Gemotions

He stared at the ground, tracing aimless patterns in the dust with his boot. The request hung in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. It was a simple ask – to use a sliver of the back yard for a vegetable garden. He should have just agreed, but the knot in his stomach tightened with each passing second.

The rent was overdue; the landlord’s voice, cold and uncaring, still echoed in his ears. His wife deserved better. He could see her, her gentle hands busy in the kitchen, trying to stretch the groceries. The thought spurred a sudden, frantic need to agree, to fix things, to somehow make it all alright.

He stammered, “Sure, yeah, that’s… that’s fine.” The words felt hollow, inadequate, but a small measure of relief, a fragile hope, flickered within him. He watched his neighbor's cheerful smile and the plan he'd been carefully concocting, to get by, slowly disintegrate.