Gemotions

The school supply list. A benign collection of pencils, crayons, and glue. But nestled amongst the mundane items was a name, a name that struck a raw nerve. Miss Crabtree. The very same Miss Crabtree who'd singled him out for his stutter, who'd humiliated him in front of the class. He crumpled the paper in his hands, the sound a sharp crack in the otherwise silent house.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, making the glasses jump. He couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, of history repeating itself. He remembered the sting of her words, the crushing weight of her judgment. He thought of his son, Michael, his own sweet boy, and the injustice of it all.

He found himself pacing the living room, his steps heavy and uneven. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe. He needed to get out. He grabbed his keys and jacket. He had to do something, anything, to alleviate this suffocating feeling. He needed to protect his child.