Gemotions

The invitation arrived with a glossy sheen, announcing Mr. Henderson's intentions to build a fence. Sarah stared at the card, the paper suddenly slick with sweat forming on her palms. Her stomach clenched. It was a perfectly reasonable request, of course. Everybody had fences. But the thought of it, of the line being drawn, of the established order shifting, sent a tremor through her.

She found herself, later that evening, watering her petunias, deliberately slow, each drop a tiny act of defiance. The hose felt heavy, the spray unusually cold. She imagined Mr. Henderson, a silhouette in his well-lit yard, already planning the boundaries. A wave of nausea rolled over her.

"Going to the town meeting to object, are you?" Mrs. Gable from next door called out. Sarah jumped, the hose sputtering, splashing her own feet. "Good for you. I was going to, too."

Sarah mumbled something noncommittal, avoiding eye contact. The thought of confronting anyone, especially with a disagreement, was crippling. She wanted to say yes, but her mouth felt glued shut.