ones.” I, like the rest of the passengers, had been doing just that for the entirety of our lives. We would continue forgetting and making goals for the rest of our lives. Life was created to struggle; new struggles were necessary to hold up that idea.

The air was our home for the last time. We had conflicting emotions about returning to home—relief and apprehension spun together in an itchy, woven mixture that rubbed against our minds until the balloon ship landed in America. I didn’t think at the time that we could handle any more experience. I’m not sure whether the last one was a blessing or a curse. It probably varied from person to person. For me, it became a hardship.
I noted that the wind was harsher up high than it was in Chicago, which was really saying something. Captain Mo had entrusted the passengers to help him control the ship for the last couple hours. We were right above the landing in New York City when a burst of color exploded in front of us. Everyone, including Captain Mo, looked upward at the amazing sight. Green and purple made a truce to share its magnificence with us. Blue replaced the purple, as if the two former colors were unable to handle each other. All the colors ever imagined twisted around each other, creating a giant rope in the sky. It twisted around the balloon ship, flowing through each person like a angel’s breath. As a strand of purple light enveloped me, all thought collapsed in my mind.
It was like a vault opened in my brain. I was falling off a cliff where on top things were once safe and unknown—now I knew everything. My stomach dropped as the realization dawned on me. Darkness clouded over my mind in a purple haze. The stars dimmed drastically, like they were trying to hide their uplifting light from me. Thoughts that were once depressed elevated from the depths and planted themselves like seeds into the cracks of my brain. “Nothing matters,” I whispered under my breath. Reality hit me as hard as the wall I ran headfirst into when I was three. Unfortunately, the affect was more drastic now than it was when I was younger. My skull felt like it was cracking open, spilling its thoughts all over the deck. I glanced at everyone else, who were all enlightened by the light. They loved it. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I ran from the deck, trying to escape the knowing light. Captain Mo followed me, putting his tanned, wrinkled hand on my shoulder. I turned around and stared into his soul-seeing eyes. I wanted to know who I was to him. I saw him, the ageless Native American captain I had become acquainted with, looking back at me through his contracting pupils. The man in the pupils disappeared, and I was alone once again.