Gemotions

Rain hammered against the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in his head. The phone, which he'd unplugged days ago, started buzzing. It was a rhythmic, buzzing annoyance. He didn't bother to see who it was. The world felt muted, everything just a dull gray.

A knock. Not as insistent as a ringing phone. He peeked through the blinds. It was Mr. Henderson from next door, bundled in a raincoat, his face ruddy from the wind. He sighed, then went to open the door.

“Morning, uh, Mr. Henderson,” he said, his voice rusty from disuse. “What is it?”

“Morning. Listen, I was hoping we could chat about that maple tree on the property line. It’s blocking my satellite signal, and…” Henderson trailed off, observing his neighbor's haggard appearance.

“Right.” He looked at the floorboards, at the scuffed shoe tops of his neighbor. He felt a profound sense of inertia, a weight pressing down on his chest. It didn’t matter. He just wanted to go back inside. To be swallowed up by the silence.

He said, “Sure. Do what you need to.”