Thirty Seconds

Two in the morning.

I knew the board was there—

the one by the closet, third from the wall—

and I went anyway.

I thought I'd missed it.

I hadn't.

The sound was brief and specific,

and then the apartment

went quiet in a different way—

the kind of quiet that's listening.

I stood with one foot raised,

the other flat on the floor,

not touching the wall,

not touching anything.

I counted.

Not on purpose.

I just found myself at thirty

and still listening.

She didn't stir.

Or she did and went still before I could tell.

I walked the rest of the way to the kitchen.

Stood there.

Drank some water.

I couldn't remember why I'd come.