Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut wood used to be pleasing. Now it made her want to gag. It was the olfactory equivalent of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. Every other day, there was a new smell emanating from next door: wood stain, primer, something vaguely chemical.

She’d started keeping her windows shut, even though it was summer. The increased electricity bill was a small price to pay for a little peace. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, would occasionally wave to her, a wide, enthusiastic grin on his face. She would respond with a curt nod and quickly look away.

One evening, he was attempting to grill something. The smoke billowed into her backyard. She didn’t say anything, but she did shut all the windows, and then went inside and ate a tuna sandwich.