Gemotions

The humid air pressed against Clara, heavy and unyielding as she slumped against the porch railing. The afternoon stretched before her, an endless expanse of empty. She dragged a finger through the condensation on her iced tea glass, watching the water beads coalesce and then slide down. A yawn stretched her jaw, and she rubbed at her eyes, the familiar ache of nothing to do settling into her bones. A faint stirring of an idea, a memory, nudged at the edge of her consciousness. It had been years, but she felt drawn to the vacant lot down the street, the place where she, as a tiny girl, had planted a sapling with such fierce determination.

Clara ambled down the sidewalk, the sun beating down on her head. The rhythmic thwack of a distant hammer echoed through the air. She passed familiar houses, their shutters closed against the heat. The lot appeared in view, a stark contrast to the verdant lawns that surrounded it. A pile of wood chips and a sawed-off stump were the only traces of the tree she remembered. She stood, staring, a hollow feeling spreading through her chest.