The Storyteller

"...and they found their way home. The whole town came out and welcomed them home. And they were hailed as heroes to the villagers for generations, the story of their adventures recounted over and over, even to this day."

Angela finished her tale, her huge blue eyes looking around the room. The class of third graders was looking as if they were lost in a dream. Even Mrs. Donaldson was staring off into space, a small dreamy smile on her face. Angela waited patiently for a few moments as she always had, her face expressionless. Soon, the students came back to themselves, all of them smiling contentedly. Mrs. Donaldson was smiling as well, cleared her throat, and walked up to the front of the class. She walked behind Angela and placed her hands on the little girl's shoulders.

"My goodness!" the teacher began, "Yet another wonderful tale from our gifted story teller. Angela, I must say I have never in my life met anybody who could tell a tale like you. You make things come alive when you speak. I can almost swear I see what you are saying." She smiled down at Angela who was looking up at her with those big, blue eyes.

"It's nothing, Mrs. Donaldson," Angela said humbly. And Mrs. Donaldson knew this girl was truly humble. She smiled even bigger.

"Don't you ever let anyone change how you are, little lady. You are a very rare type of person, and I would hate to think that you would ever be anything but how you are right now." Angela just looked with those huge blue eyes, those magnificent orbs, into Mrs. Donaldson's. The elderly teacher smiled again.

"Okay, class. It's Friday and the weekend is upon us. Be careful, stay away from strangers, and have a wonderful weekend." She had just finished and the bell rang signaling the end of the class day and the start of the weekend. The children grabbed their belongings and hurried out the door to begin their weekend as soon as they could. As they passed Angela, each child smiled and thanked her for telling them yet another marvelous story. Angela looked at them a moment and said she was glad they enjoyed it.

Then the last child was gone and she went to leave as well. Mrs. Donaldson stopped her for a moment, smiled down at her. Those eyes, those magnificent eye, focused on her own, leaving her feeling a warmth she could never account for, but loved intensely.

"Angela," the old woman said, "I don't know if you would mind, but is there any way I could have you tell a story to the entire school sometime? You have such a marvelous gift." Angela looked at her without so much as a flicker of emotion touching her face.

"Of course I would like to do that, if you think they would all enjoy it," she said innocently. Mrs. Donaldson smiled.

"Thank you, Angela!" she said delightedly. "But have your mother read and sign this saying it's okay for you to do. Okay?"

"Okay, Mrs. Donaldson," she said in her little girl voice. "My mother will say it's okay."

"I hope so, Dear. You have such a remarkable talent," the teacher replied. "Now go home and enjoy your weekend.

"I will," she replied. "You, too, Mrs. Donaldson," she said.

"I will, Dear. Thank you." Mrs. Donaldson said, smiling, anxious to tell Mr. King, the principal, about the young storyteller.

 †    †    †    †    †

Angela walked home from where the bus dropped her off just down the street from her house. Her mother was there, as always, and took her daughter's hand. She smiled at her child who looked up at her and gave the smallest of smiles back. But Mom understood how much emotion was behind that smallest of smiles. She squeezed her daughter's hand and started walking home.