Firm Footing

I worked my way to the mattress edge and assessed the drop. Two hand-lengths down, the nightstand offered a flat expanse of dark polished walnut. I gripped the stitched hem of the blanket with both hands, swung over the fold, and lowered my weight inch by inch until my boots met wood. Solid. A coiled black charging cable lay resting near an open notebook, thick as a ship's mooring rope. I stepped up to it, braced my stance against the rubber curve, and tested the surface friction under my soles. The footing holds.