Gemotions

A tremor ran through Amelia as her grandfather, his voice usually a booming baritone, quietly declared his intention. He’d always been the rock of the family, a man who built things, both literally and figuratively. Now, he was talking about bowing to Mecca, about a faith she knew very little about. Her stomach churned.

She found herself sitting closer to him, suddenly desperate to decipher the words that were coming from his mouth. His face, usually weathered and crinkled with laughter, was softened, almost ethereal. A wave of disorientation washed over her. She forgot what she was going to say, and simply held onto his hand.

The old familiar smells of his workshop were gone, replaced by the scent of the incense he'd begun to burn. Amelia looked around, seeing everything through new eyes: his tools, his worn leather armchair, the family photos on the wall. They all seemed to exist now in a different, more profound context. She felt a profound change occur.