Pop Art – A Story That Made Me Cry (But Not in a Lame Way)

Shit, I am actually illiterate. That was my conclusion after the very first sentence:
"My best friend when I was 12 was inflatable."
Simple, right? Well, unfortunately, I read it as “infallible,” which—let’s just go ahead and admit—I also thought was spelled “infallable.” That really puts an exclamation point on my illiteracy. After pausing in shame, I realized it said inflatable and immediately accepted that I’m out of my league in any book club other than maybe one for children’s books. Even then, it’s questionable if I belong. You’re welcome, English Major. Mock away.

After recovering from that flub, my next thought was, “Okay, where’s this horror story going?” Spoiler: it’s not a horror story.

Then I thought, “This is going to be all kinds of lame.” But—surprise—it’s the first short story in a while to genuinely touch me. (Not sexually, pervert.)

How much meaning can come from a 12-year-old boy who is best friends with a 12-year-old balloon boy (literally, a boy who is a balloon....)?

Turns out: a lot.

Topics like life, loneliness, death, God, love, childhood, parenthood, sorrow—it’s all laid bare across a couple dozen pages. I teared up. Yup, it happened.

A few pointed quotes that hit hard:

"In a friendship, especially in a friendship between two young boys, you are allowed to inflict a certain amount of pain. This is even expected. But you must cause no serious injury; you must never, under any circumstances, leave wounds that will result in permanent scars."

As a man thinking back to childhood, I can remember exact moments when I crossed that line—or when others crossed it with me. It still hurts.

"You get an astronaut’s life whether you want it or not.
Leave it all behind for a world you know nothing about.
That’s just the deal."

Death, compared to being shot off to Mars in a metal tube. Can’t beat that metaphor.

And this, on human nature:

"It is my belief that, as a rule, creatures of Happy’s ilk—I am thinking here of canines and men both—more often run free than live caged, and it is in fact a world of mud and feces they desire, a world with no Art in it, or anyone like him, a place where there is no talk of books or God or the worlds beyond this world, a place where the only communication is the hysterical barking of starving and hate-filled dogs."

(Helpful context: Happy was a shit-eating dog. That may clarify things.)

I won’t spoil the ending, but I will say: it was powerful. It was meaningful.

And I won’t pretend I understood everything. Hell, for all I know, there were no balloon people.