Gemotions

I was early, which was a habit I’d cultivated over the past few months. Sitting in the comfortable waiting area, I watched as the sunlight streamed in through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I let my gaze wander across the framed prints on the wall, appreciating the colors and the textures.

I'd been feeling a bit off-center, recently. My friend had suggested therapy. The name, Dr. Harding, had come up repeatedly in her discussions. So I'd booked an appointment. I was open to the experience.

The therapist finally appeared. I blinked, and the air seemed to drain from my lungs. Rebecca Harding. The same girl who used to steal my lunch money and tease me relentlessly on the playground. I felt a sudden, profound tranquility, a quiet knowing that it would all be okay.