Gemotions

The afternoon sun illuminated the attic's gloom as Michael sifted through the boxes. His breath hitched in his throat when he unearthed the box labeled "Michael’s School Days." He carefully lifted the lid. The contents were surprisingly intact - assignments, awards, and essays he’d long forgotten. He felt a sudden, sharp ache in his chest.

He found his high school graduation speech, still in its crisp envelope. He remembered how nervous he had been, how his mother had stayed up all night helping him edit and practice. He read it, the words echoing with youthful idealism and the fresh innocence of that time.

He pulled out a faded drawing of a dog, and smiled. He recalled his mother hanging it on the fridge.

He knew he should call her. He knew, without speaking, how much she was a part of every success. He picked up his phone. He dialed her number.