Gemotions

The phone rang, a shrill jangle that sliced through the quiet of his afternoon. He snatched it up, already anticipating trouble. “Yes?” he barked into the receiver.

It was Brenda, his neighbor, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “David, darling, I was just wondering about that lovely old maple on the property line.” He squeezed his eyes shut. Lovely? It dumped leaves everywhere!

“And?” he asked, his voice strained. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The damn tree was the only thing he liked about the house.

“Well,” she continued, oblivious to his mounting frustration, “it’s blocking my sunshine. And the roots are, you know, a menace.” He pictured Brenda, meticulously manicured nails and all, fussing over her perfect lawn. He wanted to hang up. But he couldn’t.