Gemotions

He bounced his leg, the wood floor of his mother’s apartment creaking in protest. Thomas ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end. He was supposed to be honoring her memory, not wasting his Saturday. He sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face. The estate lawyer had said this was important. He found a small, yellowed notebook tucked inside her favorite cookbook.

The first item on the list: “See the Northern Lights.” He rolled his eyes. This was just like her, always chasing some grand, impossible dream. He felt a prickly heat rise in his cheeks. He just wanted to get this over with, to move on.

“Take a pottery class,” read the next line. Thomas scoffed audibly. He felt a need to break something, to shatter the suffocating quiet. He longed for action, for something to *happen*. He slammed the book closed, the sound echoing in the stillness.