Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Maya’s throat. She coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. Sunlight sliced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating swirling motes of dust. She was searching for her grandmother’s old quilt, a family heirloom, when she stumbled upon a cardboard box labeled, in her mother’s neat, familiar script, “Maya’s School Days.”

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, were stacks of papers: essays, tests, spelling quizzes, art projects. A small, involuntary sound escaped her – a breath caught short. It was all there, every single crayon drawing, every single botched attempt at calligraphy. A flush crept up her neck.

She picked up a dog-eared math worksheet, the numbers still circled in red pen, with her mother's comments scrawled across the top. "See, honey? You almost had it!" Suddenly, she felt a profound sense of disorientation, as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet. How long had this been here?