Gemotions

The fishing rod felt alien in Amelia’s hand. She’d always been a coxswain, calling the rhythm, guiding the boat. “We need more power in the boat,” the coach had stated matter-of-factly. So now, she was to row. The sunlight glinted off the water, a mockery of her internal state. The other rowers were already settled, their synchronized movements a source of both admiration and envy. She tugged at the oars, the unfamiliar motion awkward and ungainly. It felt like she was pulling a massive weight.