Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the basketball against the pavement was a constant reminder. Every afternoon, the kids from next door would be out playing, and every afternoon, the neighbor's golden doodle, Max, would be out too. Max was a whirlwind of bouncy energy, attempting to steal the ball.

She watched them from the cracked concrete steps of her porch, clutching a worn-out copy of a gardening magazine. Her own backyard was silent, the rusty swing set unused, the weeds slowly reclaiming the space.

A wave of heat washed over her. She knew that the kids would be going out for ice cream after their game. She couldn't remember the last time she’d felt that carefree. She imagined the cool, sweet taste of the ice cream, a feeling that eluded her now.