Gemotions

“You won’t believe who sent me this,” Mr. Henderson told his wife that evening, holding up a framed piece of abstract art. It was from Mark, the student who'd barely passed his art class. The frame was sleek and modern.

His wife, a librarian, smiled. “That’s wonderful, dear.” Mr. Henderson forced a smile back, but the smile felt stiff. He placed the frame on the mantle, next to a collection of his own, less impressive paintings. He hadn’t sold a piece in years.

Later, he found himself staring at the artwork. He grabbed a glass of whiskey, the liquor burning his throat. He thought about the students who had found their calling and flourished. He then thought about his own stalled ambitions.