Tears and a Spelling Test

by Godfrey Green

Mrs. Lewis ushered Artur along the hallway. I noticed tears in his eyes.

"Why, he's crying!" I said. "What happened, Artur?"

"He got 90 on his spelling test," said Mrs. Lewis."

"So, why's he crying?"

"Maybe because his cousin Radion got 100."

I reached out to Artur. (I was sitting in a chair next to CJ, who I had been helping with his math.) I pulled the tearful 7-year-old boy to me. Mrs. Lewis went into her classroom, leaving Artur with me. I took hold of his shoulders and looked into his beautiful wet blue eyes.

"Why are you crying, Artur? 90's a good mark--a very good mark."

He just stared at me, the tears trickling down his cheeks.

"You used to get marks like 40 and now you got 90. Artur, that's very good! You should be very happy with yourself!"

I found myself picking at him, preening. I straightened his cuffs, noticing how dirty they were. He looked at my hand, watched everything, but never changed his expression or made a sound. I retrieved a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at his eyes.

"You look so unhappy, Artur. I don't like to see you so unhappy."

I pulled him into me and gave him a little hug. People were passing, but I didn't pay attention to them.

"You want to be perfect," I said. "Nobody's perfect." I brushed some lint off his ragged pale blue sweater. "Even your mother and your father make mistakes. Mrs. Lewis makes mistakes. Don't you think Mrs. Lewis makes mistakes?" "He wants to be an angel," I said to CJ, gently rocking Artur. There are no angels on earth. You're only a person. That's all you can be. You do the best you can. That's all you can do. Tell him, CJ. Doesn't everyone make mistakes?"

"Yes," said CJ.

"You won't get 100 every time. Sometimes you'll get 100, sometimes 90, sometimes 80. Even 80 is a good mark, Artur. You used to get 40."

All the while, he said not a word, just stared at me as if in wonder. But the tears had stopped. I stroked and caressed him, held him as if he were a dainty doll that I didn't want to break. He stood so arrow-straight.

"Let's see a smile," I said. I stroked his forehead and under his chin. But he only stared so earnestly with those clear blue eyes.

His breath was better than usual. In fact I didn't even notice it. His skin was so fair. I could see little veins in his face. I didn't know kids had those veins.

CJ sat quietly regarding us. I realized he was probably jealous of the attention I was giving to Artur, but I couldn't help it.

"Artur, be happy that you got 90!" I shook him gently. "A lot of kids got much less than that. You studied and you got a good mark. Be happy!"

Mrs. Lewis came to the door. "Artur, it's lunch time," she called.

I let go of him. He ran into the room.

I sat for a minute. This is what I always wanted, I thought--to comfort a child. My fantasy fulfilled.

I got up slowly and went into the classroom. Artur sat at his desk, alone, crying. "He's still crying!" I said.

Mrs. Lewis came in. "Let him sit and think a while," she said. "Soon he'll realize that he's hungry and then he'll forget about the spelling test. Children cry one minute and they laugh the next.”

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Godfrey Green is a former librarian, currently teaching and being a friend to children. He also assists ESL adults with English. He has published two books of poetry, Toward Freedom and Singing on Subways.