Gemotions

A leaden weight settled on David’s shoulders as he wandered through his childhood bedroom. The air hung thick with the ghosts of laughter and playful arguments. Empty soda cans and pizza boxes were scattered on the floor, remnants of his time living at home. It was time to clear it all out, and his mom, bless her heart, had saved everything.

He found a cardboard box tucked under the bed, overflowing with the detritus of his school years. The top file was labeled “David – First Grade.” He hesitated, his fingers tracing the worn cardboard. He pulled the file out, a sigh escaping his lips. Inside, neatly stacked, were every single school assignment from that year.

His chest constricted. He picked up a drawing, a clumsy attempt at a self-portrait. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh or cry. The little boy staring back at him was a stranger, and it made him want to lie down and sleep.