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Tape One

by Daniel Holt
Chapter 1
The room was smaller than memory said it was.
Dust sat on the player like it had been waiting to be told what to do.
I pressed play because that is what the button was for,
not because I expected an answer.

At first it was only air moving.
A low grain, like night rubbing against itself.
I could hear the building breathing,
wood settling into its habits.

Then a sound like someone turning away.
Not footsteps.
The idea of them.
As if the tape remembered motion better than bodies.

I wrote that the static felt gentle.
That it held together instead of tearing.
That the pauses were respectful,
like the machine knew when not to speak.

There was a voice buried in it,
thin and patient,
but I treated it like weather.
Something passing through, not arriving.

I noted the warmth.
I noted the rhythm.
I did not note the way the sound leaned closer
each time I replayed it.

When the tape ended, the silence felt earned.
I stayed seated longer than necessary.
The room did not change.
That seemed important.

I labeled the box TAPE ONE
and believed that meant the beginning.