Gemotions

The list was on a faded piece of printer paper, found inside a box of old photos. “Visit the Grand Canyon.” “Learn to play the guitar.” “Write a love letter.” "Ride a motorcycle." Mark’s mouth twisted. His mother, the queen of practicality, had never seemed remotely interested in adventure.

He picked up a photo of her, smiling stiffly at the camera. He felt a prickly sensation at the back of his neck. They had never talked about dreams or desires. Only chores and doctor's appointments. He had always been told what to do and now it was clear he was not the only one.

Mark threw the list across the room. It landed near a stack of unpaid bills.