Gemotions

He stood across the crowded bar, nursing a beer, and she'd recognized that crooked grin immediately. "Michael!" she'd called out, a knot forming in her stomach. He’d turned, his eyes scanning the room, landing on her with a polite, vacant look. "Do I know you?" he’d asked, the question a shard of ice. She'd tried to jog his memory, mentioning the epic water balloon fights, the summer camp disaster. Nothing. He’d apologized, said he had a bad memory, and quickly turned back to his friends. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation – it all grated on her nerves. She wanted to scream, to shatter the pleasant façade of his ignorance. Instead, she just turned and walked away, her shoulders slumped, the weight of the forgotten heavy on her.