A Valentine Memory

There is no better exercise for strengthening the heart than reaching down and lifting people up. —Anonymous

She felt angry and deeply hurt as only a ten-year-old could feel. Frankie was to blame for her troubles and her classmates were mean—really mean! But they were probably right about Frankie. He was a goofy-looking kid! His unruly black hair stuck out every which way, his big stick-out teeth needed a brushing, and when he laughed he brayed like a donkey. He almost always wore the same corduroy knickers with a shirt that was more gray than white. He was poor in reading, spelling, writing and arithmetic. He sniffled and snuffled a lot and never used a handkerchief. And he smelled bad!

In class he was the butt of all jokes, and in the schoolyard it was worse. He would hang back when the kids teased, so they redoubled their efforts. Elizabeth had watched silently, seething inwardly for weeks.

One rainy afternoon as school let out, Cliff, the class bully, ran up to Frankie knocking papers and books out of his arms—taunting and jeering. And that's when Elizabeth went into action—her eyes flashing, her stance that of a fury. "Leave him alone, Cliff. Do you hear me? Leave him alone."

Cliff looked at her in surprise. "He's dumb, a creep, a real yo-yo!"

Her heart pounded. "He's not, he's not. Just leave him alone." She bent to help Frankie pick up his sodden papers and books. "You're not dumb, Frankie, you're okay."

That's how it began. Frankie began to seek her out during lunch recess, showing her his failing spelling test or a page or two in the reader which was beyond him. So quite naturally, once or twice during the week, Elizabeth helped with his studies. And just as naturally, the kids started to taunt, "Frankie has a girlfriend," and "Elizabeth likes smelly Frankie."

Elizabeth reddened and glanced over to where Edward was playing catch. Edward sat in the third row, fourth seat in her class—her secret crush. Edward, the divine—with brown, curly hair and long eyelashes.

"Frankie's my friend. Friend, do you hear? And I'm helping him. So there!" she shouted back at the kids.

The taunts continued, but what really unsettled her was that Frankie did begin to look at her differently—a little more goofy and kind of lovesick. My gosh, he believes what the kids are saying, she thought. I have to make him understand that I'm his friend, not his girlfriend.

The opportunity soon presented itself. Frankie was proud, real proud that he had finally received a passing mark in spelling and read a paragraph aloud without stumbling over words.

"Frankie," she began, "you're a nice boy, a smart boy, and I don't think you need much help anymore."

He looked startled.

"We're friends, good friends, and you're doing okay now. Do you understand?" she finished lamely.

He looked at her serious little face. "I know. I understand." And he walked away.

"He's hurt. I didn't want to hurt him, but I did, I did," Elizabeth wailed to herself and then became angry with everyone—Frankie, the kids, and herself.

The next day was St. Valentine's Day. In the '30s boys and girls did not exchange Valentines. If a boy liked a girl he would give her one, but the girl usually gave hers to her parents, a teacher or girlfriends. Elizabeth looked at the four she had bought for a penny apiece. They were pretty and shiny with bright red hearts, frilly ribbons and flowers, and some even had fat little cupids. On the back of each one she wrote, "Guess Who?" She secretly hoped she'd receive a Valentine from Edward, the divine.

On her school desk was a white envelope with her name on it. Her heart began to beat faster, her hands trembled as she carefully opened it. It was a letter which read: "Dear Elizabeth, Frankie has been telling me about his little friend and how much she's helped him. You're a kind person." It was signed by Frankie's mother.

There was a second sheet; this one was a homemade Valentine but all in green crayon. In the upper left-hand corner was a bright green heart dripping green blood; on the bottom a row of straggling flowers. It read: "You're nice and my friend," signed Frankie. "P.S. This is in green crayon 'cause I didn't have a red one."

Elizabeth looked over at Frankie, forming the words "Thank you." He grinned back.

She tucked the messages back in the envelope, feeling really good. Mother promised her ten cents to buy a luscious chocolate ice cream soda after school. And next year, who knows? Edward, the divine might give her a Valentine.