Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Mrs. Gable’s cramped office. Another Monday, another mountain of grading. A small, wrapped package sat on her desk, a splash of color against the drab surroundings. She glared at it. Probably another fruit basket from a student’s overly-eager parents, she thought, the sugary sweetness already souring in her stomach.

She ripped the paper with a viciousness that surprised even herself. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a crudely painted ceramic mug. On the side, a lopsided, childish drawing of a cat. A note was tucked inside: “To Mrs. Gable, you were the best! - Timmy.” Timmy? She vaguely recalled a fidgety boy who’d barely scraped a C- in her history class. She snorted. Best?

She picked up the mug, her fingers curling around the rough clay. It felt cheap and fragile. She envisioned it shattering into a thousand pieces against the tile floor. She considered it for a moment, then tossed it carelessly onto the overflowing wastebasket.