Page 1 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
Chloe
The first time Chloe Hanako Quinn whispered into a piece of paper, she was just shy of seven years old. She had already drawn a picture—Mrs. Williams’s first-grade class was “writing” their introductory letters to their new pen pals—but Chloe wanted to tell her soon-to-be friend so much more than could be conveyed in a crayon self-portrait, which, to be honest, looked nothing like her.
For example, she wanted to tell her pen pal that on summer nights, she liked to crawl out her bedroom window on the second story and lie down on the little roof above the porch so that the crickets could sing to her until she was drowsy. That her favorite day of the year was when the college students returned to the University of Kansas campus in the autumn and, after they dropped off their suitcases, how they’d stream into her parents’ ice cream shop in the historic downtown and she could greet each one of their smiling faces as they walked in for their first cones of the school year.
Chloe wanted to know what holidays her pen pal celebrated, and she wanted to tell him how, every December, her relatives from Missouri and Iowa would all come and gather at her grandma’s house for “Kansas Gingerbread Christmas,” where the kids built sugar-gemmed villages, and then on New Year’s, they’d all wake up to mochi and “good luck” ozoni soup, celebrating the Japanese side of the family. She wanted to ask if her pen pal had a lot of relatives, too, and if, like her, he loved them so much, he didn’t even mind when aunts and uncles and older cousins patted him on the head and said, “My, haven’t you grown tall in the past year?”
But since Chloe couldn’t draw or write very well yet, she leaned over and whispered everything into her paper instead.
She told her pen pal about the black cat down the street who’d had orange kittens.
About the time she was walking home from the park in the rain, and a bolt of lightning came straight down toward her, but then suddenly veered off and hit the lightning rod at the top of the church across the street instead.
And even about the dam of twigs she’d built last weekend in the little creek next to her garage, which ended up flooding it.
But Chloe’s biggest secret was that she was lonely, and she wished she could have had someone with her when all those interesting things had happened to her.
“I hope we’ll be friends forever,” Chloe murmured into the paper. “Bestfriends.”
When she was done, she folded the paper, slid it into an envelope, and sealed it with a kiss, just like she’d seen in a movie.
Mrs. Williams sent the letters off the next day, and they traveled to another elementary school on the other side of Lawrence, Kansas. A boy named Oliver picked Chloe’s envelope, and when he opened it, he grinned before he even unfolded the paper, before he even saw her self-portrait. He didn’t need to.
Because Oliver could already hear everything Chloe wanted him to know.
Chloe
Twenty-five years later
Junior year is important, but I don’t want you to stress out about it over the summer, okay?” Chloe said to Xander, the student on the other side of her desk. He had come in on the last day of school to talk to her, because he had to work at his family’s restaurant this summer but was stressed about not doing enough to prepare for college applications. “Your dedication to your family is going to show, and admissions officers will recognize and appreciate it.”
“Are you sure, Ms. Quinn?”
“Positive. Look at it this way—Irespect and admire you a lot, and that’s all based on stuff you’ve told me about your life, right? So just keep doing what you’re doing, and then when it comes time to apply to college, I’ll help you with your essays.”
Xander wriggled in his seat, looking unsure.
To counter that, Chloe sat taller. Even though she was petite, her superpower was a smile that made her seem bigger than she was. Her penchant for bright clothes helped, too; today, a puff-sleeved red blouse provided a striking contrast against her straight dark hair, and her multilayered yellow skirt spread out like the petals of a buttercup.
“You’ll tell those admissions officers about how brave your parents were for coming to a new country. How you’ve helped them since you were young, and how you’ve learned so much about running a business. How, by being a waiter, you overcame your anxiety because youhadto interact with the customers, and how these experiences have prepared you to take on all the new challenges that college will bring. You’re an amazing young man, Xander. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
It was true, too. Chloe had worked with Xander a lot this year, since he’d needed some extra care and mentoring. He was the first in his family to have a chance at going to college, and she had met with him for sessions twice a week to check in, listen to whatever was on his mind, or just be a reassuring adult presence while he got caught up on homework. He was a great kid, and any university would be lucky to have him.
Xander blushed and looked down at his hands. “Wow… thank you. You really think that? You always make me feel better.”
They sat there for another minute, though, in silence. Unlike the other guidance counselors, who liked to quickly wrap up their sessions with their students, Chloe had learned that kids often had something else they wanted to say if you gave them enough space and time to bring it up. So she waited.
A few seconds later, Xander cleared his throat. “Um, Ms. Quinn? Before I go… Do you think, uh, I could have one of your yellow roses? You know, like, for good luck over the summer.”
“Of course.” Chloe beamed as she reached for a stack of origami paper. Years ago, during college, she had fallen in love with the art. She was a quarter Japanese—her great-grandparents had actually been in the internment camp at Rohwer, Arkansas—and Chloe loved origami not only for its elegant simplicity but also as a small way to connect with her heritage.
“Pick your paper,” Chloe said as she fanned out the stack. Every sheet was square and yellow, but in varying patterns—chartreuse with tiny birds, mellow daisy yellow made up of spirals, gold speckled with stars, butter yellow covered in smiley faces, and more.
Xander’s fingers hovered as he thought over his selection.
“This one,” he said, plucking a sheet of electric yellow in geometric, art deco lines.
“I love it.” Chloe took the paper from him, but before she began folding, she wrote a message in the center of the paper. This was what she was known for among the students—making sure they always left her office with encouragement not only in their hearts but in their pockets as well. Because, sometimes, it was easier to remember that people believed in you when you could see it.
