Gemotions

The school pick-up line snaked, a metal river of boredom. Sarah tapped a manic rhythm on the steering wheel, each beat a frustrated drum against the silence. Her son, Ethan, should have been out by now. She glanced at the clock – ten minutes past dismissal. She sighed, a puff of annoyance against the windshield.

Finally, she saw him. Ethan emerged from the school, backpack slung over his shoulder, his face neutral. He saw her and started towards the car, but then she caught sight of the teacher. It was Mrs. Davis. The same Mrs. Davis who had tormented her with pop quizzes and grammar drills decades before. A wave of agitated memories flooded her.

"Ethan, did you have a good day?" she asked, her voice sharper than intended. She gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white. The wait for the traffic to inch forward was almost unbearable.