I stared blankly at my computer screen. How do I get from step 4 to step 5? YouTube videos didn’t help either.   Folding the corners to the centerline, I could hardly make new creases after so many failed attempts. Carefully reaching in between the two folds, the kite-like shape turned into two sharp edges. I glance back at the video.  How did he get the wings to fold out? 

My first crane was a horrible failure with wrinkly lines and torn edges. My second had unequal wings. One faulty crease ruined my perfect crane. Over time, these broken cranes littered my desk. I glance at the clock: 2:24 AM? Why am I doing this? 

Grabbing another sheet of paper, I begin the process again. Time slips away and before I know it, it’s 3:07 AM. I cannot go on. I have a Calculus test in 5 hours and I need my sleep.  

The next morning, my trashcan overflows with a rainbow of ruined cranes. Thank God it’s Friday. 

…

Back in my bedroom, armed with a ruler and pencil, I take a different approach. Following that same YouTube video, I mark dotted lines for mountain folds and regular lines for valley folds. Folding along the edges, I bring the bottom points to my centerline in perfect symmetry. I’m careful to imitate every move and gesture the origami master makes. Finally, with the last crease I bring out the wings and fold the beak. Holding my delicate bird, I am flooded with relief and elation.  

When I returned to the Huntington Library, I placed the small crane on the table in the Japanese garden. I was nervous, but ready to try something new. 

“C-c-can you teach me how to make a crane?” a boy asked. 

Here we go.