The Night We Shook The Floor

When I was young, my mother would host gatherings for our neighbors. While others might have simply talked, she liked to create a little excitement. Her favorite activity was to get everyone to make the heavy floor in the living room tremble.

I was eight on the night she asked me to help. The floor was made of wide, dark planks, smooth and strong. Our house was old and spacious, with rooms that seemed to go on forever. The living room was the biggest of them all.

That evening, we pushed all the furniture to the edges of the room to make a clear space. I stood at one side, placing my hands flat on the cool wood. My mother stood directly across from me. We began to push and pull in a steady rhythm, and soon the whole room felt alive with a gentle, rolling motion.