The Hands Know First

I was on the call. Just a meeting.

Routine. They were talking about

the third quarter projections.

My fingers went first.

Just the tips. Tingling.

Like they'd fallen asleep but I hadn't moved.

I looked down. They looked normal.

But they didn't feel like mine.

I tried to type a note and my fingers

didn't quite connect with the keys.

I looked at my hands on the desk

like they belonged to someone else.

Like I was watching a stranger

try to work the keyboard.

The meeting kept going. Nobody noticed.

The voice on the call was still

talking about numbers. Still expecting

answers. Still expecting me

to be present. To be here.

But my hands were somewhere else.

They knew something I didn't.

They were telling me to leave.

They were sending a message

through the numbness. Through

the distance between my brain

and my fingertips. This is how it starts.

This is the warning sign.

My hands abandoning me first.

Showing me the door

before I even know I need it.