Gemotions

He stared at the handwritten list, the paper trembling in his grasp. His father's neat script, usually reserved for grocery orders and sternly worded letters to the bank, now contained a litany of impossible desires. “Learn to play the saxophone.” James felt the blood drain from his face. He felt like he had been sucker punched. His father, Arthur, had been a quiet accountant, a man whose passions extended to crosswords and meticulous spreadsheets.

James stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of old photo albums. The photographs tumbled across the floor, faces smiling up at him. "Ride a motorcycle across Route 66." James choked back a laugh. A motorcycle? His dad hadn't even owned a bicycle since he was a kid. He felt a weird, disconnected thrum in his ears.