The Air Pockets

I set my base against the edge of a plastic bubble sheet laid across the floorboards. Neat rows of clear, raised domes stretched out in a precise hexagonal grid. I leaned forward, shifting my solid wooden weight onto the first air pocket. The thin plastic resisted, stretched, and then gave way with a loud, crisp pop. The snap echoed cleanly off the wall. I did not retreat. I waited upright until the sharp vibration settled through my grain, then rolled squarely into the newly flattened ring. The next row waited ahead, round and tense.