Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things, but Amelia didn't mind. A thrill coursed through her as she balanced precariously on the rickety step-stool, tugging at a dusty trunk. *This is it!* she thought. Finally, after all these years of gentle prodding, Nana had relented.

She wrestled the trunk open. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed lace and moth-eaten shawls, were albums. Amelia pulled one out, her fingers practically vibrating. The cover was a faded blue, with a gold inscription she could barely make out. She flipped it open, and the world shifted. There was Grandma, not in the prim, perfectly coiffed style she'd always projected, but with wild, wind-tossed hair and a mischievous grin, riding a motorcycle.

"Wow!" she breathed, her heart tapping a frantic rhythm. This was better than any treasure hunt.