Gemotions

The realtor’s voice, cheerful and insistent, grated on her nerves. “Think of the possibilities!” he'd said, gesturing expansively towards the building. She had barely managed a weak smile.

She focused her attention on the chipped paint of the windowsill, tracing the faded outlines of a handprint. That handprint was from a long, forgotten summer day when she was just a child. That was the day her older brother taught her how to climb the tree in the backyard.

She was surprised by the tremor in her voice when she finally replied, "It's just… a lot of memories.” The air in the house suddenly seemed thin, almost suffocating. The realtor didn't seem to notice. He just rattled off more sales pitches.