""May I come in?" Mom asks.
"Yes," I say. She sits down and
gives me a hug. It's gentle and
warm and strong.
Tonight, I hug her back.
As hard as I can.
Harder."
In a room where all the vases of flowers have shriveled and died, readers see a little boy playing alone with his toys. His mom sits cheerlessly at a nearby table. The only color in the double-page spread is the boy's shirt, which is red. The rest is in shadows with minor outlining done is red. We are told that 'something bad happened'.
The boy spends much time in his own room. His mom comes in to give him hugs. Visitors arrive with questions about how he is doing. He has no need to or taste for talking. Instead, he digs down through his bedroom floor into the darkness of the underground. The worms, beetles and other creatures pay no attention to his presence. Hearing noises from the house, he keeps digging. When he comes back to the surface, he sees his mom and aunt talking together. His mom peers out the window, unable to see him.
He looks around to see the moon, his surroundings, the darkness and realizes no one knows he is out there. Would disappearing be an option? He could; perhaps, not tonight. Back he goes to his bedroom, knowing he can always return to the tunnel. Comfortable back in his own room, he hears his mom's knock at the door. They have a hug that both need. He tells her about his tunnel.
"I think she knows I need a secret place.
She might have secret places of her own."
She might have secret places of her own."
Readers are never told what the bad thing is. It makes for a powerful story of loss and grief. The boy's pain is felt, and that is enough. For now, the two have each other and quiet spaces to sit and share the heartache, also knowing there is hope.
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