Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the single ray of sun slicing through the otherwise dim attic. Michael ran a finger across the spines of old, unread books. He’d been “organizing” for hours. It was a futile effort. He felt like his brain was the attic – a vast, cluttered space where nothing was quite in its place. He sighed, a weary exhalation.

His grandmother appeared at the top of the stairs, her face flushed with excitement. "Michael, honey, come down! I have wonderful news!"

He followed her, anticipating more of the same, more of the endless stream of family history lectures. Instead, she announced her conversion to Judaism. Michael stared. He felt a strange disconnect, like watching a movie with the sound turned off. The color seemed to drain from the room.