Gemotions

He found it tucked inside a dusty book – his father’s draft resignation from the university. It was a curt letter, outlining the intent to leave and nothing more. He felt a softening in his jaw. The letter, typed in Courier New, was dated 1982. He remembered his father's gruff exterior, his emphasis on logic and reason.

A wave of understanding washed over him. He pictured his father hunched over the typewriter, a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray, wrestling with a decision. He reached out and touched the cover of the book.

Later that evening, he carefully mended a tear in the book's spine, a task he'd been putting off for months. He had also made plans to visit his father the following afternoon, bringing with him a bottle of the elder's favorite whiskey.