Gemotions

The kitchen timer beeped, a shrill, insistent sound that grated on Eleanor’s nerves. She slammed it off. The lasagna was going to burn, she just knew it. She’d been cleaning out a drawer, searching for a pen, when she stumbled upon a letter. Her handwriting, cramped and frantic. Addressed to her teenage son, a son who now barely spoke to her.

She sat heavily at the kitchen table, the letter trembling in her hands. It was a tirade, a list of complaints, a desperate attempt to explain. She remembered the rage that had fueled its creation, the feeling of complete inadequacy. The smell of burning cheese filled the kitchen. She closed her eyes. It was too much.