Paper Cranes

• Alicia Li, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2021

The wings are carefully creased, the neck folded down to make a tiny, delicate head. I gently blow into the body, puffing out its snowy white chest. The last crucial detail; with a flourish, ‘2051’ embellishes the dainty wings.

Crane poised on my palm, I heave myself from the dilapidated armchair. Sunlight streams onto the mahogany wooden shelf, bathing the paper cranes in the warm embrace, enticing me to come closer and admire the simplicity, yet extravagance of paper folding.

I peer at 1990, white as the coarse hospital sheets. I am instantaneously brought back to bustling nurses and deafening wails. Tears of joy had cascaded down from my damp eyelashes onto the heavily starched hospital material. After thorough consultation of multiple books, I had jotted ‘Evelyn’—meaning beautiful bird—onto white paper, soon an elegant origami crane.

I shift my gaze to 1996—a midnight blue crane, the word ‘school’ imprinted on it. I suddenly see soft hazelnut eyes looking up at me pleadingly, knobbly knees knocking slightly under the navy pleated skirt. Her unrelenting grip had caused me to reveal a graceful indigo crane hidden under her matching hat, and I could never forget the wide smile that cracked from her scarlet lips, her laughter a melody to my ears.

I linger at 1998, its amber hue resembling the first prize medal of the art competition. I recall my hands, crimson red from clapping in delight as the glinting golden disk was slung around my Evie, her nervous but proud grin forever imprinted in my mind.

But, Time teases. It gifts one with the blessing of life, patiently watching it glide amongst the clouds, only to give it a little nudge, a small gust of wind, to send it plummeting from the sky.

And suddenly, I find myself at 2001. The slightly jagged beak, white wings and bent tail; every imperfection distinguishes it from the flock. Her sleek ebony brown hair stolen by chemotherapy, and her once rosy cheeks robbed of its scarlet blush, the only pigmentation came from her naturally vibrant lips. Yet, even when her feeble body refused to work, her loving hands and weak fingers had faintly creased and transformed a plain sheet into a majestic bird. Tenderly cupping it in her pale hands, she nestled her head in my arms, before giving in to eternal sleep.

But Time could carve wrinkles into my forehead. Time could seize the life of a young girl. Yet, Time could not thieve me of my memories, nor the cranes. And suddenly, I remember. Tentatively, I lift up a delicate wing, concealing the familiar cursive I hadn’t seen for fifty years. My voice shakes as I read it.

“Mama, don’t be sad for goodbye because there’ll be another hello.”

I savour these innocent, yet wise words, and tears sting my eyes, but I take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I carefully position the fifth crane, whispering what I had written.

“The ‘hello’ is near, Evie.”