Page 4 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
Chloe screwed up her face. “Well, I don’t want to be the reasonthattreasure melts. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sounds good, Lo-Lo. Love you bunches!”
After they hung up, the absence of their voices filled the room. Chloe stared at the ceiling and watched the lopsided fan whir round and round.
For two hours.
Thwip
Thwip
Thwip
Thwip
Thwip
Thwip
Eventually, Chloe started to go a little cross-eyed. And she had to admit her method of wallowing in self-pity was kind of boring. Also, she started to notice that the fan squeaked like a drunk chipmunk every 360 degrees, when the lopsided part made the motor work harder.
It was less
Thwip
Thwip
Thwip
and more
Thwip
Thwip
Ee-eep
And once she thought of it, she couldn’tun-hear the drunken chipmunk. By the tenth rotation, she was cracking up—slightly hysterical—in bed.
Several minutes later, she slapped herself lightly on the cheek. “All right, Chloe, that’s enough.”
She sat up, still snickering. But she needed to get herself together. Maybe it was time to apply the methods she used at school with her students on herself.
Chloe reached into her backpack and pulled out the square Japanese box that held all her yellow origami paper. She chose one covered in smiley faces, then paused for a moment, thinking what encouragement she needed to hear, playing with the folds of her buttercup-yellow skirt all the while.
Maybe the answer to my problems will surprise me when I least expect it,she thought.
So she wroteChin up, buttercup, and for good measure, she added hersignature doodle of a rosebud shaped like a heart. Then she started folding it into a rose. She could have made it into an animal, a boat, even a different flower, but Chloe chose a yellow rose because what she needed at the moment was a small gesture of friendship—of affectionate kindness—with herself.
Becca barged in without knocking. “Hey, you know what might be good for you? Distraction. Can you go downstairs to the Hell Room and get the mail? I’m waiting on some screen protectors for my phone.”
“I don’t really want—”
“It’s good for you, Chloe. Being in package purgatory will take your mind off the job shit.”
Chloe sighed. The residents here called the mail room the Hell Room because it was, without fail, a mess. The building had been constructed long before the revolution of online shopping, so there wasn’t enough space. There were always boxes everywhere, stacked precariously five- or six-high on the floor, along an entire wall. Trying to find a package you were expecting was like playing a game of giant Jenga with cardboard boxes. One false move and the whole thing would collapse on you.
“Um, yeah, I guess I can do that,” Chloe said, pressing the crease she was making on the origami paper. Besides, itwastechnically her responsibility to get the mail; Becca’s chore chart on the refrigerator laid out the division of labor, and “Hell Room” was in the Chloe column this week.
