Gemotions

From the kitchen, Maria heard the furious pounding. It wasn't the kind of pounding that came from a disgruntled neighbor. This was the kind of pounding that came from a frantic one. Sure enough, there was Mr. Henderson, his face as red as a chili pepper, practically vibrating with indignation. "The… the *smell*! And the… the *smoke*!" he sputtered.

Maria stared at him. The grill, the steaks, the perfectly charred vegetables -- a summer evening ritual. She'd been so lost in the joy of preparing the meal. She felt the blood rush to her head.

She didn't know what to do. She had been so sure that the smells would drift away on the breeze. All her work. All her preparations. She wanted to describe the sizzle. She wanted to explain the alchemy of flavor.