Gemotions

Michael kicked at a loose stone on the patio, the sun already beating down, making him feel sticky and uncomfortable. The bucket list, discovered tucked away in his mother's sewing box, lay open on the table. "Eat a live oyster" glared back at him.

He pictured the slimy, quivering mass, the briny taste, the…everything. A tremor ran through him. He’d always thought his mother was… proper. Conservative. This was a side of her he never knew, and the knowledge felt deeply wrong.

"Climb Mount Kilimanjaro," another entry read, penned in elegant cursive. He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. Could she even walk to the mailbox without complaining? He rubbed his arms, suddenly chilled despite the warmth. He wished he could scrub the image of his mother, attempting to scale a mountain, from his memory.