Gemotions

He’d almost crushed the Styrofoam cup in his hand. The lukewarm coffee sloshed over the side, staining his already rumpled tie. David had been meticulously planning this presentation for weeks, and now, at the last minute, Sarah was questioning his data.

“Are you sure about these figures, David?” she’d asked, her voice laced with a gentle, patronizing tone that set his teeth on edge.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to appear composed. "Yes, Sarah, I am sure." He wanted to scream.

She continued, "Because, you know, my brother went to Clearwater, and he said that…”

“Clearwater?” David interrupted, the word leaving him like a hiss. His fingers tightened around the cup until the plastic groaned.

“Yeah, Camp Clearwater. I spent my summers there,” she said, oblivious to the fact that her brother, in David’s mind, was a complete idiot.

He stared at her, the blood roaring in his ears. The presentation, the data, his career, all of it seemed meaningless compared to the resurgence of a particularly potent childhood memory.