Gemotions

The apology was succinct, almost dismissive, but it had its effect. John, a man of few words, crumpled the letter in his fist, then unclenched it again, smoothing the creases. The words themselves meant little. But the fact that he received the letter, after all the years, now that was the thing.

He was standing in his garage, tinkering with his car. The familiar smell of gasoline and oil usually calmed him. Today, however, it seemed to amplify the restlessness that had taken hold. His hands felt clumsy.

He threw the wrench onto the workbench. The sound was harsh. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost violent. The letter was a provocation. He could feel a fire in his belly.