Paper Cranes

Bill once told me that if you encounter a crane, it’s supposed to symbolize immortality and good fortune. He added afterwards that you’ll become rich after you see one because it brings that much good luck. After he told me that, I began to take the long way home from school so that I could pass by the sluggish creek, idling a bit so that I might catch a glimpse of a rare crane. I would sit on the muddy bank as I fidget with the tallest cattail plants, plucking them apart with my ragged fingernails. I would wait for thirty minutes or so, I don’t really know. I would get lost in my funny reflection in the glassy water while running the furry cattail plant down my face. Sometimes I would think about cute Suzy who was in our grade, and wonder if seeing a crane would give me enough luck so that she would marry me. Then I would remind myself that it was useless to come to the small creek, it’s not like there was enough water for a crane to land here. I would sigh, pick up my bag, and walk home with a cattail plant in my hand, leaving the creek deserted once more until I succumbed again to the idea of winning lots of money and Suzy; and I would return after a week. 

This went on for almost a year, with not a single sighting of a crane. 

I finally realized how pathetic it was, reaching out for this silly hope, and stopped going to the creek. My daydreams of holding tons of money and Suzy’s hand still lived on though. 

It wasn’t until in the summer, a month before we were going to become 6th graders, that I saw my crane. Well, sort of. 

Bill and I were sitting outside on his porch, eating some ice cream, relishing the hot summer air after taking a cold swim. Though it was silent, there was no need to fill it with unnecessary conversation. We sat there, embraced by the heat and our loving friendship until something caught my eye.

I looked up and saw the slight fluttering of a hopeless paper crane as it dragged across the bituminous pavement. The noise echoed in my heart, and I ran to get the paper crane. I picked up the delicate creature, as it sat humbly in my hand. I examined its elegant folds, and almost like it was alive, I pet its head softly, in awe of the little thing. 

“Hey what’s that?” Bill asked, as he got up to see what intrigued me so much

“It’s a paper crane.”

“Woah, I’ve never seen one of those. My grandma said that it’s kind of hard to make. Her friend tried to learn but forgot. I wonder who would get one and just leave it around.”

In our small town, paper cranes were just as rare as real cranes. No one knew how to make them, we’ve only heard about them. Old Joe across the street tried to make it, but he gave up quickly. 

“Hey Bill, does this count as a real crane?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well you know, you told me that if you see a real crane, it’ll give you a lot of luck and you’ll become rich. The paper crane is kinda close to the real one, don’t you think?”

“Hm, I guess? I’m not sure. I’ll bet it counts, I’m sure it's just as lucky. Say, if you do get rich, would you mind sharing?”

“Sure.”

We started walking back to my house, until we saw more paper cranes. At first it started out slowly, we would find one lone crane near a bush, another next to Mrs. Jolie’s mailbox, but as we kept walking and collecting, paper cranes were littered everywhere. Then the wind would pick up and the scared rustling of the innocent paper cranes would disturb the happiness brought upon us, slowly transforming it into confusion. The more we walked, the larger the crane numbers became. At some point, we didn’t even bother to pick up more, our pockets had already been fed with superfluous amounts of these paper things. 

“Hey who’s that?” Bill said, pointing a little over 20 feet down. 

Our town is a small town. Everybody knew everybody, and if a newcomer ever came, folks would gawk at them for weeks. 

We ran over, hoping to get a glimpse of the new kid. 

He had pale cheeks, dry sandy lips, and thick round glasses. His lusty black bangs almost ran down to his nose, and his demeanor seemed so cold that even the sun was scared to shine on him. He was bending down on the old pavement, collecting the hoard of paper cranes. He had a huge jar next to him, filled about halfway with the cranes. Each time he got a handful of the helpless creatures, he would dump them inside the jar, almost aggressively sucking the delicateness out of them. 

“Hey! Are these your cranes?” Bill shouted to the boy.

He looked up, his wispy nightmare bangs sliding down his face. His glasses shined the sun’s reflection, so that his eyes looked like the gateway to heaven. 

“Yeah.” He muttered.

“Here ya go, we collected some earlier. If you want, we could help you out.” Bill offered.

The boy simply nodded, and went back to picking up the cranes. 

Bill, the boy, and I spent the afternoon collecting whatever cranes we could. We worked in silence, not the good kind. The kind where we all had something to say, but we were too shy to say it. The awkwardness hummed in our bodies, pulling us together with a tight rope. At the end of the day, we got nearly the whole jar full. We looked wherever we could, and that was as much as we could get. We all stood around the jar, staring at the slightly crumpled cranes, unsure of what to say. 

The boy broke the silence. 

“Thank you. You guys could take a crane if you’d like.”

“SWEET.” Bill yelled in joy. He had clearly been waiting for the boy’s permission to take one. 

“Did you make these yourself?” I asked the boy. 

He nodded, his wispy bangs bouncing in confirmation. 

Bill and I left, with our noble paper cranes in our hands. That was the last time we ever talked to the boy. 

After seeing the paper crane, Bill and I did get rich in some way. We found a 20 dollar bill on the ground a week later, so we decided to split it. It wasn’t much, but we still felt very lucky. The week after, Suzy and I started going steady. It’s been 5 years, and we’re still going strong. 

The boy never came out after that. Him and his parents avoided the entire town, only coming out for necessities. But every once in a while, the boy would make two paper cranes and place them in the area where we first met. Bill and I would always take them, just for good luck. 

This kept up for years, until one day, we found out that the boy had died. 

His parents told the town, and even though we hadn’t gotten to know the family, we still mourned for the loss. He had died from polio. 

We never even got to know his name. 

Bill and I paid our respects, along with some other folks in the town. Before we left, we placed two sorrowful cranes on his grave, and they stayed willingly at their post until the end of time.