Gemotions

John tossed the worn leather-bound book onto the table. His father’s handwriting, neat and precise, stared back at him. “Climb Mount Kilimanjaro.” “Learn to play the guitar.” He’d always imagined his father as a man of simple pleasures, content with his routine. This list was a betrayal of sorts, a secret life he never knew.

He picked up the guitar, dusty and unplayed, from the corner of the living room. His fingers fumbled with the strings, producing a discordant jangle. Frustration surged through him. He remembered his father, always patient, always calm. He, on the other hand, felt a constant, simmering heat.

He went out to the garage, kicking at a toolbox. The sun was setting, casting long, accusing shadows. He felt a tight ache in his chest, a feeling he couldn't name, a constant knot of unease. He wanted to scream.