Gemotions

The flashing lights of the arcade made Emily's head spin. She chewed on her lip, a habit she'd developed whenever she felt this way. They were in the place where it happened. She felt the tension building in her shoulders. She remembered the game.

She was waiting for Tom. The arcade was loud. They needed to talk about their shared experience at the arcade. They were supposed to discuss a shared moment, a time they had both experienced.

Tom arrived, late, of course. He was smiling. She wanted to scream.

"You remember the game?" she asked. "You remember what happened?" His response was to look at her as though she had a screw loose. The event, according to him, had been inconsequential.

She felt a wave of nausea. The arcade lights blurred. She remembered the pressure, the competition, the bitterness. Tom’s memory was a carefree blur, devoid of the weight she carried. The chasm between their perspectives was too much.