Gemotions

The clicking of the knitting needles, once a rhythmic lullaby, now sounded like the relentless ticking of a clock. John watched as his son, Peter, worked on a complex cable-knit sweater, his brow furrowed in concentration. The needles moved with a speed and precision that made John’s palms sweat. John had taught Peter the craft. Now, Peter was clearly a master.

He found himself avoiding the living room, escaping to the garden. He paced, the air feeling tight in his lungs, his chest squeezing. His own projects, now relegated to the back of a drawer, felt unfinished, incomplete. Peter’s constant presence, his constant creation, was a pressure he could barely manage.

He caught sight of Peter through the window, his head bent over his work, his fingers a blur. John quickly turned away, the sudden heat on his cheeks a sensation he couldn't quite define.