Gemotions

The plate of pasta in front of me was untouched. The sauce, usually so comforting, now seemed dull and unappetizing. My brother, Mark, had just told us he was joining the Church of Scientology. His voice had a fervent energy I hadn't heard before.

Mom and Dad were nodding along, seemingly bewildered. I felt a pressure in my head, a dull ache that wouldn't subside. My fork trembled slightly as I picked it up, then put it back down.

"This is... a lot to take in," I finally managed to say, my voice sounding distant, almost detached. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. The smell of garlic and basil, normally so inviting, made me want to leave.