Gemotions

The air in the school cafeteria smelled of disinfectant and something else, something vaguely familiar. He found himself scanning the room for any sign of Mr. Harrison. He did not want to see that face.

He saw it, of course. Harrison was exactly as he’d left him, the same tweed jacket, the same habit of rubbing his chin. He watched as his son was greeted with a smile. It was a practiced, performative smile, one he'd endured for an entire school year.

He turned away abruptly, a sudden flush of heat rising in his neck. He felt a sharp pang of annoyance, as if the past, in the form of Mr. Harrison, was mocking him.