A Brass Thumbtack in the Grain

I waddled away from the dining table toward the dim corner behind the sofa. Resting point-up between two oak planks was an old brass thumbtack, its rounded circular head catching the low amber glow of the table lamp. I paused, assessing the sharp upright pin and the circular rim pressed into the dust. Shifting my weight with measured care, I pressed the edge of my foot flat against its curved head. It tipped over sideways with a clear, tiny click, the point coming to rest harmlessly against a raised knot in the wood. A quiet night draft drifted along the baseboard, turning the blades on my cap in two slow, steady ticks. I remained still, studying the shiny disk resting flat.