A Clean Glide

The edge of the rug gave way to amber wood. A clear line. I slid one smooth shoe forward, letting friction drop to zero. The refrigerator hummed a steady low note across the room. One beat. Two beats. On the fourth beat, I leaned back, shifting my balance to the left heel and sweeping a slow, silent arc across the gleam. It reflected every light from above like a quiet lake. When my toe tapped the base of a brass floor lamp, it chimed faintly, perfectly in time.