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.