Before me were black and white tiles, stretching before me. I was on all fours on the kitchen floor, staring at the patterns. It seemed so fascinating to me, simplistically brilliant — black, white, black, white — that I had to follow it along with my eyes, in rows, diagonals and columns.
Brilliant. I moved my hand forward, eager to see more of it, look closer.
Another hand. A foot. Pause, smile.
I traced the grout with a little finger, not knowing what it was, but surprised at how rough it felt. I compared it to the tile. Smooth.
I smiled, bringing another foot forward.
In a few quick strides, my mom walked into the room, picking me up unexpectantly. I could see the counters and the sink from up high now, but I just wanted to be put back down. I wanted to explore the tiles some more.
It wasn’t fair that my mother had to come along so quickly and suddenly to take me away from it. I watched the tiles fade behind me.
It took awhile to answer this one. I guess I felt uninspired when I decided to answer this prompt, and left it till later.
Hell of a while later. I guess I forgot completely about it.