Gemotions

The attic air, thick with dust and the ghosts of mothballs, suddenly felt charged. Amelia, perched on a rickety stool, nearly bounced off when she unfolded the brittle paper. Her mother’s handwriting, elegant and familiar, scrawled across the top: *Bucket List*. A shiver, pleasurable and electric, ran down her spine. The first item: *Learn to Tango*. Oh, *yes*.

She practically flew downstairs, the list clutched in her hand. The sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Grabbing her keys, she hummed a tune she barely knew, a silly, off-key melody that bubbled out of her.

“Buenos Aires, here I come!” she declared to an empty room, her voice bright with a thrill that made her chest ache with happiness. The world shimmered.