A Conversation

Sitting on a low wall outside at a recent wedding, I was approached by a young and rather serious boy, a relative of the bride's cousin, I believe.

Young boy to me – Have you ever burst a balloon.

Me, indicating the balloon in his hand – Yes I have. Why are you going to burst that balloon?

Boy, with half a shrug and no readable facial expression – Maybe...

Some seconds later, when I was looking the other way, the boy managed to burst the balloon by inserting his thumb into it, and then held it up, semi-proudly for my perusal when I turned back to him.

Minutes passed and the boy returned, minus balloon, still serious and with an enigmatic smile.

Boy – I think I'm going to die.

Me, a little uncertain how to take this – Oh, why's that? Do you have a horrible rash or something?

Boy – No, I have asthma. I can't breathe.

Me – Well you seem to be able to talk alright.

Boy, waving at the door – I went inside and took my inhaler.

Me, trying to think of something responsible to say – Oh good, well hopefully that will make you feel better. If you can feel any worse then make sure you tell an adult straight away.

And that was that.

The boy, still surprisingly calm at the thought of his imminent demise, left to join his peers some metres away and, for those who may be concerned for his safety, was later seen running around quite happily. With no evidence to the contrary, it seems reasonable to assume he survived the evening unscathed.