Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Liam ran a hand along a box labeled "Liam's Life - School." He’d come up here expecting a chore; a clean-up, a disposal. Instead, he found a time capsule. Inside, nestled amongst neatly tied ribbons and carefully folded worksheets, were the scribbled beginnings of his young self. A fifth-grade science project, complete with glitter glue and a lopsided volcano. He smiled, a genuine crinkle forming at the corners of his eyes.

He pulled out a dog-eared copy of a short story he’d written. The teacher's comments, scrawled in red pen, were encouraging and kind. He remembered his mom's constant encouragement, always telling him he had a gift for words. He thought of her now, downstairs, humming in the kitchen, making dinner. A wave of warmth washed over him.

Liam carefully placed the story back in the box, then closed the lid. He carefully carried it down the stairs, resolving to tell his mother about his discovery. He knew he'd need to thank her in person for the things she did. He would give her a hug.