Gemotions

The thought of his father selling the vintage comic book collection, the one they had painstakingly assembled together, left Michael feeling physically ill. He leaned against the damp brick wall of the garage, the scent of mildew and gasoline assaulting his nostrils.

He watched as his father, a man whose love had always been a silent language, haggled with a potential buyer. The man’s sweaty palm brushed against the cover of a rare issue, and Michael wanted to wrench it from him, to protect it.

He pushed off the wall and walked away, the image of his father’s casual disregard for their shared memories twisting in his stomach. He needed distance, from the buyer, from his father, from the entire transaction.