I laugh and hand him one. The others get up and come to me too, selecting a piece of paper and grabbing a Sharpie. My heart feels full and happy looking at them write their notes. I feel like I’m honoring Ben and his memory in some small way, and it makes me feel good. He might be gone, but he’ll live on in the paper cranes, and hopefully I can spread around the kindness he extended to everyone he met.
I begin writing my own notes. Most are simple, like: You’re beautiful or You are appreciated, but something I’ve learned is that sometimes only a few words can make someone’s whole day better.
One other person in Group, a woman named Ivy, knows how to make paper cranes, so the two of us take the time to go around and help everyone learn how to do it.
When I get to Ryder, he smiles up at me from where he sits on the floor with his legs spread out and sheets of paper scattered between them. “This was a great idea,” he tells me. “Seriously. I think we should do this every class from now on.” He laughs lightly.
I warm at his words. “Really?” He nods. “Thanks,” I say and sit down beside him on the gym floor. “I’m happy I can get everyone involved in something that means so much to me. I thought it might help us all to heal if we focus on the positive and putting a smile on someone else’s face.” I shrug and cross my legs.
“Mhm.” His tongue sticks out between his lips as he writes. He lifts his eyes to mine as he recaps the marker. “Okay, show me what I need to do. Origami was never my forte.” He chuckles.
“It’s easy,” I tell him, reaching for one of his pieces of paper.
“Not that one.” He quickly snatches it back.
My brows furrow. “Why?”
“Because it’s special.”
I shake my head. “Okay then.” I pick another one, and this time, he doesn’t object. I show him what he needs to do and he follows along, step by step. He gives it a decent shot but the neck of his crane is a bit limp.
“Show me again.” He hands me another piece of paper and I go over the instructions once more. This time, he makes it perfect. He holds it up proudly in his palm, looking at it from each angle.
He lowers his eyes to mine and says, “Beautiful.”
I duck my head shyly, letting my dark hair fall around my face like a curtain. The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t talking about the paper crane.
“I think you’ve got it,” I say and move on to help someone else, but I still feel the weight of his gaze. It settles over me like a warm cozy blanket, one I want to wrap myself in, but I can’t let that happen. I pretend not to notice him watching me and stand in the center of the circle we formed on the floor to say, “I thought we could each take our paper cranes with us and leave them in random places. On a restaurant table, a parked car, you get the idea.” I clasp my hands together and emotion clogs my throat. “It means a lot for you guys to participate in this.”
Murmurs go around the group and I go back to helping people finish before we have to go.
When group ends, I gather up the paper cranes I made and go to stuff them in my purse, but there’s already one in there.
For a moment, my heart stops and cries Ben, but I know there’s no way that’s possible. I take out the paper crane and lift it up.
It’s green.
I unfold it, revealing the words written on it.
In elegant handwriting, it says:
You have no idea how good it feels to see you happy.
Your smile is as beautiful as you are.
—R
My throat catches and I lift my head, looking around. When my gaze collides with Ryder’s, everything else seems to stop and it just becomes the two of us. So much is communicated in that one look. Stuff we’d never say out loud.
I refold the note and put it back in my purse along with the others.
I find him again as I go to leave and I lift my hand to wave. He tips his head at me, and it’s enough, enough for now, because it’s all I can have.
A mysterious number flashes on my phone. I glance at my computer and the emails I’ve been answering. It’s more than likely a client calling to discuss an event more in depth, so I answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Blaire?”
“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”
“Hi,” she says again, “it’s Ivy from Group. I got your number from Ryder. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” I wave my hand dismissively as if she can see me. “What can I help you with?”
“I don’t really know.” She laughs nervously. “Maybe it was the crane thing or I don’t know …” she trails off. “I thought maybe we could get coffee and talk?” she asks. “I completely understand if you don’t want to. I’m practically a stranger to you, but we have similar situations and I … I need someone to talk to. Someone that won’t treat me like broken glass.” She grows quiet then.
“Um, sure,” I say, flabbergasted by her request. “When are you thinking?”
“I’m busy with work all week,” she says, “but I was thinking Friday before Group?”
“Uh … let me check my schedule.” I flip through my planner, making sure I don’t have a meeting that day. “Yeah, I’m free. Does four o’ clock sound okay?” I ask, poising a pen above my planner pages.