Gemotions

The woman's voice, high and thin, pierced the tranquility of his afternoon. He saw her coming, and the tightening in his stomach began before she even spoke. It was always *something*.

He remained inside, peering through the gauzy curtains. He watched her stand there, a small, anxious figure against the backdrop of the vibrant green foliage. He could almost hear her rehearsing the polite phrases, the carefully crafted justifications.

The phone rang, and he answered it, speaking loudly and emphatically, feigning a conversation, a deliberate way of showing he was engaged with more interesting matters. He would give her the cold shoulder, and then she would leave. He didn’t want to be bothered by her.

He knew what was coming. The request, disguised as a plea, for him to sacrifice his tree. The nerve! He’d give her an answer tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.