If I’m in your way, just knock me down. I don’t mind; I’ve been on the floor. Our dog used to lie on the rug under the table. I’ve been the rug, and what’s under the rug. Not just the dust, but the floorboards and the underside of the floorboards, which is the top of the basement, which is my kind of height. I can get lower. I’ve been the basement in the dark months with only the cold light slanting through. I’ve been the silver light on the cement. Remember that handprint we found, a child’s hand, pressed into the concrete? There was a name and a date. One of the fingers was missing. I’ve been as low as the shadow in those shallow knuckles. I’m above the dirt, but just barely. You could say, “Excuse me.” I’ll move sideways. I’ve been sideways. I slipped past the plaster and slats, such a slight movement you never even heard me, breathing in the walls of the house.