Gemotions

The telephone receiver felt slick and clammy in Eleanor’s hand. Her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, again. The man had called, *again,* to discuss the tree. It was the same song and dance. Roots, property lines, insurance risks. Eleanor almost threw the phone across the room.

Her chest felt like a clenched fist. The air seemed to vibrate with a tension that mirrored the knot in her stomach. She pictured herself walking over and strangling him.

"No," she finally managed to say, her voice strained. She slammed the phone down, the sound echoing in the silent house. She paced her living room, her steps sharp and erratic. The tree. It was a symbol, a declaration.