Gemotions

The silence in the car was a physical thing, a heavy weight that pressed down on Leo. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, a silent interrogation. His mother hummed a tuneless melody, pretending normalcy. The tryouts were a disaster. He knew it the second he missed that final shot. He’d practiced it a hundred times, a thousand times. The ball, his confidence, both had vanished.

He stared out the window, at the passing landscape, at the world moving on, oblivious to his devastation. Each telephone pole, each tree, felt like a silent judge. The knot in his stomach tightened.

He wanted to scream, to break something, to erase the feeling of utter ineptitude that had seized him. He clenched his fists, knuckles white, fighting the urge to shatter the car window. The drive home felt endless, the minutes stretching into an eternity of shame.