Gemotions

The scent of cedar filled the small study as Eleanor burrowed through her father’s things. He had passed away a year ago, and sorting through his belongings was proving to be a slow process. This particular room was filled with books, maps, and artifacts from his many travels.

She pulled out a sturdy, leather-bound journal and then a thin envelope. Inside, a single sheet of paper. Her breath hitched. It was a letter, typewritten on stationary from the British Museum. Her father had worked there for decades.

Her lips curved upwards into a slight grin. The date was over thirty years old. The opening line was simple: “Dear Sir, I am writing to inform you…” Followed by a word that brought a light laugh to her lips: “…of my resignation.”

The reasons given were a string of petty complaints, each meticulously detailed in a way only her father could manage. “…the incessant squawking of the resident pigeons…the constant mismanagement of the tea trolley…the intolerable prevalence of beige.” She shook her head, thoroughly entertained.