California when you got your master’s degree, and now, here. I think she wants to marry you more than you realize.”
“I hope you’re right.” I seat myself in the chair and reach for another blue square sheet of paper. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
Swooping up a folded bird from my desk, my mother examines the origami creation and then peeks in the box that is half-filled with ones identical to the crane she’s holding.
“What’s the story with the birds?” she wonders aloud.
“It’s part of my proposal.” I make a crease in the paper, like I have done many times before. “Marriage is supposedly a lot of work and a commitment that takes time and patience.”
“It can feel that way sometimes, but if you’re married to the right person, it’s really no work at all, other than that you do it together.”
“Well, it’s a vow, and I want to show Evelyn that I’m devoted to her completely, in a way I think she’ll understand.”
“So, the birds are part of this plan?”
“Yes. I read somewhere that a Japanese legend states that any person who creates a thousand origami cranes will be granted one wish.” I continue to fold the paper. “A life with her is my wish, and I’m willing to do the work needed.”
“You are going to make a thousand of these?”
“Yes. That’s the plan.”
“How many have you made already?”
“About five hundred fifty, give or take. I haven’t done a count in a while.”
My mother shrugs off her jacket, seats herself across from me, and scoots the chair closer to the desk. She then grabs a sheet of paper from the top of the pile and folds it in half.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Helping you,” she replies, folding the square along the diagonal. “You have a long way to go, and I want to make sure your wish comes true. I’m sure you can teach me how to make them, yes?”
I place my palm over her working fingers. “Thank you, but I need to do it myself. It will mean more this way—just me asking her in every way.”
ONE WISH
Foster
“Are we having a little evening stroll, Fozzie?” Evelyn asks, tucking a recently dyed bright blonde lock behind her ear.
It’s a fair question, seeing how the car is parked in the other direction.
“A stroll? Is this 1933?” I squeeze her hand in mine. “No, I have a destination in mind.”
“Is that right? Where are we going?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a surprise?”
“I’m familiar with them. However, I’ve never strolled to one before.”
I kiss her cheek mid step and continue down the sidewalk toward the center of town on this late Tuesday evening. At the end of the street, the fountain that is the subject of one of my favorite photographs ever taken by Evelyn—a spouting display of illuminated water against formidable stone—comes into view. During our first visit together at this location, she shared with me what life looked like through her eyes, hinted at her truest desires, and allowed me a glimpse of her beyond the sarcasm. It was the first of many turning points to how we became a couple.
“Here we are,” I announce, leading us up the brick staircase toward the streaming water lit in color. “The very place we had our first date.”
She laughs. “You thought my being abandoned for a late-night photo shoot and you escorting me instead was me asking you out?”
“Nobody ever said you knew how to do it right.”
“And your dating technique is superior to mine?”
“Absolutely not. It’s well-known that I completely suck in that department.”
“You sure do, but it’s a good thing. We can suck together.”
Approaching the south side of the fountain, droplets of moisture skim our faces. At my side, Evelyn closes her lids, basking in the serenity of the atmosphere.
“What do you see?” I ask, enamored by the way her mind translates the everyday. We play this game often. “Mermaids?”
“No.” She titters. “Why would you say that?”
“Because,
“I hope you’re right.” I seat myself in the chair and reach for another blue square sheet of paper. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
Swooping up a folded bird from my desk, my mother examines the origami creation and then peeks in the box that is half-filled with ones identical to the crane she’s holding.
“What’s the story with the birds?” she wonders aloud.
“It’s part of my proposal.” I make a crease in the paper, like I have done many times before. “Marriage is supposedly a lot of work and a commitment that takes time and patience.”
“It can feel that way sometimes, but if you’re married to the right person, it’s really no work at all, other than that you do it together.”
“Well, it’s a vow, and I want to show Evelyn that I’m devoted to her completely, in a way I think she’ll understand.”
“So, the birds are part of this plan?”
“Yes. I read somewhere that a Japanese legend states that any person who creates a thousand origami cranes will be granted one wish.” I continue to fold the paper. “A life with her is my wish, and I’m willing to do the work needed.”
“You are going to make a thousand of these?”
“Yes. That’s the plan.”
“How many have you made already?”
“About five hundred fifty, give or take. I haven’t done a count in a while.”
My mother shrugs off her jacket, seats herself across from me, and scoots the chair closer to the desk. She then grabs a sheet of paper from the top of the pile and folds it in half.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Helping you,” she replies, folding the square along the diagonal. “You have a long way to go, and I want to make sure your wish comes true. I’m sure you can teach me how to make them, yes?”
I place my palm over her working fingers. “Thank you, but I need to do it myself. It will mean more this way—just me asking her in every way.”
ONE WISH
Foster
“Are we having a little evening stroll, Fozzie?” Evelyn asks, tucking a recently dyed bright blonde lock behind her ear.
It’s a fair question, seeing how the car is parked in the other direction.
“A stroll? Is this 1933?” I squeeze her hand in mine. “No, I have a destination in mind.”
“Is that right? Where are we going?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a surprise?”
“I’m familiar with them. However, I’ve never strolled to one before.”
I kiss her cheek mid step and continue down the sidewalk toward the center of town on this late Tuesday evening. At the end of the street, the fountain that is the subject of one of my favorite photographs ever taken by Evelyn—a spouting display of illuminated water against formidable stone—comes into view. During our first visit together at this location, she shared with me what life looked like through her eyes, hinted at her truest desires, and allowed me a glimpse of her beyond the sarcasm. It was the first of many turning points to how we became a couple.
“Here we are,” I announce, leading us up the brick staircase toward the streaming water lit in color. “The very place we had our first date.”
She laughs. “You thought my being abandoned for a late-night photo shoot and you escorting me instead was me asking you out?”
“Nobody ever said you knew how to do it right.”
“And your dating technique is superior to mine?”
“Absolutely not. It’s well-known that I completely suck in that department.”
“You sure do, but it’s a good thing. We can suck together.”
Approaching the south side of the fountain, droplets of moisture skim our faces. At my side, Evelyn closes her lids, basking in the serenity of the atmosphere.
“What do you see?” I ask, enamored by the way her mind translates the everyday. We play this game often. “Mermaids?”
“No.” She titters. “Why would you say that?”
“Because,
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