The Last Tissue

Harley Green reached for me, grabbing one of my many tissues and blowing her nose, stuffing one of me into the trashcan next to her bed. She had a cold, and I'd been there for all two days and counting of it. But she'd been using another box as well. I didn't feel all that replaced, but I did have a good long conversation with my fellow box o' tissues about how she felt like she was being wasted for just one occasion. I gave her some words of wisdom as she ventured into the dark void of the trashcan, where she would finally be reunited with all of her little parts, covered in mucus and boogers. She grimaced as I told her that, but she eventually got used up and met her foreseeable trashcan fate sooner that her or I had expected. But it was alright. Besides, Harley saves me for all the sad times when she needs me for tears. Crying is my main purpose in life, but I guess it's a good thing that I've lived so long. I think Harley bought me in early February, and now it's mid-March. But I was a jumbo box, so...

I stayed in my wholesome section of Harley's room- on her nightstand, with her aesthetic trashcan located under it. The other box of tissues was next to me, forcing some uncomfortable conversations about mortality. When she bought me, she also got a cream-colored box to put me in to match the room. We learned from the day that we were manufactured in the Kimberly-Clark facility in Connecticut for Kleenex that when you're placed in a special box, it can mean a few things. One- that your buyer really wants to keep you for awhile and doesn't plan on using you, or two- that your buyer is gonna really go through you and your brothers and sisters, so get ready for a quick in and out, or three- your buyer is consistent on good looks or no clashing colors wherever you are placed, or some other things that really depend on the buyer. But brace for the impacts when you are placed in a special holder.

Anyway, after Harley got over her cold in about three days (which lingered for about a week afterward, but she wasn't blowing her nose every 10 seconds at least), she sat in her room for a period of time everyday (don't ask how long- I'm a ding dang box of tissues), around the time she would come home from school. Sometimes she would use one or two of me until she wiped off all of her makeup and sighed for a bit, and read a few pages of her book of the week. Then she would trudge out, deciding if she deserved anything that day. She didn't tell her parents anything. They didn't know why. But I did. She would leave her notebook next to me and sometimes I would read it. She complained about regular things, but I noticed some other things as well.

She would sketch detailed drawings of crying eyes with scars and freckles along the cheeks. There would be lines and lines of her seeming to practice her calligraphy, writing the same thing over and over again. 'I'm fine, just tired.' again and again and again. Her handwriting was beautiful. Every so often there would be a blur of ink smudge, a tear smudge. Then she would use one of me. Or two. And then she would walk out of her room. I notice these things that nobody else can, which makes Harley feel weird.

Sometimes, she speculates aloud, yet quietly.

"Why are the only things that listen to me a box of tissues and a couple other inanimate objects in my room? Am I going crazy? This must be some insane level of loneliness. I should present myself to a top board of psychology and have them evaluate my state of supreme loneliness. I think my questions are becoming real! I am going mad!" She would say dramatically, standing on her bed or striking a pose in her pajamas.

I would snicker silently, shaking the special box.

I owe a lot of where I came today from my great-great-great-great-great grandpa, who was manufactured in 1924, amidst the Roaring 20s, when tissues were at a high. Back then, my 5x Great Grandpa stood humbly above his other tissue boxes, saying to the world: "For all of eternity, people have been waiting for the kind of tissue that can clean, sanitize, and properly remove makeup and tears and other things you wipe away with a tissue! We shall later be re-marketed as a hankie in just a matter of six or seven years! And at the best deal- 100 sheets for just sixty-five cents? That is top of the line, folks! So come one, come all, and don't put a cold in your pocket, save the sleeve, and LET IT OUT with Kleenex! Now who's with me?!"

The crowds around him had rioted, screaming the catchy but cringe slogans all around him. He stood mightily, and I am proud to be a great x 5 grandson of Sir O.G. Kleenex VIII. Sometimes, I get jealous of my cousins and siblings who live a life in luxury, bought by celebrities.

My cousin Rita brags about being the go-to tissue box for Taylor Swift in every family newspaper we release.

My third cousin three times removed Alex always gets the front liner because he is the tissue that Tom Brady uses. Legend has it that Tom developed an emotional attachment to his tissue box- Alex- and has kept it for all 7 of his Super Bowl winnings. And continued. Rumor has it that only 14 of Alex's tissues have been used- 7 for the Super Bowls, one for when Tom got married, one for when he got divorced, one for when he got together with somebody, and one for when he broke up with that somebody, and three for his kids, obviously. Alex is living his best life up there.

And obviously all of my other obscure family members are living the dream with their celebrity holders, but I like it just fine here with Harley. But I'm dwindling quickly. Harley's been using me more to wipe up her tears, and I feel like my end-of-supply blue tints are starting to show. But I will stay here for Harley. I'm loyal to my sweet, quirky girl. Because when I was bought, that was really a box-opener. It made me see that there was good in the people who bought us, and the people that will still come to buy us. Some people may take us for granted, and use us up too fast, and trash us without even thinking what lives we have beyond the sanitation. But some people care, my friend. Some of them develop a bond with us.

And then- we will awake- to a new day where humans and tissues are treated equally! And only then will we know world peace, children.

But alas, for now, I must sit here and keep company my dear sweet Harley. For she has tears to shed in these precious years.

I have break-ups to attend and promotions and sickness.

Really- I am the only one who is there in sickness and in health.

So the next time you go out and see a box of tissues- thank them, for being there for the world.

Anyway, after I reflected on my daily inspirational speech, I found Harley using my second-to-last tissue. I gasped as she gasped, and it made me want to cry. She touched my last tissue, silently wondering how the times had gone by so fast. I myself was hit with a crushing wave of bittersweet nostalgia. For just one month ago, I was being stocked on an aisle in an unsuspecting Walmart, just waiting to be put to good use, and now here I was, my final tissue. I could see Harley's eyes welling up. I had to check if anyone had sprayed me with water recently, for I found myself tearing up, which defied all the laws of physics. But when Harley cries, I am there for her. But now, I will be all gone.

She used the tissue in her hands to blow her nose, and then whispered to me, "It's time, Coca Cola."

She pulled out my last tissue, and I could see tears rolling down her cheeks as fast as she allowed. The tears were the rivers that had carved the Grand Canyon, and the rivers that will continue to carve more canyons.

And then I met my fate- not the regular trashcan, but the closet. I lived on! In all of these challenges, I overcame all of the obstacles thrown at me, and in the end? I laid remembered, not forgotten. I went on to see all the other tissue boxes come and go. None of them were as close to Harley as I was. They only stayed in the special holder because otherwise Harley would tweak out. But I educated them on how to leave their sanitizing and lotion-giving mark on Harley's life. But one thing is for sure- I have changed Harley's life, and she has henceforth changed mine.