The White Balloon

(Prompt: write a story about balloons and include the line: "Get your hand out of my pocket")

From the lookout point the balloons looked like they could be maracas in the wind. The girl shut one eye and reached out to shake them with her hands, but grasping none, she said:
“How far do you suppose they are?”
“The balloons?” said the man. “Oh, I don’t know. Far enough.”
The man had a picnic basket and a dime-store bottle of wine. He had five more bottles in the backseat of the car. He thought if they drank enough she wouldn’t know how bad they were.
“Oh, I love that stuff,” said the girl, reaching for the wine.
The man choked and thought the wine tasted like three-day old apple strudel melted in grape juice. It had a soft minty burn like cough medicine, which he didn’t much care for. But as the girl gulped the wine she made sounds like the sound of a sinking ship.
Glub, glub, glub, went the girl.
“Is something wrong?” said the man.
“Nothing,” said the girl.
“It’s never nothing,” said the man.
The girl rolled her eyes and offered him a cigarette. When he shook his head she held one out between her teeth. The man lit a match for her and watched her gently puff smoke. Her cheeks were lovely and hollow like a porcelain bowl. He wanted very much to say something just then but lost the words.
“I made you sandwiches,” he said instead.
“Whatever,” said the girl.
They sat and ate sandwiches in silence and watched the balloons, she in her white dress and he in his dark suit. The balloons floated above them with all the care of careless children. There was a white balloon higher than the rest. In her mind she could see it pop. The white balloon was like her love, buoyed by his bullshit. It could only get so high before he ran out of hot air and lies. Was it always hot air and lies? She was so innocent.
“What did you do with the money?” said the girl.
“What money?” said the man.
“Our money,” said the girl. “Two paychecks worth.”
“I can explain,” said the man.
“Don’t bother,” said the girl. “I want to go home now.”
“Wait, I can explain.”
“Give me the keys,” said the girl. “You can rot here if you like. You can rot here with your pissy wine for all I care.”
The man was so nervous he was sweating down the chin. “Have you gone mad?” he said. “Get your hands out of my pocket!”
She kneed him where it hurt. And then she kneed him again where it didn’t hurt as much but probably still hurt. The girl pried something loose that was not keys. It was a little blue box that popped open.
There was a couple paychecks worth of diamond ring in the box.
“Oh, oops,” said the girl.
“Sorry about the wine,” groaned the man. “I’m really broke right now.”
“I love you,” said the girl.
They sat and ate sandwiches in silence and watched the balloons, she in her white dress and he in his torn suit. There was a white balloon higher than the rest. In her mind the white balloon soared. And how it did soar. The white balloon was her love.