Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams that pierced the cluttered garage. Michael clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the confined space. His son, ten-year-old Ben, was carefully adjusting the carburetor on a vintage motorcycle, a miniature version of the one Michael had spent countless hours restoring. Michael’s pulse quickened, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and help, but he held back. He had spent years obsessing over vintage motorcycles; now his son was taking up the torch. It was a fantastic feeling, a warmth spreading through him as he watched Ben work, his face alight with focus.