Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. Sarah coughed, swatting at a cobweb that had draped itself across her face. Searching for her grandmother’s old quilt, she’d stumbled upon a trunk crammed with relics from her childhood. It was a treasure trove, she thought, until she saw the neat, labeled file folders. Her name, scrawled in her mother’s familiar hand, was on each one. Curiosity won out, and she pulled out a folder marked, “Sarah, 2nd Grade - Math.” Her cheeks began to burn.

The pages within were filled with shaky circles, poorly drawn shapes, and the red markings of a teacher's critical pen. She flinched, remembering the relentless teasing of the playground bullies. Her stomach twisted as she flipped through the pages, a cold sweat breaking out across her brow. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the floorboards and vanish. The world seemed to shrink, focusing on the glaring errors, the awkward drawings, the clear evidence of her early struggles.