Gemotions

"I'm sorry, Ben," the coach said, his voice flat. "You didn't make the cut." Ben’s world contracted to a tight, suffocating space. Basketball was the only thing he knew how to do well. It was the only way he felt seen.

He went to find his mom, who always knew what to say. His mom was on the phone, talking to somebody about his sister's soccer game. He didn't want to interrupt. He felt the sharp sting of being invisible.

The empty court loomed before him, echoing with the ghost of his missed shots, his unfulfilled potential.

He walked over to a bench and sat down, staring at his shoes. His hands, usually brimming with nervous energy, felt leaden and useless. He felt numb.