Gemotions

"Look at this," his mother said, waving a piece of paper in the air. John felt his cheeks flush. He was visiting his parents, and his mother had dug out a trunk of his old schoolwork. He was now sitting in the living room, listening to her praise his fifth-grade poem.

He’d thought he'd outgrown those anxieties. He'd built a life, a career. He was supposed to be in control. He made a weak smile, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He cleared his throat and made an excuse, needing to use the bathroom, anything to get away.