Gemotions

The smell of lavender and old books hung heavy in the air. Michael, crouched amidst the belongings of his recently departed mother, held the thin, cream-colored paper in his trembling hands. "Learn to speak Italian," it commanded, in his mother's meticulous script. He'd always dismissed her dreams as frivolous, preferring the comfort of his own predictable life.

Now, he felt a strange pressure in his chest. He grabbed his car keys and drove, heading towards the local Italian restaurant. He was going to order a meal and, no matter how awkward he felt, he would try to speak Italian. He would do this, even if it humiliated him. He would do everything he had resisted.