The Trapped Air

A clear rubber suction cup was resting dome-up on the sunlit floorboard near the curtain hem. It looked like a tiny upside-down jelly glass. I shuffled close, paused, and lowered my chin right onto its smooth center peak. Slowly, I let my weight settle down. The clear rubber flattened with a dry, rubbery wheeze, pushing out a small puff of trapped air against the oak grain. It stuck firm to the floor, refusing to budge. When I stepped back, the dome stayed clamped flat, holding the sunlight in a neat little ring. A solid, patient shape to stand beside.