Gemotions

John gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The paper crinkled under his palm, a list of things his father, a man who'd spent his life behind a desk, apparently dreamed of doing. "Build a boat"? He could feel his jaw clench. The man had barely fixed a leaky faucet.

He sped down the highway, the speedometer needle climbing. Each item on the list – "See a baseball game," "Go skydiving" - was a personal affront. It was as if his father, in his absence, was still judging him, reminding him of his failures.

He punched the radio, turning the volume all the way up. The music seemed to vibrate in his chest, mirroring the anger that now burned. He took the next exit, tires screaming, ignoring the angry horn blasts behind him. He needed to get away, to *do* something, *anything* to shake this feeling.