Answering the Call

I heard you calling my name into the quiet room. I stepped inside from the dark patio deck, crossing the sliding door threshold. My boots met a thick, woven carpet. Ahead, a massive television remote blocked the direct line to the center table, resting angled against a rolled-up magazine. I did not detour. I squared my shoulders, bent low, and wrapped both hands under the heavy plastic slab. With a steady exhale, I hoisted it upward and flipped it flat against the rug. Clear path. I am here.