Gemotions

“I have no idea who you are,” Leo's childhood friend had said, without a trace of remorse. Leo wanted to smash something. They were at a dive bar, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of stale beer. He'd tracked her down, spent hours crafting the perfect email, filled with nostalgic details only they could understand. He'd even brought a photograph.

He took a large gulp of his lukewarm beer, the liquid doing nothing to quench the fire in his throat. He felt a compulsion to shout, to make her understand, to force her to remember. He pushed the photo across the table toward her. She took a cursory glance, then pushed it back. "Look," she said, her voice laced with a weary impatience, "I really don't." He stood up, knocking over his chair.