Senbazuru

by Sophia Ai, Torrey Pines High School '22

March 24, 2021

Untitled photography by Michelle Sze, Del Norte High School '21

I was once told that folding 1000 paper cranes would make a wish come true. It might’ve been you, but it was so long ago that I can barely remember. What I do recall is that you were the one who taught me to always make sure the corners lined up, to make sure the creases were sharp and crisp, to make sure that it looked perfect. You must be able to do the last one, you said as you watched my hand slip and crumple the paper. One crane later and my fingers were covered in cuts. The mess of crinkled folds in front of me looked nothing like what it was supposed to, with the neck bent in the wrong places and the wings lopsided. You laughed. What a waste of a perfectly good sheet of origami paper, you said. Ten cranes and a pack of bandaids later and you finally complimented me. The wings looked better than usual, like a real bird’s. You’d bet that it could fly away any moment. But you immediately took it back, saying the praise was too high for my pathetic excuse of a crane. Maybe this is too much for you, you said, flicking one of them across the table. It fluttered through the air and landed with a soft tap. I was able to do this easily when I was your age. What’s wrong with you?

I only kept my head down and stared at the tiny groove in the table, examining the dust stuck inside. My fingers tingled from the cuts, and I tried to rub the pain away as if the blood was the dust in the wood. I could only wish it was that simple. It hurts more than usual. 100 cranes later and your anger seemed to overflow out of every single pore of your body, filling the room and my lungs as it suffocated me. One of my cranes rested in your fingertips, the paper crinkled and the neck lopsided from a lousy fold. You held it in my face as you shook your head angrily.

Something so simple and you can’t even do it right! What is going through your mind? Is that brain of yours there as a decoration? Answer me!

Your whirlwind of words surrounded me as if the paper cranes piled on my desk were suddenly filled with life, the sharp edges of the paper leaving behind streams of red on my arms and legs. I turned to the boxes of bandaids I bought with the last of my allowance, only to be met with a single slip of backing paper.

I let it bleed.

By the 250th crane, I was sitting on the curb near the neighborhood park and squinting in the dim light of the lamppost to line up the corners. The night air was cool against my cheeks and I could finally breathe absent your stabbing words. Half of me expected my phone to light up with your name on the screen while the other half wished I could freeze time and stay here on the curb, counting the headlights on the freeway in the distance.

I could never explain why I expected anything from you. After finishing the 500th crane, I found myself back at the front steps as the sun began to peek over the rooftops.

I felt the warmth of your arms for the first time at the 780th crane. Maybe the cranes are finally working, or maybe you’ve noticed the milky-white streaks on my body.

I’m so, so sorry, you said as you rubbed my back in circles. You know I only do this because I want the best for you.

I didn’t question it and closed my eyes as my consciousness faded, letting myself be carried away by your warmth. This was right. This was how it should have always been.

I was jolted back to reality after the 940th crane. You threw another plate onto the ground and I quickly stepped to the side to avoid a sliding piece.

I really did expect too much from you, you said, kicking the ceramic pieces across the kitchen tiles. My eyes followed the biggest one as it hit the wall and slowed to a stop. I’d need to get the dustpan from the garage again.

I clothe you, I feed you, I shelter you. And this—Are you even listening to me?

Before I could react, your hand swung and struck me across my face. The ringing in my ears resounded in my head as I collapsed to the floor, the ceramic shards piercing my palms deeper than any paper crane had before. My breath caught in my throat as I bit my lip and closed my eyes, counting to ten. I tasted the metallic tang of blood on my tongue.

Wincing, I slowly lifted my hands and shakily stood up as I watched you turn your back and storm out the door, slamming it behind you.

I made my way back to the table and flopped into the chair, not bothering to wipe the blood dripping from my hands. Slowly, I reach for the next sheet of origami paper and begin folding. It was hard to ignore the drops of blood blossoming on the paper, but it was beautiful. A sick, twisted kind of beautiful.

59 cranes later and the tears still wouldn’t come. I finished the 60th and threw it into the pile of blood-stained cranes, leaning back into the chair. I began to count the marks on the ceiling.

The bleeding hadn’t stopped. I let it seep into the tiles.

1000 cranes and I’m still waiting for you to hug me again.