Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Sarah pawed through the dusty trunk. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten shawls and yellowed letters, was a leather-bound book. It fell open to a page titled "Things to Do Before I Kick the Bucket." Her stomach clenched. A list. Her mother's bucket list. She felt a heat rise in her cheeks, a strange burning sensation. The first entry: "Learn to tap dance."

She pictured her mother, a woman who rarely left the house, attempting a time step. The image was absurd. And then came the second entry: "Sing a solo at karaoke." Sarah groaned aloud. Her mother’s voice was the stuff of legend, a high-pitched, warbling disaster. Why did she need to see this?