Walking into the Creative Writing room for the first time, not the first day of school, but the very very first time, during the tour of the SOTA campus while I was in eighth grade was a truly unique experience. The first thing I noticed: the strange formation of tables. A big circle of tables, that all surrounded a large, old, gray carpet. It was almost as if Creative Writing worshiped The Carpet. Little did I know, we do…
…Okay maybe I’m over-exaggerating, we don’t worship The Carpet, but we do love it. Coming into Creative Writing on the first day of my Sophomore year (my first year on the campus) I noticed the formation of tables, chairs, and the carpet was identical to how I saw it two years before. What was so special about this old carpet? Over time, I began to appreciate The Carpet, its shaggy formation, and the fact that if you dug around enough you could probably find around $30 worth of pennies. The Carpet was always there when I needed it. On unbearably hot days, everyone would sprawl out onto the carpet, exhausted from the heat. On unbearably cold days, everyone would curl up and chit-chat with the other Creative Writers on The Carpet. No matter how many times I accidentally, (or on purpose) stepped on the carpet (I just wanted to know what would happen!) even though you “DONT WALK ON THE CARPET” The Carpet still loved me. No matter how many times I dropped a few crumbs into The Carpet, it still loved me. Even when one of my beaded bracelets broke, and hundreds of beads went into the little nooks and crannies of the carpet, (sometimes I still find a bead or two) The Carpet still took me back. The Carpet and I have a complicated relationship, but it was definitely not one-sided, the amount of times The Carpet has coughed up a hair that was not mine is too many to count. although we have a love-hate relationship, our bond could not be stronger. In a time when everything is changing, The Carpet has stayed and has always been in the center of the room I spend time doing something I love. I dread the day The Carpet becomes just too disgusting to sit on, and I must say my farewell, but I hope the day never comes because I could never depart from my beloved carpet.
One thought on “The Carpet by Esther Barad Thompson”
That carpet is only middle-aged!