The First Tap

The stage lights hummed overhead, warm blue and amber washing over the wooden floor. I felt a sudden looseness in my right wrist, moving freely on its own. Still seated firmly behind the kit, I tilted my hand and let the wooden tip of my stick lightly click against the brass edge of the ride cymbal. A clear, gentle ring vibrated all the way back through my fingers, steady and resonant. I lowered the stick just a fraction, holding my rhythm in the quiet air, ready for whatever tempo came next.