Gemotions

It felt like a cruel joke. Michael had envisioned himself as the cool, collected dad. He’d picture himself talking in a relaxed manner with his child’s teacher. And here he was, a nervous wreck. It was Ms. Davies, the history teacher who'd once called him "a daydreamer." She greeted him with a knowing smile.

He gripped the strap of his messenger bag so tightly his knuckles were white. He could feel his face flush. He was back in his high school desk, not understanding the intricacies of the French Revolution, the same feeling of dread washing over him. He avoided eye contact and answered her questions in single, short sentences. After the meeting, he practically ran.