One Rung Short of the Balloon

Every morning at eight, Lenny opens the gate of the car park. It is the car park of the driving-test centre. It has twelve white spaces and one tall lamp. It has a low brick wall.

Nineteen years is a long time to know one car park. Lenny knows the cracks in the ground. He knows which space gets wet when it rains. His job is small. He sweeps, he paints the lines and he changes the bulbs.

Today he brings his ladder. It is a green metal ladder with five rungs. He leans it on the lamp post. He tests it with his hand.

"The bulb is dead," he says to himself. "Easy."

He climbs. At the fourth rung, the lamp is still far above his head. At the fifth rung, his hand almost reaches the glass. It is the top rung. He stretches. The glass is still a hand's width away.

He climbs down and looks at the ladder. He looks at the lamp. Then he looks at the ladder again. It is still too short.

"Too short," he says.

"What is too short?" asks a voice behind him.

Vic, the examiner, stands by the wall. He holds a clipboard against his chest. He wears the same grey jacket every day. He fails more people than anyone at the centre. But he does it kindly. Nobody is angry with him for long.

"The ladder," says Lenny. "I bought it in spring. The shop said it was the right size."

"Shops say many things," says Vic.

"Last year my old ladder was fine. Maybe the lamp grows."

"Maybe you shrink," says Vic. He almost smiles.

They both look up at the lamp. It stands still and silver against the sky.

Lenny has a plan. He goes to the shed and brings back a wooden box. He puts the box under the ladder. Vic holds the ladder with both hands.

"This is not safe," says Vic.

"It is a little safe."

"A little safe is the same as not safe."

"Then hold harder," says Lenny.

Vic holds harder. Lenny climbs onto the box. Then he climbs the ladder to the fourth rung. The ladder shakes. His shoes slide. A loud bang comes from the box. The whole thing leans to the left.

"Come down," says Vic, in the voice he uses on the road. "Come down now. Slowly."

Lenny comes down. His heart is loud in his ears. He sits on the box and breathes.

Just then a door opens across the car park. A young woman walks out. She holds a piece of paper. Behind her come two friends. All three laugh and shout.

"She passed!" calls one friend. "She passed, she passed!"

The young woman stops in the middle of the car park. She looks at the paper. Then she looks at the sky. Then she holds the paper over her head. She turns in a circle.

Vic nods. He knows her. She is the quiet one from the nine o'clock test. He likes her calm hands.

The friends run to a small blue car. Tied to the mirror is a bunch of balloons. Each balloon is a different colour. Yellow, green, white, pink. The friends untie them one by one. They put them in the car.

One slips. It is a big yellow balloon with a thin gold string. It rises slowly at first. Then it rises fast.

"No!" shouts one friend. "Our balloon!"

Everybody in the car park turns to watch. Lenny stands up. Vic stops writing. The balloon floats past the bricks, past the sign, past the lamp.

It stops. The gold string catches on the very top of the lamp post. The yellow balloon turns slowly in the air. It floats above the bulb, above the ladder, above everyone.

For a moment nobody speaks.

"I can get it," says Lenny. He picks up the box again.

"You cannot," says Vic. "You are one rung short."

"I am a hand short."

"Then you are short."

The young woman starts to laugh. She has paper in one hand. She has a car key in the other. "Leave it," she says. "It is fine. Really. It is a good place for it."

"But it is your balloon," says Lenny.

"It is my first day as a driver," she says. "Something should stay here."

Her friends look at her. Then they look at the balloon. One of them takes a photo. The other puts an arm around her shoulders.

Then they get in the blue car. The engine starts. The car leaves slowly. She drives like a person who is new at it. She stops at the gate and checks both ways three times.

Vic watches her go. He tucks his clipboard under his arm. He does not usually say anything after a test. Today he says, "That was good driving."

Lenny pushes the ladder against the wall and sits on the box. He takes a cloth from his pocket and cleans his hands slowly.

"I will get a longer ladder tomorrow," he says.

"Do not hurry," says Vic.

"Why not?"

"The test at ten is a nervous boy. He might like a balloon."

Lenny looks up. The yellow balloon turns once on its gold string. There are small black letters on it. From the ground, neither man can read them.