Bring Me Back

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “Thank you.” I stand there a second longer before taking my seat. I feel nervous but excited about my idea. I have Ben to thank for it, though. It was his words in the last note that gave me the idea. I just hope I can execute it right.

  I wait nervously for everyone to arrive and take their seats. Ryder speaks for a few minutes, but I don’t really hear what he says because the blood’s rushing so loud in my ears. When he finishes speaking, he looks across at me and tilts his head, giving me a significant look.

  I take a deep breath and stand. I clasp my hands together, my thumbs rotating around each other with nerves.

  “Hi, guys,” I say awkwardly. “I … I know Group isn’t really talking about our losses, but in order to explain what I want you to do I need to tell you about Ben.” I take a deep breath and look to the lofted ceiling, giving myself a moment to compose myself. “I’d known Ben while we were in school, but we never really knew each other. Not until college, anyway. From the moment we started hanging out I knew he was different, that what we had was special. We soon began dating and years later became engaged. I put off the wedding because Ben was studying to be a doctor and completing his residency, working crazy hours, and I was starting an event planning business. We finally set a date for this past February, but Ben died in January. A drunk driver t-boned his car.” I clear my throat, trying to get control of my emotions. “He hung on long enough to make it to the hospital and for the doctors to attempt surgery, but he died on the table.” My eyes meet Ryder’s, and he watches me with an encouraging smile. He doesn’t judge me, and for that I’m grateful. “He was such a good person and for months I’ve been so angry at myself, the world, at everything because he died. I’m still angry,” I admit, “but not as much as I was, so I guess that’s progress. Anyway, I’m getting side-tracked. Ben always left me these notes on paper cranes he made. He was making a thousand before our wedding. In Japanese custom, a thousand paper cranes being made by one person before a wedding gives that person one wish to be carried to the heavens—usually the wish for a happy and prosperous marriage.” I press my lips together. “I guess it’s ironic that he’s in heaven now.” I sniffle and pick up the sheets of paper in all different colors. “In one of the notes Ben left for me, he told me that on the days where I feel like I can’t keep my head up to do something nice for someone else. In his memory, I want to start something and I want you guys to help. I’m calling it The Paper Crane project. Like Ben did, I want us all to write notes on them. Positive things. And then make the paper cranes. If you don’t know how to make them, that’s fine. It’s easy and I’ll teach you. This means a lot to me, and I hope you guys will help.” I take a deep breath and sit down, my cheeks suddenly heating with embarrassment as everyone stares at me.

  Ryder brings his hands together and begins to clap, his lips quirking into a closed mouth smile.

  Everyone else begins to clap too and my face breaks out into a grin. Tears fill my eyes, but for once they’re tears of happiness.

  “That’s an excellent idea, Blaire,” Ryder says, standing and walking toward me. He bends down in front of me and reaches for a piece of paper, choosing a green piece. “Green’s my favorite color.” He winks and stands back up, holding out his hand. “Marker me.”

  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 pra
ctically 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.

  “That’ll be perfect.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Blaire. See you then.”

  “Mhm, bye.” I hang up and set my phone on my desk. I make a note in my planner so I don’t forget.

  My mom knocks on my office door and I look up. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “I’m working,” I say, motioning to my computer and suppressing a laugh.

  “Right,” she says, and looks a bit ashamed. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that your dad and I are going out to dinner. We can bring you back something, if you like.”

  I raise a brow and look at her over the top of my computer. “Do you spend ninety percent of your day thinking about what and when I’m going to eat?”

  “Yes, and I spend the other ten percent wondering when you’ll shower,” she quips.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I intone, trying not to smile. “You know what I like so just get me whatever.” I wave a hand dismissively.

  “Okay.” She eases out the door. “And Blaire?” She pauses, looking unsure.

  “What?” I lean around my computer to see her better.

  “You look better,” she says softly, like she’s afraid those words might set me off. “Happier.” She shrugs. “It’s nice to see that.”

  “Thanks.” I nod. “When you guys get back I’ll have to tell you about something I’m starting.”

  She leans forward curiously, but doesn’t press me to answer. After a moment, she turns to leave, and I hear them head out a few minutes later.

  I finish up with my emails and then grab a book, settling onto the couch to read for a while. It’s nice to have a moment home by myself where I’m actually comfortable alone. I don’t feel worried about anything or overcome by the fact that Ben’s gone. I still have a long way to go, but I’m getting there, and that counts for something.

  I’m almost finished with the book when my parents arrive home. I set the book down as they come inside. My dad holds a takeout box in his hand and shoves it at me.

  “Here you go, Kid,” he says before taking a seat beside me. He lets out a groan. “I ate too much,” he complains as he rubs a hand over his stomach.

  I open the box and nearly moan out loud when I open the box and see the chicken tenders, fries, and honey mustard sauce.

  “You know me well,” I say to my mom when she comes into the room.

  She laughs and sits on my other side. “I know you love your chicken tenders, but I’m pretty sure it’s the honey mustard you love more.”

  “You’re right.” I shrug, already dunking a chicken tender into the sauce. I take a bite and moan again. “So good.”

  “So what’s this mysterious news of yours?” my mom asks, vibrating with barely-contained energy.

  “I … um … I’m starting a charity in memory of Ben. Maybe not a charity, per se, but a movement.” I take another bite of chicken tender—I’m pretty sure nothing has ever tasted this good before.

  “And?” she prompts when I’m too busy stuffing my face to continue.

  “Oh, right,” I say, wiping my hands on my pants. Very lady-like, I know. “I call it The Paper Crane Project. Basically, the goal is to spread the love and happiness Ben gave me in the notes. A random act of kindness sort of thing,” I explain. “Like Ben did, I’m going to have people write short notes and make them into paper cranes to leave around at random places. Hopefully someone will find them and it’ll make their day.” I go back to stuffing my face. When my mom begins to cry, my eyes widen in surprise. “What? Why are you crying? I’m usually the one crying,” I muse.

  She laughs through her tears. “It’s just … I’m so proud of you, Blaire. You’ve been through so much and I think this is an excellent way to honor Ben. There’s no better way, honestly.”

  I smile. “You think?”

  “I know.” She nods and reaches over to rub her fingers over my cheek. “You’re so strong, Blaire. So much stronger than you think you are.”

  I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”

  “A mother’s never wrong.” She kisses my forehead and stands. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” Emotion clogs my throat as she and my dad leave the room to get ready for bed.

  I feel like I’ve barely been getting by, but maybe she’s right. Maybe I am stronger than I think. I haven’t given up, and that has to count for something.

  Ivy and I end up meeting to get an early dinner instead of coffee. I told her I couldn’t stomach any more hot tea this week and she agreed to the change in plans.

  I park in front of the restaurant and head inside to wait to meet her. I’ve only spoken to her briefly in Group and pretty much the only thing I know about her is that she knew how to make the paper cranes.

  I tell the hostess that I’m waiting for someone, and she nods as I take a seat on the bench.

  Ivy arrives a few minutes later and cries, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  I dismiss her words with a shake of my head. “You’re not late, I was early,” I tell her.

  The hostess takes us to our seats and we both look over the menus. I’m only looking at mine to be polite. I know exactly what I want. Chicken tenders. I think this might be my first official pregnancy craving. Since the night my mom brought me home the takeout I’ve wanted them every night since.

  We place our drink order when the waiter stops by and then Ivy goes back to looking at the menu. I slide mine to the edge of the table.

  She must finally make her decision because a few seconds later she slides hers over as well.

  The waiter returns with our drinks and takes our order before leaving again.

  I take a sip of my water. “So,” I begin, “how are you?” I don’t really know what to say to her so that seems like a safe enough option.

  “As good as I can be.” She plays with the paper from her straw. She’s a beautiful woman, older than me—probably in her late thirties—with dark skin and eyes. Her hair is short and she’s dressed stylishly in a pair of skinny jeans, heels, a billowy white top, and a gray jacket. “Grief is strange, isn’t it?” she muses. “I didn’t want to talk about that with you, and yet I find that it’s the only thing on my mind—missing him, I mean.”

  “Your husband?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she answers sadly, twisting the wedding band on her finger. “I lost him in a car crash like you lost your Ben.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “Maybe that’s why I felt like I wanted to talk to you. Someone that actually knows what it feels like. My friends and family … they try, but they don’t know how I feel.”

  I nod my head in understanding. “I know what you mean,” I agree. “It’s hard to lose someone that close to you and people … They feel bad about it, but they don’t get it because they’re not experiencing it. Humans are inherently selfish creatures, and unless it’s happening to them directly then it’s not real.”

  She nods and snaps her fingers together. “Exactly.” She takes a sip of water. “Being in Group helps. It’s nice being around people who’ve been through the same thing.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, “I think it’s helping me. I like it.” I shrug.

  She smiles knowingly. “Is it Group that you like or a certain Group leader?” She waggles her brows.

  I look away and my cheeks heat. I don’t know what to say because I don’t even know what I think.

  “It’s okay,” she says, “you don’t have to say anything. The chemistry between the two of y
ou is enough to start a fire.”

  I pale slightly. If Ivy’s noticed, how many other people have? I was naïve enough to believe it was something only the two of us felt.

  “We don’t have chemistry,” I mumble, stirring the ice around in my water with the straw. “Ben and I … we had chemistry.”

  Ivy tilts her head to the side. “So you think you can’t have chemistry with anyone else?”

  My lips purse. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “It’s a complicated feeling and I understand completely,” she tells me. “There’s a man at my work that I really like, but there’s all these doubts and hang-ups because I’m afraid it’s too soon, or he won’t measure up to Gregory, my husband. And the fact of the matter is, no one will measure up to him. You can’t compare people. We’re all different and that’s a beautiful thing. You can never replace someone for that very reason. There’s only one Gregory and one Ben” she waves her hand at me “—but that doesn’t mean there’s not a new person out there, waiting for the both of us.”

  I ponder over her words. I don’t really know what to say, but they make sense. The problem is I’m still grieving, and as much as my feelings for Ryder are growing, it doesn’t seem fair to give him a chance until I’m over this hurdle.

  I need to accept Ben’s death, and I’m just not there yet.

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy says with a wince. “I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that or to sound preachy. I think I was saying that to myself more than you,” she rambles.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I understand where you’re coming from. You should ask that guy out at your work. And maybe one day I’ll ask Ryder out, but I need more time.”

  “They say time heals all wounds,” she muses over the saying, “but I think it only stitches the wound and we do the rest of the work ourselves. You can’t heal until you’re ready.”

  The waiter brings our food and we move on to safer topics. I find out that Ivy is a social worker and I tell her about my job. We have a surprising amount in common and I think I might’ve found a new friend in her.