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Avi and the Forgotten Line

Ages 6-9 | Story and 9 activities

Avi has exactly one line in the class play. It is only six words long: "Look, the sea is splitting open!"

For two weeks he has said it in the shower, in the car, and into his pillow. He says it so many times that his little brother Yanky starts saying it back.

The class is putting on a short play about Kriyas Yam Suf for the siyum on Thursday. The parents will come. Bubby will come, too. The folding chairs are already lined up in the social hall.

On Thursday morning, Avi wakes up with a funny feeling in his tummy. It flutters, like a little bird that has gotten stuck inside him.

At breakfast he can't finish his cereal. On the way to school, his hands feel cold and his heart goes thump, thump, thump.

By the time he stands behind the curtain, the bird has turned into a whole flock. Through a gap in the curtain he can see the parents settling into their seats. He sees Bubby in the second row, smiling in her gray sheitel and holding a tissue.

"Okay, everyone," whispers Morah Frumie. "Two minutes."

Avi's mouth goes dry. He tries to say his line. The words have disappeared. He knows it starts with "Look," but after that, nothing.

"I forgot it," he whispers to his friend Shuey. "I forgot everything."

Shuey is holding a long blue cloth for the sea. "You didn't forget," he whispers. "You're just nervous. You said it a hundred times."

"What if I mess up?"

"Then you mess up," says Shuey. "We'll still be here."

That doesn't make the flutters go away, but it helps a tiny bit.

Avi remembers something Morah Frumie taught the class last month. She calls it the slow breath. Breathe in through your nose for four counts, like smelling a flower. Breathe out through your mouth for six counts, like blowing out a candle.

He closes his eyes. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six.

He does it again. The flutters don't vanish, but they get softer, and his feet feel more like they are on the floor.

Then he does one more thing Morah Frumie has suggested. He picks one friendly face in the audience to look at. He picks Bubby.

The curtain opens. The narrator begins to read. Avi's heart thumps, but he stands tall in his spot.

When the narrator says, "And the people stood at the edge of the water," Avi takes a step forward. He looks right at Bubby. He opens his mouth.

For one terrible second, nothing comes out.

Then he takes one more small breath, in for four. And the words come, a little shaky but clear.

"Look," says Avi. "The sea is splitting open!"

Shuey and the other children lift the blue cloth high, and it ripples like waves. A few parents gasp. The audience claps.

His voice shakes a little, and he forgets to point at the water. But nobody minds, and nobody notices.

Afterward, Bubby hugs him tight. "I could see you were nervous, my sweet boy. And you did it anyway. That's the very bravest thing."

"I almost forgot my line," says Avi.

"Almost," says Bubby. "But you didn't."

That night, as Avi lies in bed, Yanky pokes his head in. "Say your line again."

Avi grins. "Look, the sea is splitting open!"

"That's so good," says Yanky.

Avi pulls the blanket up to his chin. "Now say it with the pointing," says Yanky.

"Go to sleep," says Avi. But he smiles in the dark, and he points at the ceiling anyway.