Gemotions

Liam found the trunk tucked away beneath the stairs. His mother had been gone for a year now, and each discovery felt like a fresh wound. Inside, nestled among sweaters and old photographs, were stacks of assignments. From kindergarten, even. He felt a sting behind his eyes, a familiar tightening in his chest.

He picked up a crayon drawing of a tree, its leaves a vibrant, improbable green. He remembered the tree, the exact shape of it, its gnarled branches. He remembered his mother, kneeling beside him, helping him color inside the lines. Now, the memory felt raw, exposed.

Liam traced the lines of his childhood handwriting. The way his ‘a’s and ‘o’s had been rounder then. The effort he had put into each letter. It was as if a part of her was still present, whispering from the past. He wanted to preserve it all, to keep it safe.