The Peculiar Girl and Dreams of Cranes

Origami was one of the few things Stay had that connected her to her mother. A woman she barely remembered. Her face a pale blur haloed in dark brown. Slim fingers and soft hands deftly folded colorful squares of paper into animals for Stay to play with. Stay would lay on her stomach, chin in hands, watching paper fold and fold and fold. Feet kicked in anticipation.

Purple giraffe, pink and brown paisley hippo, blue lion, polka dot fox and every color cat. Every pattern in every color imaginable took the form of cranes. Cranes adorned every crevice and nook of Stays room, slowly spilling out into the house and sometimes outside. A mobile of them circled above her as a baby, the mobile which now collected early morning dusk in her childhood room, rarely ventured into.

Cranes in corners, cranes in socks and cranes soaring down from an open refrigerator. Cranes lining a path to the frozen lake on a bright January day.

Footprints followed the cranes to the lake, Stay followed both. A child skipping, giddy for a surprise, grinning, hair flowing out behind her. Bare skin against the cold winter wind. A childhood whimsy at what she might find.

An empty frozen lake with a small jagged hole. A soft ripple spilled out, then receded.  Then again. Slower, slower. Stay never saw her mother. Stay returned home. Young, cold, old, alone, to a home filled with empty-hearted, color-filled cranes.

Stay dreamed of cranes. Cranes crying frozen tears. Cranes drowning in bright sunshine. Cranes flying with her upon the wings. Her dreams filled with cranes until she could not stand the loneliness of them. She spent years dreaming of cranes and  morning after morning folding them. She made hundreds of them, placing them together to create one larger than life.

Shades of purples, greens, and blues. Oranges and aqua, yellows and reds. And two large patches of black for beady eyes.The towering crane stood ten feet tall and fifteen feet long.

Spring time and a confused young teen, Stay lifted the large crane easily. The smooth paper warm and comforting on her skin, the smell of paper and ink hugged her as she took it to the lake.

Setting it on the edge, Stay peered out to where her mother disappeared. Face to the sun, she took a deep breath of wet greenery and new light. The wood and moss full of life and sounds of beasts roamed around her. Eyes filled with rainbows and cranes, she gently shoved the memorial into the water, a final goodbye.

© Ash Huntley

The Peculiar Girl and Her Shoe Predicament

Her name was Stay, and that's what she did.

Stay wasn't bothered with going places, public places, walking on even cement in dull tones wasn't for her. Nor were the narrowed eyes and hunched shoulders curving away from her view. Pain of rejection wasn't something to get used to, it was something to bear. She wore it in black lines scattered on her arms, dots in deep blue and plum ran down her fingers. Reminders of those who snubbed her, Stay only had herself.

Stay was not self sufficient. Craving companionship was heartbreaking. The desire to grow crops of corn - paper cuts of green as she stroked their leaves, wheat - haze of gold in the rising sun bleeding through her windows, strawberries - hearts dotted with seeds to give life, treasures to hold in handfuls, and pumpkins - seeds to bake and a shell to, carve faces and line drive, was devastating

Land surrounded her, but it was not her own. Stay could not grow her self sustaining nature. Instead she relied on the small markets that opened in town every Sunday morning.

Blending in was easier. Strange folk came out of the woods to buy strange things. Strange folk sold strange things. Stay tried her best to appear less strange than them, but the town knew her. She was not just strange with broken teeth or dirty hair. Not just strange living in a wooden box with no electricity or plumbing. Not just strange eating small beasts over a small fire. Not just strange, but peculiar.

Sunshine sprinkled in, creeping along her pale wood floor, casting colors of bright red, green and blue from her glass window depicting a beheading. Time for the market.

Except, where was her other shoe? Stay had few shoes. Preferring to be barefoot she abstained  from wearing them. They were tight on her feet, pushing on her toes and weighing her down. They were necessary.

A mint green shoe with red laces. She found the left foot hanging from a ceiling hook in a closet full of nets where it belonged. Scowling at the shoe, she sighed and set it down. A final glare before she plopped down on the worn brown rug in front of the closet and tugged the shoe onto her bare foot, "Where's your fellow?" she asked the shoe, cocking her head as she tied a bow.

The shoe was pristine. Only wearing it on well worn trails on Sunday mornings, the colors were vibrant and the sole barely used. Stay scrubbed her foot with a hard bristle brush in the bath before putting them on.

Left foot on, Stay stood and hopped around the house in search of the right. She did not hop on the shoe, but on her bare foot. The weight of the left shoe like society crushing her into a skin that wasn't her's, into an idea her mind couldn't comprehend.

"These damned shoes and this damned place!" Stay hollered as she hopped from one room to another. The silence called back, "Hush".

© Ash Huntley