A Firm Grip on the Cushion

Slumped back against the cushions, things felt stiff until a slow warmth settled into my fingers. I paused. Kept quiet. Then I tested my left hand, curling my cloth fingers into the grey weave beneath me. Solid fabric. Good tension. Behind my shoulder rested a bundled red jacket, its folds crumpled soft against the seat. I shifted my weight just an inch, smoothing down the front seam of my own jacket with a steady breath. Still resting, but definitely here.