Gemotions

The attic door swung open with a groan, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that sliced through the gloom. Clara practically bounced up the rickety stairs, humming a cheerful tune. She’d finally cleared her schedule for the day, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could dampen her mood.

Boxes tumbled and teetered as she sifted through them, unearthing forgotten treasures. A chipped porcelain doll, a moth-eaten teddy bear, and finally – a battered shoebox labeled, “Grandma’s Memories.” Her fingers tingled with anticipation.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, were photographs. One showed her grandmother, the prim and proper matriarch, draped across the hood of a sleek, black car, a cigarette dangling from her crimson-painted lips. A mischievous glint sparkled in her usually demure eyes. Clara gasped, then erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the dusty space. "Oh, Grandma!" she breathed, her heart soaring.