Gemotions

I sat across from my uncle, watching him sip his coffee with a disconcerting calmness. The antique rocking chair, my grandmother’s, sat silent behind him, waiting for the vultures. He was talking about practicality, about financial responsibility.

His voice was a smooth, oiled machine, devoid of any real emotion. I felt a growing pressure in my temples, a dull ache behind my eyes.

“It’s just taking up room, you see,” he said, finally. The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.

I wanted to throw my coffee in his face, to scream at him to stop, to leave the memories alone. The room seemed to tilt, the world blurring at the edges.