Gemotions

The heat in the garage was stifling, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and forgotten projects. Michael, sweating slightly, opened the trunk containing his mother's keepsakes. The top box was full of school things. He reached in without really looking.

A stack of graded essays. A science project about the solar system, complete with a plasticine representation of the planets. He skimmed a report on the history of the cotton gin, its margins filled with his mother’s careful red-ink corrections. He registered the details like data.

He picked up a blue ruler, then put it down. The sun was going down. He had to feed the dog.