Papier was an odd woman. Her mother was a French writer. Her father was a Cree illustrator. She had long thick wavy brown hair like her mother, yet yearned for long straight black shiny hair like her father. The waves in her hair would never tame themselves. Papier’s strands were either kinky and unkempt, or beautifully flowing like the mane of a Spanish horse. No middle ground existed for her in life. The same applied to her tits. They were bulky and in the way, or like two perfect birds singing at the men who passed by her. Her breasts were like the kind of birds that men, and sometimes even women, had to stop and stare at for a moment or two. She hated her name. Her mother and father thought it would be cute to name her after the medium of their craft: paper. Her mother convinced her Cree father to translate the word “paper” into French, which left the odd woman with the name, Papier. As a child, even the teachers despised her name, so they shortened her name and started calling her Pap. It was fine at first, until Papier hit puberty in high school, and the other girls who bullied her, began to call her “Pap Smear,” instead.
Like her mother and father, she was drawn to literature. She was a reader. She longed to be a good writer like her mother, or a great illustrator like her father. Being an author or an illustrator was not in her cards, and she remained simply a good reader, or so she thought. As a child, she would imagine that the God her mother spoke of had large magical pockets that held all the books in the world, and all she had to do was ask Him to produce books of her desire. Everywhere Papier would go, she would see a book believing that her mother’s God had left it intentionally for her to take home. She would proclaim that each book she found had a secret message for her from God. In her delusional state, she was convinced that God was communicating with her through books; that it was their special language with each other. By the time Papier had reached womanhood; she had such a collection of books that her eastside apartment looked like a disorganized library that utilized no Dewey Decimal Classification System.
Papier lived a life where she owned no property, rather the property owned her. If books were discarded by the trash in a cardboard box labelled, “free,” she would carry the whole box of books home. When she managed to get the heavy box of books up the stairs to her third-floor apartment, she would collapse with the box outside her door exhausted, and immediately begin caressing the spines of the hardcovers and paperbacks. She would smell the books individually, sorting the books into four separate piles based on the smell of each in the hallway: coffee; mould; brand-new; and mysterious, for those that had an indistinguishable scent. Her neighbours had become accustomed to her weird antics by simply walking around her and the piles of books. Occasionally, the children who lived on her floor would simply step right over her and her perfect piles.
Once sorted, Papier would unlock her door and bring the piles in one at a time. The books that smelled like coffee would be piled on her counter around her one-cup coffee maker, often hiding the coffee machine. She only read these books while she drank her morning coffee. The mouldy smelling pile of books would be carried to her bathroom. It smelled of mould already when she moved in, so they perfectly belonged in that room. Mouldy books were only read while sitting on the shitter. The piles in the bathroom would only be discarded once the water that spilled over from the shower curtain soaked the books until they leaked ink onto the tiles. All books that were brand-new in her eyes would be piled on the many bookshelves that adorned her walls. Every inch of wall was covered with bookshelves. There was no room for art, or family photos. She never read these books. Instead, she saved them for gifts, and wrapped only one or two at Christmas time for her mother and father, and again on their birthdays. Once the books were wrapped as gifts, they would adorn the empty spare bedroom. Books with mysterious smells would be piled on bedside tables, the living room coffee table, and just about every place in between, from her front porch to her balcony. When she ran out of places to store the books, she would simply discontinue the sorting and pile them on every inch of carpet available for sorting later.
Papier was an only child. Growing up her mother and father were very busy with their work, and had little time to bring her outdoors to play. She was a lonely awkward child and had no friends. Her only companions were fictional characters from the children’s books that her mother wrote, and her father illustrated. When her parents were not paying attention to her, she would speak to her imaginary friends. Her favourite friends were a frog, a snake, and a bat, named Hop, Slither, and Wingless, respectively. All three characters came from a book that her mother had written when she was a child. When she was small, her mother would read the book to her at bedtime, and she would fall asleep with the book under her pillow. That same book remained under her pillow even in adulthood. Hop was purple and poisonous and had powers to heal creatures that had been injured. Slither was a master of the mind, and could alter the thoughts of those he encountered. Unlike Hop, Slither was evil and only used his mind techniques to skew broken minds. Wingless lacked abilities. He could not heal, nor control minds, nor even fly. He was a broken-winged bat, but he was compassionate, and showed Papier the most love. Papier did not consider Hop, Slither, nor Wingless to be imaginary, and in secret continued her friendships with them. Now, that you know all that there is to know about Papier, I take you to the day that she lost her hair.
“Hop, did you see the book I found today? It is filled with all sorts of frogs. None of the frogs look as exquisite as you. I only grabbed it to see what powers they possess. So far none of them can heal like you, but many of the colourful ones are poisonous.”
“Papier, not all people are as lucky as you are. You are one of the rare humans who have been gifted with sight. Rib-bit, rib-bit. Most cannot see my powers, but you are unique and can communicate with God through books, and converse with creatures from the books you read.”
“Perhaps you are right, Hop. Why just the other day, I was asking God if he could help me declutter my life. I had read somewhere, that ‘to have less, is to have more.’ Why in fact, my ancestors once lived with only the necessities. They used everything on the animals that they hunted to provide shelter, clothing, and cooking utensils. I swear since the day we traded furs for pots, guns, and beads, we never stopped with the desire to accumulate, and as a result we have become consumed by material objects. We care more now about owning the best car, than we do about our fellow neighbours. The very fabric of our communities is being ruined by the need for more. I am almost certain that it is this insanity that humans possess that has diminished my ability to make friends other than you, Slither, and Wingless. God answered my prayers, of ‘course. He always does. I was on my daily book hunt, and low and behold, I found a book about Fung Shei. The title was “Free Yourself like a Lotus Flower,” and at the bottom, it said “Watch your life bloom, as you grow your own garden.” I opened the book, and the first few pages were speaking of the need to declutter to find inner peace and balance in our lives. The book promised that I would have better Chi and creative flow as I eliminate things that stand in my way in life. I took the book as a sure sign that God had answered me. Are there any powers that you have that could help me with this process of decluttering?”
“Papier, I would suggest that you speak to Slither. He may be better suited to help you with this task. You bring an awful lot of books into your home, and you have a collection here that is decades old. Rib-bit, rib-bit. Are you sure you are ready to part with these books? I mean, God has been communicating to you through these books your entire life, and I am sure that it would be painful to depart from those memories.”
“Perhaps you are right, Hop. Slither may have some sort of mind control techniques up his fang to help me. You are most likely correct. It will be difficult for me to part with these memories, especially since they were all gifts from God. Your help would become more useful during the healing process. I am quite sure that I will need some sort of healing once I part with my prize possessions. I know you and Slither do not get along, so I will have to part from you for a short while to seek his help. I hope you understand, Hop, but I will have to return you to my mind.”
“I understand. Be quick about it though, because I hate being alone and in the dark. I prefer it out here with you. Rib-bit.”
“Yes, I know. I promise to be quick with my task. Later, my friend.”
“Slither, come out.”
“Ssssister Papier, long time no sssee.”
“Slither, I need your help.”
“Sssooo, I have not ssseen you in forever, and now it ssseems assss if you have only called me for your own ssselfish needs. Sssooo typical of humans. What isss it that you desire?”
“I urgently need to declutter. I would do it myself, but I cannot willingly part with my books, so I am asking that you help me by temporarily controlling my mind.”
“Sssooo I sssee. I will grant your wish. Look into my eyes.”
Papier immediately did as she was told, as if she was already being controlled by Slither.
“Ssssister Papier, you are getting ssssleepy, sssooo very ssssleepy. Close your eyesss, and when you wake throw out the book that laysss under your pillow.”
Without even being aware of what Slither had said to her, hypnotically Papier walked in a trance-like state to her bed and fell fast asleep. When Papier woke up in the middle of the night, she was covered in sweat. She tossed her pillow at the wall, grabbed the book that once lay under it, and chucked it out her open window. Without realizing her actions, she fell back asleep. When Papier woke in the morning, she noticed that her book was gone, and began crying for Hop to come heal her.
“Hop, I need you.”
Only Hop never came; Slither appeared instead.
“Sssooo ssssorry. Hop is gone forever. You threw him away in the only book he was ever written in. Wingless and I were fortunate enough to be written into the sequel.”
“Go away, Slither, you have destroyed my life. I banish you to the depths of my mind. The hypothalamus shall be your new home forever.”
“Ssssister……nooooo…”
Papier continued to cry when her beloved friend, Wingless, began to speak to her,
“Papier, please stop crying. I understand your pain. I too was broken when I lost my only ability. The loss of my flight was devastating at first. Soon I realized that it was a blessing in disguise. Through my weakness I grew compassion and love for all mankind, with a special place for you in my heart. I think now is the time for you to cut your hair. This grieving has gone on for far too long. Honour the death of your mother and father. Release the burden of your hair. Relinquish your power, and find peace and humility in your weakness.”
“I am not ready, Wingless. I do not want to let them go.”
“They will always be with you, just not the way you would like. Let your parents rest now and cut your hair.”
Papier, through her sobs, slithered to her desk drawer, opened it, pulled out the scissors, and began cutting. She continued to cut her hair until all her strands and wavy locks lay at her feet in heavy heaps. Papier always felt a heaviness from her hair, especially while it was wet. It had a way of feeling like it pulled her to the ground, and on some days it was heavier and more of a burden than the two birds singing on her chest. She felt the weight lift off of her like an angel’s wings had lifted from her body. An angel no longer needing to shield her from the world. Maybe it was her mother and father, or maybe, for a brief moment Wingless was given his flight back. Just long enough to fly away Papier’s burdens. Papier continued to sob for days on end. As she sobbed, she collected the piles of books, one by one and carried them to the side of the trash bin. She made a sign to place beside the piles of discarded books. The sign said, “Free,” and in parenthesis she wrote, “(Like a Lotus Flower).”
