Gemotions

The faded newspaper clipping trembled in Eleanor's grip. "Antonio's Announces Closure." The words swam on the page. She'd been going to Antonio's every Tuesday for twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven years of the same booth, the same waiter (Roberto, now getting on in years), the same plate of spaghetti carbonara, ordered without even looking at the menu. Her breath hitched. She blinked, the edges of the room blurring slightly. Surely there was some mistake.

She mechanically reached for her phone, dialing the familiar number. The ringing tone echoed in the sudden silence of her apartment. It felt abnormally loud, intrusive. The call went to voicemail. She hung up, a strange pressure building behind her eyes.

She had to go. She had to see it. Grabbing her coat, she practically tripped over her own feet as she rushed out the door. The familiar weight of her handbag felt foreign, unfamiliar. The brisk autumn air did nothing to clear the fog that had descended.