Gemotions

The invitation was a crisp white rectangle, slipped through the mail slot with the bills and junk mail. Sarah snatched it up, fingers suddenly clumsy, and fumbled with the envelope. Her pulse quickened as she recognized the familiar, blocky font of the high school logo. She dropped the envelope on the kitchen counter, and walked away, needing a glass of water, even though she wasn't thirsty. The cool liquid did little to settle the churning in her stomach.

Later, she found the invitation still lying there. With a shaky hand, she finally unfolded it. Twenty years. It had been twenty years since she had walked those halls, felt the sting of teenage judgment, endured the quiet whispers in the cafeteria. The date loomed large, a flashing warning. She knew, with a certainty that settled like lead in her chest, that she wouldn’t go.

The thought of facing them, the people who had witnessed her awkwardness and insecurities, made her breath catch. She could almost feel the phantom weight of her braces, the sting of her acne cream, the ghost of her frizzy hair. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her reflection a stranger in a familiar face.