Things Made of Paper

A father sat in his office, scribbling away. His desk light beat down upon the page and silhouetted his hunched form as he leaned across the table.

The door creaked open and a small head poked in. Bright eyes studied the man’s back, her head tilting and hair falling to the side as she slipped into the room. She opened her mouth to make her presence known, but she was halted in her speech by a grunt and a crumpling of paper. A moment later, the wad of white was carelessly tossed over the man’s shoulder, soaring across the room and landing with a crinkle and a cling within a metal wastebasket.

The girl blinked and her eyes widened, all thoughts of speaking vanished. Her bare feet padded across the wood and little hands landed on the cold rim. She glanced at her father and then peered into the bin, carefully pulling out and examining the discarded page. After smoothing out all the creases and reading the mess of words hidden between scratched out splotches, she looked back into the basket, the bottom of which was covered in wrinkled white spheres.  Her hand reached in.

A moment later, soft footsteps travelled across the room and the crack of light from the doorway disappeared, leaving the man alone with his thoughts once more.

Twenty minutes and six tossed pages later, the daughter returned in similar manner; carefully opening the door as to keep it from protesting creaks, silently plodding into the office. This time she merely glanced at the desk and then the little sprite headed straight to the basket, peering in with sparkling eyes.

With an arm full of pages, she left to the sound of sighs and scratching pen.

The third time she entered, the basket was almost full. The little girl picked up the balls one by one, tucking them gently into the crook of her arm. So involved was she in her work, she did not notice the sound of paper being torn from its notebook and crunched in frustration. Just as the daughter stood up and turned to leave, the paper ball flew toward her, bouncing off her nose and startling her. She fell backwards with a soft thud, papers spilling from her arms.

Pulling herself up quickly, she chased after the scattered treasures. As she leaned over to retrieve her fallen friends, she dropped more. For every page picked up, two more slipped from her grasp. She puffed in surprise, deciding on a new tactic. She dropped all the papers and glanced around the room, spotting what she needed.

In the corner on the comfy chair was a small blanket. She quickly dragged it off the chair and over to her pile of papers. Picking up her treasures, she arranged them on the cloth. Then slowly she pulled the corners together, not wanting to disturb the pile of white in the middle. Now her pages were safely confined in a blanket bag which she tossed over her shoulder with pride. Head held high, she slipped once more out the door, the metal wastebin clanging behind her as another thought was thrown away.

Hours passed and the father’s eyes grew red, his hair mussed by frustrated hands. He leaned back from his writing, rubbing his temples. Glancing at the clock, he sighed, realizing the lateness of the hour. Picking up his page, he read over what he’d written. He shook his head, crushing the paper in his grasp. The father pushed back from his desk and walked over to the trash. He lifted his hand slightly to drop in his last failed attempt of the evening, but stopped in surprise. The basket was empty. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the room.

Not a single page was in sight.

Confused, he walked out into the hall with his paper still in hand. He heard a faint rustling coming from the living room and turned that direction. His eyebrows raised  and his jaw dropped as he stepped into the room.

The family room floor had been transformed into a delicate world of white. Folded flowers were scattered about and a hot air balloon raised with paper clips rested on the edge of the coffee table, with several airplanes lying at its side. Paper had been rolled up to build walls of a cottage, no, a castle which rested elegantly against the leg of the table. Swans and butterflies surrounded the palace, the only subjects in sight.

And there in the center of paper creations sat his daughter, cross-legged on the floor, elbows out, head down in concentration. She was working on shaping a floppy eared dragon to sit atop her tower. When she finished, she held the creature in the air, turning it side to side. Satisfied, she placed him gently on his perch, then turned her head, noticing her father. Smiling brightly she jumped up and hugged him. He continued to shift his gaze from her to her creations with amazement, as she spotted the paper he held.

Gently she plucked the ball from his grasp, patting his now empty hand. The girl plopped herself onto the floor to decide what else to make.

Her father slowly sat down beside her, watching in amazement. His daughter smiled at him and pulled another sphere from the pile next to her, inviting him to join her.

He took the page and carefully smoothed it out. Then he began folding, helping her complete her kingdom of discarded words.