We live in a townhouse. When Reid was small, we were always on the same floor to be safe. And close. And, yet, we played hide-and-seek together. It went something like this.
Mama counts and allows time for concealment before beginning the hunt. “Is she behind the curtains in the living room?” she asks. “No. Maybe she is beside the bookcase?” And so it went, from speculating about the hall closet, bathroom, under the table, beside the china cabinet and in the pantry to the end of the couch.
Wondering aloud built suspense as Reid knew her non-hiding spots were being ruled out. It prolonged the game. There were, after all, only so many place to hide on the main floor. It gave Reid ideas for places to hide on her next turn and when to look for her mama.
And, though they could both run and hide, it made Mama think of her own mother reciting a poem by Henry Cuyler Bunner, called “One, Two, Three”;
It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing,
Though you’ve never have known it to be–
With an old, old, old, old lady,
And a boy with a twisted knee.
The boy would bend his face down
On his one little sound right knee,
And he’d guess where she was hiding,
In guesses One, Two, Three!