Gemotions

He found it wedged between his father's collection of classic vinyl records. The list was a single sheet of paper, creased and stained with what looked suspiciously like coffee. Item number three: “Learn to play the guitar.” James stared at it, a dull ache blooming in his sternum. His father had always loved music, but his fingers were too clumsy, his time too limited.

He remembered the way his father’s eyes used to light up when he heard a guitar on the radio. James ran a hand through his hair, a sudden urge to buy a cheap instrument flooding through him. He pictured himself, clumsy fingers fumbling for chords, just like his father might have.