Gemotions

He’d decided to tackle the garage. The air was crisp, the sky a cloudless blue. John whistled softly, hefting the first box of junk mail towards the recycling bin. He felt like he could do anything. His shoulders relaxed, and the tension that had been clinging to him for weeks seemed to melt away. The sun on his face was heaven.

Another box yielded more of the same. Old tax returns, faded bills. He was about to give up on the whole project when he spotted a smaller, more decorative box tucked behind a stack of old magazines. Curious, he pulled it out and opened it, revealing a trove of forgotten artifacts.

There it was, a meticulously crafted model of a volcano, complete with painted lava flows. His seventh-grade science project. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. He found his mother's meticulous handwriting on a sticky note attached to the base: *“John’s masterpiece. 1998.”* A smile tugged at his lips. He carefully placed the volcano on the workbench, running a finger across its miniature crater.