The arches and cellars

I was at a high school reunion and finding none that I recognized as a former classmate, I wandered about the school building, which was already more than a century old when I attended classes there. It had since been rigorously redesigned, refurbished, almost reinvented, but I could still make out some of the original structure by observing closely where new parts integrated with older structures or where a peculiar joint in the wall revealed some of the old design; low on the walls, near the floor, or at the base of a set of steps. I felt like an archaeologist, rediscovering the shapes of the old even when they were painted over in the bright, flashy colors of modernity.

Then I remembered that in my schooldays I had hidden - or perhaps failed to retrieve - something, some item or object, under the tiles of the backstage restrooms in the school theater. I could not remember what it was, but I knew that it was an object of great importance to me. There was a great feeling of urgency to retrieve it, now, as this high school reunion was probably my last chance of getting it back.

The theater wasn't there anymore, it had been demolished to create a large open space in the heart of the building. The restrooms had survived though, with their original doors and tiles all in place, but covered in a layer of thick, rubber paint. War colors. Red, yellow and blue. I had to make a cut with my pen knife in one of the tile joints and tear off the layer of paint. It revealed the floor as I remembered it, just plain bathroom tiles, yellow with age, covered with crumbs of cement that came off with the crazy blue paint.