1000 Paper Cranes

Chapter 21 - 514

"Did you know that carrots were originally purple?" I asked my mom as I helped her prepare Christmas dinner.

We were cutting up a big bowl of vegetables for succotash, one of my mom's Christmas staples. It was our tradition, my mom's and mine, to cook Christmas dinner together. It was my favorite tradition, because I got her all to myself.

"I didn't," she shook her head, smiling. "But I did know that the name for turkey, the bird, came from the English misconception that the birds were indigenous to Turkey, because the traders who sold them were Turkish."

My mom was the only person I'd ever met who knew more useless trivia than I did. Some nights, my dad would try to quiz us to see who knew more. It was always my mom; she was the smartest person I knew.

"Who all are we expecting tonight?" Mom asked, checking the pies in the oven.

I thought, then began listing: Jonathan and his parents, Joanna and her parents, Dr. and Mrs. Chiang, Robin, and Gramma and Grandpa.

"I think your father invited some of his students who were staying in town for Christmas, too." Mom added.

I smiled. I loved big Christmases. I loved having everybody I loved gathered around the table, eating and laughing and, for just a few hours, making life simple and beautiful.

That evening, our guests arrived in twos and threes, presents in their arms to add to the small pile under our tree. Our house smelled of cinnamon and sugar and pumpkin and turkey and our Douglas fir Christmas tree. Soft music swam through our living room and flames danced in the fireplace. Not even Hallmark could have concocted something so perfect, because it was real.

Couples kissed under the mistletoe. Robin and I kissed under the mistletoe. I told Robin the Norse legend explaining why people kissed under the mistletoe.

We sipped cider and told jokes and stories. Dr. Chiang and my dad talked about teaching math. Jon, Jo, Robin and I told stories of Christmases past. Joanna recited passages from Dickens' A Christmas Carol. My mom even recited "The Darkest Midnight," her favorite Irish Christmas poem.

We sat to eat and stuffed ourselves full of turkey and vegetables and dressing. And when we could eat no more, we started in on the pies.

"Annemarie, you did too much," Joanna's mom told mine over her second piece of pie. Conversation had come to a lull as we allowed our food to settle. We sat in contented near-silence as Bing Crosby crooned carols from the living room.

Finally, Joanna sat up, a smile crossing her face. "Is it time for presents?"

We made our way to the living room and began exchanging gifts. Through a mass of paper and boxes and tissue, our presents appeared. Joanna had given Jonathan and me books, like she had every year since we became friends. Jon had given me a flash drive.

"Since you always lose your essays," he explained. And it was true; I wasn't very organized.

I watched as Robin opened the small box I had given her. Her eyes lit up as she held up a simple gold chain. Dangling on the chain was an antique gold locket, my picture framed in it.

"It's just like Clara's locket!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around my neck.

Clara Clementine DuCote had been the daughter of the founder of our city. In the city museum, a portrait hung of Clara. When we had visited, Robin had mentioned how pretty she found the locket. I had frantically searched every antique store in town to find one after our visit.

She shoved a box that felt light as air into my hands.

"Open this," she instructed.

I ripped the paper off and found a flock of origami sparrows, multicolored and delicately folded.

"They're my wishes," she explained. "The things I want to do with you before we graduate." She looked embarrassed, her eyes dancing in the flickering firelight.

"It's not a locket," she looked down. "But they're all the things I can only imagine sharing with you."

I pulled her close to me, kissing her softly. "I can't wait to make your dreams come true," I whispered.

That night, once everybody had left, I opened Robin's sparrows delicately. Her handwriting was beautiful, scrawling across each of her birds. I was in awe at the things she had written on her birds, her wishes coming to life before my eyes.

Her wishes were as beautiful as her handwriting. In beautiful script I read words that were much more significant and meaningful than I could ever dream up. She only had ten wishes. Ten to my thousand. We were almost halfway through with everything I wanted to do before graduating high school. And as I read, I became ashamed at how much time we had devoted to fulfilling my dreams. Robin's were so much more meaningful; they were things that actually mattered.

1. Slow dance in the rain

2. Share a Coke with a stranger

3. Serve at a soup kitchen or homeless shelter

4. Count the stars and name as many as we can

5. Volunteer to walk dogs at the animal rescue

6. Read stories at the children's hospital

7. Go horseback riding in a wide open space

8. People watch at the mall; make up stories for the people we watch

9. Bake cookies; don't eat a single one. Give them away, instead

10. Dress as clowns for a day; go around telling bad jokes

In that moment, I couldn't even begin to imagine how I had become so lucky as to found a girl like Robin Chiang. She was amazing. She blew me away day after day. And I fell more and more in love with her every day. My Athena, granter of my wishes. I swore to myself that I would grant her wishes, too.

I strung her sparrows next to my dwindling curtain of cranes. They looked so dainty next to my crudely folded cranes; their stark white stood out against the pastel of mine. They were a bright reminder that out there, in the world, things were greater than me and greater than the things I wanted. Somewhere out there, there was someone who dreamed of things that mattered. And that dreamer was all mine.

That night, as I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought on all the ways that my cranes could possibly overlap her sparrows. It was possible, I thought, to kill two birds with one wish.