Helen

by Manuel G. Ojeda


(1) Freddy was just about ten years old, but to Helen who lived in the next street, he was all that a boy should be. She only six, but Freddy was her hero, strong and brave and good. She used to like to watch him go by the window with the other boys on their way to the gym to play. He was the tallest among them, and of course the best looking. If he turned to smile at her, it made her happy for the rest of the day.

(2) One afternoon, when she thought he might be coming by, she made up her mind to give a bunch of flowers as he passed. There weren't many flowers in her little garden, but at least, she said to herself, she would pick the best.

(3) She took a long time about it, picking the prettiest of what she had. Very gracefully, she tied a piece of precious ribbon about it and stood by her gate to wait for Freddy to come by.

(4) "How pleased he will be," she said to herself over and over again. "I wish he would come soon."


(5) But Freddy did not come. The afternoon wore away, and what with the warm sunshine and Helen's sticky, little hands, the flowers began to wilt and wither. But Helen did not notice it. She only wondered why Freddy had not come.

(6) At last, however, a familiar sound reached her ears. Yes, surely that was Freddy's rollicking laugh! He was coming at last. How glad she was that she had waited after all.

(7) Down the street strode Freddy, his mind full of the basketball game he had just played and won. Helen was a tiny speck on his horizon.

(8) But Freddy was the sun on hers. As he passed, she called him.

(9) "Freddy, I've picked some flowers for you."

(10) He turned and looked at the poor, faded, sticky little bunch of flowers. He did not want them. What could a boy do with flowers anyway?

(11) Then, impulsively, thoughtlessly, he struck the bunch of flowers out of Helen's hands so that it fell and scattered.

(12) For a moment Helen was too surprised to understand what has happened. Then, as it dawned upon her that it was Freddy, her Freddy who had so rudely refused her tiny offering of devotion, she put her hands over her eyes and burst into tears.

(13) Freddy walked on, but somehow the joy of the triumph in the game had gone. He reached the corner of the street and turned around.

(14) Far away he saw a little girl standing at her garden gate weeping bitterly. Scattered at her feet were the faded flowers.

(15) Should he go back? He should. He knew he should. But he could not. Something inside him said, "No, you're too big to say sorry to a little girl." So he turned the corner and went on trying to forget.

(16) But that, too, was something he could not do. By day and night, that picture haunted him. How he wished he had gone back and made it right! But that was too late. Forgiveness not immediately sought becomes harder and harder to ask.



(17) Years passed by. Freddy grew to manhood, and went out to make his way in the great, wide world. Yet the memory lingered, and if ever he was tempted to do the unkind deed or say an unkind word, there flashed into his mind the picture of that afternoon, of a little sobbing child and a bunch of faded flowers at her feet.