Drying the Tears

It’s the first day, of first grade, and my first time in public school. I’m a shy, little crying mess. Scared of new students and the cold desk. My mother introduces me to a pair of gentle eyes and a warming smile. They calm my tears and heart. Her words are sweet, her face is bright, even though I’m causing an awful sight. My mother has to go. I’m alone with a class of stares. Panic takes me again and so, my face grows redder, my cries now louder, but the lady’s voice has a soothing sound. She snuggles me closer, and whispers softly to calm me down. I grow accustomed to the room, the smell, the students, the desks. But only with the helping comfort of clinging to the skirt of her dress. As the days went by I did loosen my grip on the fabric and soon, the fear. But only because of a woman’s kindness and patience with my tears.