Blue Crayons for Debbie

Blue Crayons for Debbie
Word Count = 1720

         Tears trickled down her cheeks. Debbie placed the simple little card on the end table and picked up the box of 64 Crayons. She smiled and cried and held the box close to her chest as she marveled at the wondrously tender thing that just happened to her. With a sigh, she sat down in the easy chair closest to the front door; that was where the gift had been carefully placed, on the end table. It was strategically positioned where she would find it first thing entering the door; she had.

         The story behind the crayons began forty years earlier, in Mrs. Henderson's first grade class. First grade was a wonderful place. For the first time in her young life she ventured into the world alone. Oh, surely there were plenty of adults looking after her almost constantly; but, the familiar territory of her own house and yard were greatly expanded as she ventured boldly out from under the protective wings of her mother and father. First grade can be a very intimidating place for a child who was a little bit timid; and Debbie had been a little bit timid.

         However, First grade can also be a wondrous place. She was surrounded with playmates and new friends. All the tables and chairs were her size and fit just right. And, there were lots and lots of books with wonderful stories in them. Sometimes there were sticks to hit together and bells to ring as she kept time singing with the other children to simple songs. And, finally, there were the colors. It seemed everything came on brightly colored construction paper or was drawn with an amazing assortment of colors. In fact, the colors quickly become Debbie's favorite thing in the First grade.

         Coloring inside the lines was her specialty. Hours of practice at home virtually assured her as being a first rate colorer. At home, she steadily wore her crayons down to nubs, carefully tearing the paper from them in unwinding strips as they diminished in size, until there was nothing more to hold onto. The last little piece of the crayon was then deposited in a jar of castaways. Even the castaways had a glorious ending as they were positioned on a sheet of wax paper and left in the sun to melt, allowing the color to blend together in wonderful designs. Only then were the crayons discarded, after the very last glorious color was coaxed from them in a melted but wonderful mess.

         Twice a week Mrs. Henderson announced coloring in art class. Debbie silently jumped for joy at those moments for she dearly loved coloring class. However, as strange as it may seem, a damper on her excitement was her name. With a name like Zimmerman, she was destined to always be at the end of the line. This was particularly difficult for coloring class, because Mrs. Henderson doled out the crayons according to the alphabet. There were not enough crayons for each child to have their own box. No, the crayons were kept jumbled together in a large wicker basket, something like the basket in which her mother gathered flowers. They were mixed in the basket haphazardly, regardless as to color, size or condition. Periodically new crayons were added to the lot to replace broken and severely spent crayons. Nevertheless, there simply were not enough new, whole crayons to go around.

         The children at the first of the line inevitably selected the new crayons. Those with a name like Zimmerman were destined for the broken pieces-the leftovers. Debbie could live with using the older crayons, for they produced the same glorious color and she was adept at staying within the lines no matter the condition of the crayon. No, what distressed Debbie was the fact that by the time Mrs. Henderson announced "Zimmerman" all the blue crayons were gone, leaving mostly broken ugly crayons.

         She loved the color blue; it was such a cool and pleasing color. If she had her choice, the primary color of all her work would be blue. Even before school age, she learned that each color crayon had a name; and she had memorized the names of her favorite blue crayons. Her mother read each name to her and she repeated it in her head as she colored-"Cadet Blue, Cornflower, Navy Blue, Periwinkle, Midnight Blue, Sky Blue, Turquoise Blue, Ultra Blue, and just plain Blue." Soon she recognized the names herself. She studied the wrapper on each crayon with its name located centermost on the wrapper. Each time she picked up the crayon, she read the name, until it was necessary to tear the wrapper through the name as the crayon shortened.

         In Mrs. Henderson's class, she rarely got the opportunity to read the name. All of the selections of her favorite blues were taken from the basket by the time they got to Zimmerman. However, mentally, she recalled the name of whatever blue remnant she found, which was rare indeed. Longingly she listened as each child's name was called; her heart ached particularly when Chelsea Baker was called for her selection. Chelsea also liked blue; it was a certainty that any whole blue crayon would be selected by Chelsea, who always took several blues.

         One morning Debbie screwed her first-grade courage to the hilt and walked up to Mrs. Henderson's desk.

          "Mrs. Henderson"

         The teacher pushed her papers aside and smiled down at the child, "Yes, Debbie."

          "Mrs. Henderson could you please do me a favor?"

         The smile was warm and genuine as Mrs. Henderson answered, "And, what kind of favor do you wish?"

          "Well, could you please start from the back of the alphabet when we choose our crayons today? I never get to choose the whole blue crayons when you start at the front of the alphabet."

          "Oh, I see. And do you think it is fair for the kids at the front to be last now?"

          "Yes ma'am, cause they always get the blue crayons first. Chelsea always gets the prettiest blues and all I have left are the greens and oranges. Could you start at the back today?"

          "I'm sorry you feel left out, dear. But, you know Debbie, we always do things alphabetically. That's just the way we do it. However, just for you I will see if the other children will leave some of the good crayons for the last. Will that be OK?"

          "Yes ma'am." It was less than she wanted but more than she had before she asked. She would just have to wait and see.

         Sure enough, when time came to select the crayons, Mrs. Henderson made an announcement.

          "Children, as you select your colors today remember that some of your friends at the last of the alphabet are waiting on their crayons. Please be considerate and leave some of the good crayons for them."

         Debbie watched closely as each name was called. When Chelsea's name was called she watched as her friend dipped into the basket and picked out her choice of crayons. Debbie was disappointed to see several whole blue crayons in her hand. There was no way the blue crayons would be left if Chelsea were to be the example of consideration for the names at the last of the alphabet. When Debbie's name was called, she walked to the front and peered into the wicker basket. There wasn't a whole blue crayon to be found. She milled around among the broken pieces and found only remnants of blue crayons. She looked to Mrs. Henderson; who returned her look and whispered, "I'm sorry."

         For days that followed, Mrs. Henderson made the announcement to be considerate to the kids at the end of the alphabet. And, each time Debbie found only bits and pieces of her favorite blue crayons. Each time art class was announced she held the hope that today maybe Mrs. Henderson would reverse the order and begin with "Zimmerman." It never happened. Mrs. Henderson spent the entire year following order and calling the alphabet from "a" to "z."

         A much older Debbie looked again at the note Eric had written her. She wiped a single tear from her cheek and considered what he must have been through. How many boxes of crayons did he have to purchase to assemble the box she held to her chest. She opened the box and pulled out several crayons; she read the familiar names, "Cadet Blue, Denim, Navy Blue, Pacific Blue, Sky Blue, and just plain Blue." There were so many of them, a whole box of 64 Crayolas; and every one of them was a brand new, whole, blue crayon.

         She wiped a tear again as she heard the front door open. Eric walked through the door and saw her sitting there clutching her box of crayons. He saw her tear stained cheeks and saw her smile at him.

          "I see you found your crayons."

          "Oh, yes! They're wonderful. Whatever possessed you to buy them?"

          "Well, I remembered the story you told me about first grade and the coloring class. It made an impression on me. The other day I was walking in the mall when I saw a box of crayons in the window. That's where I got the idea. I have to admit I got some strange stares when I bought all the boxes they had on the shelves. " Eric laughed and continued, "I got some more stares when I stopped off at the day care and donated fifteen boxes of crayons without a single blue in any of them. But, they were happy to get them. I assume, then, you like your gift?"

         Debbie rose to her feet and threw her arms around her husband, "Eric, it's just about the dearest and most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I guess that's why I love you so."

          "It's just a little thing Deb. I wish I could do more."

         Debbie reached to the end table and picked up the note. "Eric, darlin', it's much more than a little thing. So much more."

         Then she read the note aloud, "Debbie, these crayons are for the woman I love. I promise, that for as long as you live, you will never, ever have to use an ugly, broken blue crayon again."