Gemotions

My heart hammered against my ribs. I stared at the sketchpad. On the page, drawn in uneven crayon strokes, was a depiction of a towering robot with mismatched limbs and a blinking red light for an eye. It was exactly as I had imagined, what I had once called, "Rusty," my imaginary friend and defender of the weak. My nephew, Finn, proudly displayed it, and it was devastatingly accurate.

“He's going to fight the bad guys!" Finn exclaimed, his face alight with enthusiasm.

My response was automatic. I suddenly needed to leave the room. I felt a terrible heat in my chest, and I began to fidget, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.

“That’s… great, Finn," I said, forcing a smile. “That’s, uh… really great." I backed away, my eyes darting around the room, searching for an escape route.