Origami Boat

“Take this edge, here.” He said quietly, a soft crease around his eyes.

“And fold it down, like that. And then you take this edge, here.” She watched as he folded the corners of the white paper. She had approached him, telling him she was bored, and he had told her he would make her a toy to play with. But this wasn’t a toy. This was a piece of paper, paper in which he folded time and time again.

“And then, you fold this piece, just like that. And...you’re done!” he held it up triumphantly, her brown eyes widening.

“It’s a boat!” she started, “you made a boat!” she took the origami boat carefully into her small hands, marvelling at her father’s genius.

A crack of thunder sounded from beyond the drawn drapes, the sky a menacing grey. She watched the tree leaves sway and dance, an idea coming to mind.

“Does it float?”

“For a little while, sure.” her father shrugged, standing. “But the papers thin, so it’ll get soggy quickly. You’d need thicker paper.”

“Do we have thicker paper?”

He sighed, not unkindly, before stooping down once more and kissing the top of her brunette head. “I’m not sure. But I have to go to work now.”

“When will you be back?” she moaned. She hated when her father left. And he always left. Sure, he came back again. But not for a while. He was the only one who could make rainy days stuck inside, fun.

“I’ll be back by the time you wake up.” He smiled, ruffling her hair before heading towards the kitchen where her mother loitered.

There was no point arguing with him to stay. She’d tried that a million times before, and a million times, he’d left.

She got up, boat in hand, following behind.

Waiting in the archway to their small kitchen, she watched patiently as her father slid his hand around his wife’s waist, pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek, mumbling something into her hair, and ruffling hers once more as he walked past. She listened to the sound of the front door latching closed and sighed.

“Mum,” her mother didn’t falter, back still turned she stood hunched over the kitchen bench, a stack of papers before her, a calculator in one hand, a pen in the other.

“Do we have any paper?” her nose scrunched momentarily, remembering her dads remark. “Thick paper, I mean.”

Receiving no response, she approached the counter, picking up some stray papers, feeling for one she believed might just be thick enough to survive the tumulus sea beyond.

This paper was thicker, she thought. But she didn’t like the writing on it. She wanted a plain boat, like the one her dad had made.

‘Ouuu-vvv-eehrr-dooh.’ She sounded the bright red letters out in her head, like her teacher, Mrs. Belknap had taught her to do.

“Riley!” her mother’s voice, sharp and impatient startled her, causing her to jump and drop the paper.

Her mother looked tired, dark circles below the same brown eyes in which they shared. Her brown hair, a shade or two darker than Riley’s, was tied up into a careless bun.

“Honey,” she sighed, her voice softening as she bent, scooping up the paper, “go play, mommy’s busy.”

“Do we have any thick paper?” Riley asked again, seizing her mother’s attention.

“I—I don’t know?” she frowned, “go look in the attic.”

Riley turned on the heel of her foot, an objective before her.

She loved the attic. The deep mahogany, slatted walls, the large arched window, the boxes with the Christmas decorations. It was a magical place.

But since her mum and dad had brought in grandma’s stuff, storing it there, she hadn't been allowed back up to play.

“We need to go through those boxes and can’t have you messing them up.” Her dad had said, not unkindly. She was a messer-upper. She knew this. She embraced this.

Flipping on the light, she climbed up the narrow stairs till she’d made her ascent.

It was even more magical than she’d remembered.

It had taken on a soft glow, the thick angry storm clouds beyond the arched window, mixing with the warm hue of the overhead light.

There were more things up here than she remembered. Things that belong to grandma. Boxes and cases, an old sewing machine. A mannequin with a drape of flower printed fabric pinned into its soft body.

As she pulled away the piece of tape securing one of the boxes closed, she wondered how long until grandma would come and collect her stuff. Or at least come at all.

It had been a while.

There was a dull ache in her chest as the smell of peppermint and lilac perforated from the opened box. It was a pile of grandma’s clothes. A small line appeared between her brows.

‘What is grandma wearing if her clothes are here?’ she wondered momentarily, before turning to the old, weathered trunk beside it.

It was bigger than she was, a chipped and aged wood with a large brass flip lock. She grunted as she pulled open the top.

This looked more promising.

Several smaller boxes were inside, several black and white photographs, a few photo albums and some little figurines. She pulled the figurines out, gently placing them aside. She would play with these later.

Pulling the lid off of one of the boxes, she pulled out a LITTLE BLACK BOOK.

The papers were scribbled on in grandmas handwriting. A few loose papers slipped out on the floor as she impatiently flicked through.

“Oh!” she gasped, taking interest in one of the fallen sheets.

She held it up appreciatively. It was thick. Not super thick, but thicker than everything else she’d found so far.

Clearly old, the paper had begun to yellow in places, and in other the ink barely legible.

And although she’d’ve preferred it without the writing, her eyes were starting to sting from the dust, her nose beginning to tingle.

“T-ween-teee-thh-oww-sss-aahh-nnnd” she sounded aloud.

Her mother had a book filled with paper just like this, she recalled suddenly. Except she wasn’t allowed to touch that book. “It’s to pay bills, not to play with.” She remembered her saying, taking the book from her little hands and slipping It back into the drawer.

But this was grandmas, and grandma always let her play with her stuff.

She smiled to herself, quickly flattening the paper on the floor before folding the corners, just like her father had shown her.

It was smaller than the one he’d made, considerably so, but it would work.

She hurried down the stairs, into the entry hall, slipping on her rain boots and coat.

“Mummmm!” she called over her shoulder, “I’m going outside!” she didn’t wait for a reply, swinging open the front door and plummeting out into the ice-cold rain.

The sky groaned and crackled. Somewhere, Santa was making presents.

She smiled at this thought as she skipped down the pavement, onto the sidewalk.

There it was.

A treacherous sea. Black and brooding.

No sailor alive could sail these waters and make it out alive.

No sailor that is, except the world renowned, movie actress, singer and professional dancer, Captain Riley!

Placing one foot on the sidewalk, the other on the road, she hovered above the gutter, the thick stream of storm water rushing beneath her.

Gently, she placed the boat her father had made onto the water.

It took off, bouncing off the water, the unforgiving waves whipping it this way and that.

She was surprised by how long the boat had lasted. It made it all the way to at least Mr. Hill’s house before giving out to the water and turning into a giant spit ball.

She placed her boat down next. It wasn’t as nicely crafted as her dads; she could admit that. But it was sturdier.

The boat was caught by the water instantly, its violent and vigorous rifts making it spin and swoon. A leaf—no, a giant shark!—intercepted the boat, trying to throw it off course. But no shark was a match for Captain Riley. The boat evaded, slipping around the shark and continuing its trajectory forward.

That was until…a sink hole!

Riley leaped forward, her boots splashing in the gutter as she desperately tried to reach her boat in time. Her small hand outstretched, eyes wide, brows drawn.

“No!” she explained as her boat was swallowed by the water drain.

She came to a stumbling stop, mouth pouted.

She’d only heard her mum and dad say this when they were very upset. And now seemed like a good time for her to say it.

“Fruck.”

“Riley!”

Riley gasped inwardly, startled eyes turning to see her mother in the doorway of their house.

‘She heard me!’ she thought, panicked.

“What are you doing? Come inside, you’ll catch a cold!”

She trudged through the water, dragging her feet.

“What were you doing out there?” her mum asked, closing the door and removing her coat.

“Playing Captain.” She admitted, sheepishly.

“Captain? Is that right?”

Riley shrugged.

“Well, how would my big brave Captain like a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Your Captain would like that.”

Her mum smiled, chuckling. She loved her mums smile. Just as much as she loved her dads laugh.

“Go, grab a towel and dry yourself off. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

“Okay,” Riley returned the smile.

Passing her mum, she started up the hall towards the linen cupboard.

“Oh, mum?”

“Hmm?” her mother replied, pausing at the doorway to the kitchen.

“What’s twenty thousand?”