Gemotions

The old saxophone, gleaming in the soft light of the practice room, seemed to mock him. Mark had once poured hours into mastering the instrument, the music a constant companion. Now, he found it easier to do almost anything else.

His son, Ben, however, was completely absorbed, his fingers already flying over the keys with surprising dexterity. He was a natural.

Mark watched, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He knew he should be encouraging, joining in, but the effort felt insurmountable. He stayed seated, as if bolted to the chair, allowing his son to be the one to play.