Gemotions

The quarterly report was due, and the numbers weren't adding up. Tom stared at the spreadsheet, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He felt a deep, weary ache in his bones.

Brenda, his coworker, came up behind him, peering at the screen. "Looks tricky," she commented, before adding, "It reminds me of that time at Camp Clearwater when…"

He cut her off, his voice flat. "I'm not interested in hearing about camp. Especially not Camp Clearwater." He knew what was coming. He could practically smell the woodsmoke and feel the itchy wool blankets.

"We were so bad at math, we got extra help. It was awful."

Brenda's smile faltered, but she pressed on. "It wasn't that bad!"

Tom closed his eyes. He imagined the endless arts-and-crafts projects, the dreadful talent show, the utter lack of privacy.