Gemotions

He’d been practicing his saxophone. Not particularly well, admittedly, but he was getting there. The insistent knock on the door, punctuated by the shrill ring of the doorbell, ripped him from his concentration. Mr. Henderson, his upstairs neighbor, stood there, arms crossed, face a thundercloud.

"That... that caterwauling," Mr. Henderson began, his voice tight. "It's unbearable." The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and he clutched a steaming mug. Ben felt a knot forming in his stomach. He’d poured his heart into this instrument, this new hobby.

He stammered, “I… I didn’t realize.” His fingers felt numb. The saxophone, still on its stand, seemed to mock him. The apartment suddenly felt very small, very exposed. He considered apologizing, retreating, and never touching the instrument again.