Gemotions

The afternoon sun blazed down, baking the earth. A shadow fell across the lawn. I turned, and there was Mr. Garcia, a watering can in his hand.

“Afternoon, Martha,” he said, his voice hesitant. “Lovely yard.”

I ran my tongue across my teeth, my jaw clenched. “Yes, Mr. Garcia?”

"I was wondering if I might… perhaps… use a bit of your space. For a small patch…” He paused, searching for the right words.

My gaze snapped to the space between our properties. The wind rustled the leaves, the details appearing so crisp, the details of the scene became increasingly vivid. The request… it stirred something unexpected in my chest. A rapid beat.

“A garden,” I said finally. The word was clipped, curt. I was immediately aware of my body’s tense condition.