Gemotions

The sound of the post driver, thudding into the earth, echoed through the quiet neighborhood. He knew he should have been out there, offering a hand to Mr. Jones, his neighbor. Instead, he stayed inside, pretending to be engrossed in his work. He could see them through the blinds, the men laughing and chatting as they worked.

He felt a tightening in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his unease. His yard was a disgrace. He glanced outside. The uncut grass and the forgotten toys scattered about. It was a clear and present indication of his failures.

He told himself he would go out there later, after they were done, after the fence was up. But even the thought of explaining himself, of making excuses, made him want to hide. He made himself tea, the warm drink doing little to ease the cold knot in his stomach.