New York’s sidewalks were expectedly packed as the Dream Giver stood on her assigned square. No official had specifically delegated this space to her, per say, but no one was going to look down upon a young girl holding balloons.

Looking closer, one would notice that the balloons appeared to be painted. Swirls of color decorated the surfaces, complicated and stunning. However, none of the balloons were painted; they simply looked that way from the moment they were created.

Upon further inspection, one would also notice that instead of ribbon, the balloons were tied to thin chain links. Many thought the image to be a trick, but the girl knew that there was a reason that the balloons held up the chains, instead of falling to the ground.

Like any vendor, she was looking for business. Her eyes scanned the crowds of people, but they were not searching; she would know when she saw someone in need of her service. So instead she simply watched as they milled about, the stream never stopping its flow.

After a while, she felt one of the balloons gravitate at an angle. Its chain tensed like the leash of a dog trying to run towards something exciting and consequentially escape the grasp of its owner.

The Dream Giver smiled and looked in the direction the balloon was leaning towards.

A businessman was walking her way. He had that look about him she had seen countless times on the sidewalks of New York: business suit, briefcase, tired eyes.

Once he was near enough, she smiled at him.

“Excuse me sir, would you like a dream?” she inquired.

The man’s steps faltered, and she felt her grin grow wider.

“Did you say, a… dream?” he asked.

“I did sir.” She gestured to her balloons. “I’m the Dream Giver.”

“What does that mean?” the man questioned, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. The young girl could tell that she had peaked his interest.

“I give people dreams when they’ve forgotten their own.” The man’s brow furrowed. His eyes trailed to the balloons, and then down their chains.

“Are they your dreams?” he asked. The girl frowned, pondering the question.

“I make them,” she eventually replied. “But they aren’t mine to keep.”

The man stared at her for a moment longer before taking his hands out of his pockets and letting them fall to his sides.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for dreams at the moment, but thank you dear.”

The girl smiled sadly and nodded. Her eyes followed his figure as he slipped back into the moving crowd.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced towards the dream that had sought the man out. “Someone else will want you though.”

For a while the girl only got stares from those passing by. She was used to this, almost taking it in pride. Her dreams were beautiful creations, destined to help somebody live their life, and she took pleasure in handing them to others.

Later, a teenage girl cautiously approached her. The little girl relayed the same information she had to the businessman. The student at first scoffed at the idea of the girl making dreams, but the young girl smiled and thrust a balloon in front of her.

“Why don’t you hold this?” she asked of the teenage girl.

Once the woman hesitantly wrapped her fingers around the chain link, she felt thrown back to days of her childhood when she made fake splints for her stuffed animals.

Holding the balloon, the teenage girl felt content as she stared at its intricate surface.

“I can’t be a doctor though.” she sighed, sounding defeated. “My science grade is terrible.”

The young girl reached out and laid her free hand on the teenager’s.

“Don’t tell yourself that you cannot succeed because you find yourself feeling stuck. This is what dreams are for: they’re to remind you of what you want, and make you face the question of how hard you are willing to make them a reality. Please understand that you are capable of whatever you put not only your mind, but your heart into. I’m simply giving you a dream to remind you what you’re working towards.”

The teenager smiled despite herself and glanced at her balloon.

“Why do you keep dreams on chains?” she asked. The Dream Giver looked to her bunch of balloons, now one dream thinner, and smiled.

“So that they don’t float away. Dreams are more powerful than we think.” The young girl took her hand back. “Remember,” she warned “you can’t see through a dream, so don’t let it block your vision. Let your dream be visible out of the corner of your eye: there, but not distracting.”

With that, the teenage girl left.

The next day, the Dream Giver stood at her spot again, waiting to help. Her opportunity came when an elderly man spared her a glance.

“Sir, have you ever had a dream?” she asked. He immediately smiled, his eyes seeming to stare at something far away.

“My wife and I wanted to open up a bookstore. The world decided to give us a son instead, who I love with all my heart.”

“Is he grown now?” the young girl asked.

“He’s old enough to have given me two grandkids.” the elderly man boasted proudly.

“If you don’t mind me saying sir, I think now is the time you can chase your dream.” She held a balloon out. The man laughed, the sound ringing.

“You know what? Why not?” Taking the balloon, the man walked down the sidewalk, a new sense of energy seeming to radiate off of him.

The Dream Giver went on to hand out four more balloons in that day.

As the sun began to set, she felt somebody run into her. Tightening her grip on the chain links, she turned to stare at the source.

A boy appearing to be her age was staring at her.

“Hello,” she greeted him.

He skipped the formalities, as he was quite young and did not yet understand the point of them.

“Can I have a balloon?” he asked. The girl smiled, a bit of regret tinging her eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you one.”

“Why not?” the boy demanded.

The girl gestured to her balloons. “You see, these balloons are dreams. I offer to these to people who have forgotten their dreams or let them float away.”

She grinned down at him.

“And I bet that you have a dream.”

The boy beamed at the mention.

“I want to draw pictures!” he exclaimed. The Dream Giver nodded.

“You can. Remember that.” She kissed him on the cheek. He immediately rubbed at the spot of contact.

The boy’s mother called to him, and he quickly left the girl’s side.

As the days continued, the girl’s bunch of balloons progressively wheedled down. She handed dreams out to men and women, young and old, cynical and full of hope. Some were more hesitant than others to accept their dreams, but sooner or later their hands would wrap around the chain links and suddenly tighten as if they were deathly afraid of letting go.

There were people who simply said no to her offerings. There were always people who say no to dreams, and she had known this for a long time. When those people shook their heads or hardly met her gaze, she smiled sadly and told them to try and have a nice day.

Eventually, the Dream Giver only had one dream left to give.

She walked down the street, letting the balloon do the searching. Hours went by of her trying to find somebody who looked like they needed a dream.

Finally, she stumbled across a young woman pacing outside of a building, muttering to herself and staring at pages in her hand. When the Dream Giver got closer, she could see that the pages had been anxiously crumpled, their surfaces nearly soft from being worn.

“Miss, what are you doing?” the Dream Giver asked. The woman glanced at her.

“Practicing lines.” She went back to looking at the papers.

“Is that hard?” the young girl wondered. The woman thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“It’s only hard because I know that once I’m in there, I’m going to forget everything.” Her answer sounded frustrated.

“But you’re trying.” the young girl stated. The woman huffed a singular laugh.

“I am.” Some silence passed between them as the Dream Giver mulled over her words before she stuck her arm out.

“Miss, I want to give you this. It’s a dream. I hardly feel like you even need this, because you’re working so hard, but I want to give this dream to you to help remind you why you’re trying.”

The woman frowned at the balloon. The Dream Giver continued.

“May I tell you something, miss? People often mistake the purpose of dreams. Some accept their dreams, but never work towards them. Others let themselves dream for only an instant before giving up. I can tell that’s not what you’ll do. But I want you to know that the moment your dream feels like an absolute chore, it’s not doing what it’s supposed to.”

“And what are dreams supposed to do?” the woman asked.

“Give you hope,” the Dream Giver replied. “No matter why you need it.”

When the little girl walked away, the woman was staring at her balloon with curiosity.

The Dream Giver decided to go to the park to celebrate a job well done. Her hand only gripped one balloon, its chain feeling warm in her grasp.

Once she arrived, the young girl headed to her favorite spot.

The tree was beautiful: Its bark was rich in color and hardly cracked; Leaves extended from their branches like hands, and its height was unmatched by any other tree.

She sat down at the base of the trunk and pulled on the chain so that she could hold her balloon in her hands.

She watched the dream dissolve with the sense of wonder that she always felt when they became a reality.

The chain fell to her side as the balloon began to come apart. Slowly, the surface disbanded into small pieces. The flecks shined as they floated down to the ground. Some collected in her lap, a golden pile.

Gathering the pieces in her hands, the young girl blew on the residue of her dream, watching the flecks be caught by the wind and taken away.

Closing her eyes, the Dream Giver let her entire weight fall back against the tree. Her hand felt the ground until her fingers wrapped around the chain, and she wrapped the metal around her wrist once before holding it slack in her hand.

And with all of that done, she allowed herself to dream.