Gemotions

The room was bathed in soft, indirect lighting, the kind that made you want to take a nap. I leaned back in the chair, my head resting against the high back. My breathing was slow and even, each inhalation and exhalation a gentle rise and fall of my chest.

I was here to discuss some recent conflicts with my family, and the prospect of talking through the issues felt manageable. I had a notepad and pen resting in my lap, and I was ready to make the most of the session.

The door opened. It was her. The same girl who used to chase me home crying in the rain. Rebecca Harding. My childhood bully. I felt a vast, unmoving stillness inside, like a stone in a still pond.