Gemotions

The sudden knock at the door startled her. She peeked through the peephole and saw Mr. Peterson, the man from next door. He was pointing at the old pine. Immediately, the small smile she'd worn faded. She knew why he was here. She smoothed down her floral dress, a nervous gesture.

She opened the door, managing a weak, “Yes, Mr. Peterson?” He said something about sap, about the needles clogging his gutters, his voice flat. She could feel a flush creeping up her chest. She mumbled some platitudes, agreeing that maintenance was crucial, all while her mind raced.

She felt a tingling in her fingers, then a coldness in her extremities. Her teeth began to chatter, though the day was warm. Each word out of her mouth sounded inadequate. His proposal to remove it was an assault.

She imagined the gaping void left if the tree was gone.