Wednesday, July 23, 2008

The Umbrella Floor

The floor was tiled. Checkered blue and red. Like an umbrella, one woman who entered commented. The umbrella floor. That’s what people call it now.

She had been standing on a rooftop admiring buildings when she first saw the umbrella. It was striped with deep reds and blues. She walked up behind the man holding it and whispered I like your umbrella. He didn’t hear what she said so said What? She repeated what she had said. Oh, he said. Yes.

They admired buildings together for the rest of the afternoon, and then the two parted. She never saw the umbrella or the man again, but when she saw those tiles, checkered red and blue, it was as if, she explained, she were up on top of the roof once more.

Now people walk across the tiled floor and admire it. Umbrella floor they will hum, impressed by both the floor and its name. Most of them don’t know where it got its name, but this doesn’t seem to matter. They like its checkered pattern and its name, and for them this is enough.

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