The Space Between the Bricks
A single tear begins to fall from the child’s eye – her left eye. The right eye is closed. How can that be? But the child knows not to give away too many tears just now. She will need them later, so now she must choose. She must choose how much to give away and how much to hold back. She cannot afford to be too sad at one time. What good will that do? So, for now, she closes one eye, her right. She will remain quiet. She will allow herself to be soft and gentle. She will not sob out loud as that will only distract the others and she loathes that kind of behaviour in others.
If she could creep into the space between the bricks she would. But she was not created with the body of an ant, only that of a child, and though she is still only four years old, she knows. She knows about God. She knows about pain. She knows about death – and she knows about ants. She knows what she is not and though at times she is unsure of what she is, she is certain she is not an ant! She is certain because she cannot go where she wants to go – the space between the bricks: the place where she wants to hide.
But – her tears are small. Her tears are like tiny diamonds, tiny drops of early morning dew. Yes, her tears are small!
A single tear begins to fall from the child’s left eye. She reaches up to catch it in her hand and holds it for a moment, not even that, before she opens up her palm and let’s the lone tear fall, slowly, into the space between the bricks.