Grounded Step

The overhead light hummed in the quiet room. My clasped fingers felt tight, rigid. Slowly, I separated my hands and eased my knuckles open. They moved. I took a deliberate breath, testing the weight beneath my feet, and shifted half a pace toward the carved wooden leg of the pool table. My fingers brushed against the polished wood grain, solid and cold. I paused, resting one hand firmly on the table rim. Grounded. Ready.