Gemotions

Mr. Henderson stared at the oversized, brightly wrapped package on his desk, a splash of garish pink in his otherwise muted classroom. It was from Tiffany, a student from five years prior. Tiffany, who had barely scraped by in his history class. He ripped open the paper, a slow burn rising in his chest. Inside, nestled in a mountain of tissue paper, was a framed photograph – a professionally shot headshot of *himself*. And not a recent one, either. This was from a decade ago, when he still had a full head of hair, before the stress of teaching had taken its toll. He felt his jaw clench.

He picked up the photograph and turned it over. Scrawled on the back in a flourish of gold marker was: “Remembering the good old days! Thanks for everything, Mr. Henderson!” He gripped the frame, knuckles white. The 'everything' she was referring to must have been a laugh. He slammed the picture face down on his desk, the glass rattling.

He had been planning on going home early to work on his garden, but instead, he slumped into his chair. He stared out the window, at the setting sun, feeling deflated. The tomatoes would have to wait.