Gemotions

He’d chosen the spot carefully: their old park bench, overlooking the duck pond. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows. Michael kept glancing at his watch. He had a tight schedule, a train to catch. Each passing minute felt like an eternity.

Finally, she appeared, her silhouette framed by the setting sun. He stood up quickly. “Sarah?” His voice was breathy, barely a whisper. He knew this was important.

She turned and offered a polite smile. “Yes?” Her eyes were questioning. They did not light up.

He felt a wave of frustration wash over him, suddenly hot. “We used to feed the ducks here. We climbed that oak tree…Remember?” He moved from foot to foot.

She blinked slowly. “I’m afraid I don't.” She checked her own watch. She had somewhere to be.

He let out a short, sharp exhale. He began to gather his things, the simple act a means to control the spinning of his brain.