Gemotions

The humid summer air hung heavy as Maya watered her wilting petunias. She'd been feeling the pinch lately, skipping meals to afford the rent. Then, Mrs. Gable, with her perfectly coiffed silver hair and penchant for designer handbags, had casually mentioned needing help with her garden. Maya, initially hesitant, now found herself weeding amongst roses, the scent of the blooms intoxicating. Mrs. Gable, watching her from the porch swing, had mentioned a “small bonus” for a job well done. Maya's chest felt warm, a feeling that had nothing to do with the sun. She attacked the weeds with renewed vigor, the metal of the trowel clinking against the earth, a sound that now resonated with something akin to melody.