In our old, irrelevant town—where nothing happened and everything was forgotten—a man sold balloons. His bald head, smooth and round like one of his own balloons, was a familiar sight to us children who gathered around him daily. He wasn't just a vendor; he was a performer, He made the balloons dance, and the children laughed. He took it all very seriously, and the children took it all too far (more on that later).
Among those who watched was a girl named Amina, newly arrived and lonely in the town. Too old for balloons and too poor to buy them anyways, she did the only thing left—she fell in love with the balloon man.
Even though Amina was a young adult, the balloon man, forever a child at heart, fell in love with her anyway. Their relationship should’ve been taboo, but no one cared. She had no family, no ties, and was just another poor girl in town. They married without a hitch—no one was invested enough to object.
The bald man took his balloon craft with the seriousness of a surgeon. Despite Amina's fascination, he insisted that his craft can't be taught. You had to be born with it. Still, he was a progressive husband. He encouraged Amina to start her own business—selling halal gummy bears, because in our Muslim town, gelatin-free gummy bears were as rare as a child disinterested in balloons.
Amina’s gummy bear business thrived. The couple had a knack for turning everything they touched into magic. The gummy bears were too successful, leaving the town's children in a perpetual cycle of sugar rushes and diarrhea. But who was complaining? The kids were overjoyed and hyperactive, which left their parents exhausted and defeated. These sugared-up young ones became the unofficial leaders of this otherwise sleepy town.
But, as with most things in life, the story of Amina and her bald husband wasn’t destined for a happily ever after. One day, high on sugar and delirium, the children gathered to watch the bald man’s performance (I was in the category of those suffering from diarrhea that day). They were so carried away that, in their frenzy, they mistook his bald head for a balloon. With wild glee, they grabbed it. To their horror, it detached from his body and floated into the sky. The bald man was not bald anymore; he was dead. His head, they say, is still floating in space.
Amina’s end was less bizarre but no less tragic. Hearing of her husband’s death, she rushed out, clutching her gummy bears (the business was so important after all). In her frantic haste, she slipped on her own sweets—an absurd twist of fate, and I swear to God, I’m not lying—she fell to her death on her own gummy bears. It all happened on the same day. Whose fault was it? The sugar-high kids, the over-the-top performance, or Amina’s own slippery gummy bears? No one cared enough to investigate. Amina was just a lonely figure, as I mentioned before, and the bald man was a mere punchline to everyone except the children.
Work injuries are tough. Sometimes, even the most harmless jobs have a way of coming back to bite you. How do I remember this story from my childhood? Well, just recently, two astronauts stranded in space—waiting for SpaceX to rescue them—reported something odd: a bald head floating contentedly among the stars. I wish I was making this up, but I’m not. It’s sad, really, and it makes you wonder if those astronauts might become the next work casualties.
