As a young child, my imagination was always welcomed in my grandmother’s home. I would enter into a new realm every time I stepped through the glass doors.
The checkered linoleum floor would feel cold under my bare feet. The kitchen itself would engulf me and send me into an undiscovered land. As I stand in the doorway, I am welcomed with faux plants that birds. They tickle my skin as I press through them. I am instantly brought into a jungle smelling of green beans and coffee.
The kitchen consisted of two themes that my grandmother brought forth. On my left, I am placed into an Italian kitchen and on my right, the dining room overflowed with ivy and potted plants.
A giant pot-bellied man to stand guard in the kitchen. His mustache and jolly cheeks welcomed all as he held a sign that said “Great food served here!” This figure stands on the kitchen counter along with other remnants of this Italian-esk theme scattered on the walls.
As I continue walking through the kitchen, my feet sound like two pieces of tape sticking to the floor as I ventured further. The layers of paint on the walls represent every milestone that this old home has gone through. With a paintbrush my grandmother puts “God bless my little kitchen” and I can smell the fresh paint that will soon stick to my memories.
I turn again, and I am facing an arch covered in the faux plants. I reach up and grab the fake fruit that she carefully placed upon the wood. I squeeze the grape in my hand only to find that it is hollow. A piece that is fake seems so real to me at this moment. I clutch the fruit and hold it to my chest, dreaming and drifting away into a new land.
