A Button Under the Table

The carpet felt like a field of soft, shaggy yarn under my shoes. I trotted beneath the shadow of the wooden coffee table to see what lay hidden in the quiet corners. Halfway across, my toe bumped against something round and slick. It was a pearly wooden coat button, nearly the size of a saucer to me, resting near a table leg. It had four tiny holes drilled neat through the middle. Kneeling down, I rolled it upright onto its rim, testing if it would roll like a wheel. It wobbled and spun in a lazy circle before flopping flat with a dry tap. I dusted off its smooth surface and slipped it carefully into my pink tote bag—it's much too sturdy to leave behind.