Gemotions

The attic air was thick and stagnant, the temperature oppressive. Ben wiped his brow as he rummaged through the boxes. His mother's compulsion to save everything was, to put it mildly, intense.

He discovered a box dedicated to his high school band days, filled with crumpled sheet music and terrible recordings. A wave of heat rushed up his neck.

He pulled out a faded photo of him, mid-solo, his face contorted in an expression of intense… dedication. The memories of the awkward gigs and the harsh critiques from his bandmates flooded back. He felt a deep, uncomfortable cringe.

“So, you were a musician,” his father said, appearing in the doorway.

Ben mumbled, “It was a phase.”