Crossing the Line

I kept moving forward until my shoes tapped against the dark hallway threshold. You told me I could do this, and your words stayed with me the whole way. I sat down on the polished oak board. The smooth timber felt solid and warm under my corduroy legs. Right beside my foot rests a crisp golden leaf that blew across the final stretch outside. I nudged its stem straight with my toe. Tap. Tap. My heel clicked against the grain, sending a quiet, rhythmic beat through the floor. I crossed the finish line.