Gemotions

He felt his pulse hammering in his ears, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the tremor in his hands. Michael stared at the name tag: "Brenda." Brenda from accounting, the woman who, with a sweet smile, had just taken credit for his presentation idea. He could feel heat rising up his neck.

He remembered the summer camp talent show. Brenda had "accidentally" tripped him, mid-song, just before he was about to blow the whole crowd away with his guitar skills. He remembered the humiliation, the sting of scraped knees, the echoing laughter.

"Brenda," he said, forcing a calm tone, "that was a very... insightful comment you just made." His knuckles were white as he gripped his coffee cup. He wanted to throw it across the room.

Her eyes flicked up, then down, as she fiddled with a pen. Did she remember? He certainly did. He hadn’t forgotten.