Gemotions

Sarah tapped her foot while waiting for the teacher meet-and-greet. The gymnasium smelled of stale sweat and floor wax, an aroma that triggered a flicker of memory. She recognized the floral pattern of Mrs. Peterson’s blouse before she even saw her face. Mrs. Peterson, her fourth-grade teacher, the one who always wore that same perfume that Sarah’s grandmother used to wear. The small talk began, and Sarah responded with polite nods and the bare minimum of conversational effort, focusing instead on the peeling paint of the back wall. She found it easier to focus on those things. Her chest felt heavy, but she couldn't understand why.