The white rose

Tom lies on the grass, beneath the black sky. As he looks up, he sees salt scattered on a black table; white roses on a black sea; round white cushions on a black quilt; white polka dots on a black carpet. Then something catches Tom’s eye. It’s a large one – a large salt grain; a large rose; a large round cushion; a large white polka dot. A certain light emerges from it – a glow. A sudden rush of sadness envelopes him – there’s only one big white rose.
Tom’s mother enters the garden, and sits down next to him. An awkward silence finds its way between the two, but Tom isn’t even aware of his mother’s presence. When he is though, he breaks the silence.
‘Mummy?’ he says.
‘Yeah?’ replies his mother.
‘I want to go there,’ the four-year old points innocently at the white polka dots. His mother, saddening at Tom’s innocence and not wanting to break it, replies, ‘you will one day, Tom.’ She looks up at the one large cushion in the midst of the others.
‘You will one day.’


Tom doesn’t talk about it for a few days. But suddenly, a question hits his head.
‘How do I get there mummy?’ he asks one night. She smiles at him.
‘Where, honey?’ she smiles.
‘There,’ he says, pointing at the salt grains high above him, much higher that ten of his mother’s stacked on each other could possibly reach.
The smile vanishes from her mouth. She merely purses her lips and doesn’t reply. ‘Will you take me there?’ he asks. She finally replies.
‘I can’t honey,’ she answers, but adds quickly at the disappointment of Tom’s eyes: ‘But He will,’ she says pointing at the sky.
‘The dots?’ asks Tom.
‘No,’ replies his mother. ‘Someone who lives higher than that. He’s the strongest and the kindest and the cleverest man in the world!’ she says.
‘Will I meet him one day?’ Tom asks.
‘You will one day Tom,’ answers his mother. She looks up at the one large cushion in the midst of the others.
‘You will one day.’


And Tom does meet Him.

Things I am burdened to observe

‘You stupid idiot!’ shouts Jeremy McFarlane.
I’m placed on the kitchen counter, apparently undisturbed, but watchful and cautious. Little do Jeremy McFarlane and May Ellay know that they are by far disturbing me. Little Ella McFarlane is, fortunately for the bright soul, away at her school. Her school isn’t far, and I know this, for I sit here quite a bit, for when Miss May washes me; she lets me sit here till I dry. The rich Cambel’s, down the road suddenly cross my mind. The daughter, Rachel Cambel is superior – or so she thinks of herself as – and confident. She often comes down to our home, and might I mention now that I don’t have the teeniest idea of how little Miss Ella can stand her.
The fire flickers in the distance, and Miss May has tears streaming down her face. Jeremy McFarlane slaps Miss May again.
It is of the most terrible and hurtful sight to experience that I do hope you are not unfortunate enough to observe.
The tiniest squeal makes its way out of Miss May’s mouth, as she is afraid to make Jeremy angrier. Miss May has a brown fringe covering all of her forehead, her thick eyelashes bearing it up. Green eyes fall beneath it, with a short nose following. Thin – usually pursed lips – beneath it, and freckles scattered along her cheeks.
‘You stupid, stupid idiot!’ repeats Jeremy.
‘Please, sir,’ Miss May pleads. ‘I did not know that Mr. Chapleberry would bring his whole family along. Was it not you who said he most probably won’t?’
‘Probably?’ says Jeremy. ‘Probably?! Well I probably shouldn’t get angry at you but I am. Probably doesn’t cut it!’
‘You have every right to be angry sir,’ says Miss May.
‘I don’t need your permission, peasant!’ sneers Jeremy.
Miss May lowers her soft eyes. Jeremy lifts his palm again. The last thing I hear is the crash of glass on the floor and I, a mere glass cup, lay shattered.