Gemotions

The sunlight sliced through the dusty windows of the garage, illuminating the list pinned to the corkboard. "Learn to play the ukulele," her dad had written. *Learn*. As if it were that simple. She kicked at a discarded oil can, the metal ringing against the concrete floor. He'd never taught *her* anything.

She felt a hot flush crawl up her neck. He'd always been so preoccupied with his own hobbies, his own world. Ignoring her. She ripped the paper from the board, crumpling it between her sweaty palms.

She thought of the years she'd begged for his attention, and the sting in her chest sharpened. She threw the balled paper into a bin, then kicked the bin.