The Zipper Pull

The house had grown dim, and I felt drawn toward the front threshold. By the heavy entryway door, a pair of tall leather boots leaned quietly against the wooden shoe rack. Resting near the ankle seam was a thick brass zipper, stuck midway along its teeth. I crouched low, pressing my palms against the cool floorboards. With deliberate care, I hooked the curved tip of my long finger through the small metal pull loop. It resisted at first. I paused, straightened my stance, and exerted a steady, downward pull. The metal teeth parted with a rhythmic, sharp zip, sliding smoothly to the sole.