tiles

The floor was concealed by checkered tiles. Half brown, half white, now beige from age. Each tile clung together by the gray grout that was gradually losing its initial strength. Each tile was covered with specks similar to snowfall; each had its own microscopic difference that was unnoticed by the human eye. The specks followed the tiles outwards until they reached the base of the grim walls that barely peaked out past the hunter green lockers. Or at least what was left of the green, rust was splattered upon them and framing the dull locks. Each one guarded someone’s personal possessions; each one was a cadence of safety. Past the barricades were the ungreased doors of the bathroom stalls. The doors lacked the concealment necessary for containing the smell that lurked from the filth rimmed toilets. The smell lingered through the air; just far enough to reach myself.
I stood outside of the stalls scrubbing the palms of my hands as chilled water cascaded on to them from the old faucet. My two hands rubbed together creating friction, then creating a light, bubbly, froth. The foam dripped down my fingers and down to the dirt filmed sink. The soapy water rotated downwards around the sink quickly being pulled by gravity. As the bubbles reached the clogged up drain and I watched as they disappeared into the dark hole. I turned the red topped knob to the right of the sink which closed off the water source. I shook my hands in an attempt to fling the water off.
As I brushed the final water beads off my hands onto the denim that covered the side of my leg, I glanced upwards. Where there was a mirror…each detail displayed a story of its past like its crack from the bottom left corner that reached out towards the middle, dividing into multiple rivets on its way. Each consisted of an abstract display of shards that rested in the crevasse of the broken glass. It’s wanting hands nearly grasped the center but fell short of inches. The rest of the glass was streaked from condensation. I could picture in my mind what were once the drops filled with life, racing down, before they had dried and stuck to the surface. Over the dried condensation was a light layer of dust, probably created by the soccer player’s dirt filled cleats. Under all of this was the glass that was held in position by the supporting arms of a dull metal frame.
Then there was me, in the reflection… trapped under the glass to be starred at like an animal in a zoo cage. My reflection starred back at me with their cold deep brown eyes, matching my every move with precision. I stood there as stiff as a statue, just staring into the mirror.
As I observe everything held in my reflection I thought of how there are millions of people in our world today. Not one of those people looked quite like me. Not one of them went through the same experiences that I had to suffer my way through. None of them had walked a day in my shoes or though the unknown forest of my trailing thoughts.
I looked down at a tile that was plastered to the floor that rested under my feet. At the initial glance it looked identical to the one next to it. It was covered with specks like all the other tiles, it was faded from use and dull from age. But not one other tile had the same unorganized display of specks; in fact not any of their specks were exactly the same. Each tile had its own image and each one had its own story.
One was cracked in the corner. The break riveted through the clay tile. This reminded me of myself…broken. I wasn’t whole or strong. That’s okay though because like that tile it made me stand out, it made me who I am today. I was broken and held together by the love of the surrounding people in my life like the tiles were by the invincible gray grout.
The grout held each of the tiles into a simple interlocking pattern, resembling the system of how we humans work. We all depend on each other because without one another the pattern would be broken...