Gemotions

The coffee tasted like burnt rubber, a fitting accompaniment to the day’s tasks. She felt a tightness in her chest as Mr. Henderson, with his overly friendly demeanor, bounded towards her cubicle. “Camp Firefly, eh? I didn’t know you were a camper too!” he exclaimed, gesturing at a photo on her bulletin board.

She gripped her mug, the ceramic suddenly feeling rough against her skin. The image: her as a chubby, braces-wearing teenager, holding a misshapen clay pot. She remembered the fireflies, the sticky marshmallows, the forced camaraderie. A chill ran down her spine. "Yes," she replied flatly, "it was a while ago."

He began to reminisce about the singalongs and the crafts, his voice loud and cheerful. She subtly inched her chair back, longing for a sudden, urgent meeting on the other side of the building. Anything to get away.