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paper cranes.

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all that was left was a paper crane. he liked making them. it was a quirk the rest of our friends didn't know about. i doubt he remembers me now. now that he's off being a famous guitarist, he wouldn't remember a small town girl like me.

back in high school we were the best of friends, he'd make me a paper crane everyday, the kind that can flap it's wings. we'd go to pop's cafe after school, and he'd fold paper as we sipped sodas. during musical season, when he'd play guitar or violin and I'd play the flute in the pit, we'd hang out during breaks.

i used to have every crane. i'd play with one, making it flap it's wings, when we talked on the phone. We did that a lot. We'd stay up until two in the morning, talking, even sometimes on school nights.

then he ran away.

i threw most of them away after that. the memories of him made me want to cry. i kept one though, the first one he ever made me, and i held it the first time he called.

"i miss you," he told me. "you're the only thing i miss about that town."

i held that crane while he talked. while he talked I cried, tears of joy. I was happy that he was safe, and that he was happy.

but he hasn't called in years. i took a job at pop's cafe, after graduation. pop treats me well because he's known me for some long. he's a kindly old man who really should retire, but is too stubborn to. i work five days a week and spend the rest in my small apratment. today is one of my days off and i don't have anything planned. sometimes i go shopping, or out to lunch with friends. right now i'm looking at his paper crane. i want to remember everything about him, and then forget it all. i'm still in the process of remembering. it's hard, because it makes me so sad, but i'll be fine as long as he's happy.

the phone rings. i expect it to be my mother, who calls everyday. i really don't want to talk to her, but i pick up anyway.

"hello?"
"hey you," he soothed, his tone slow and comforting. "I've been thinking about you. i miss you and i want to see you again.





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penguin35 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 8, 2009 at 2:22 pm
I liked the beginning. It's sad. But I don't really understand what the point of the story is.
 
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