Gemotions

The waiting room smelled of antiseptic and something vaguely floral, like a funeral. Sarah fidgeted with the frayed edge of her scarf. Across the room, a woman leafed through a magazine, her face a serene mask. Sarah recognized the magazine - *Better Homes and Gardens*. Then she recognized the face. Brenda. Brenda from middle school. The Brenda who tripped her in the cafeteria, stole her lunch money, and called her "thunder thighs." Sarah's pulse quickened. What in the world was *she* doing here?

Her name was called. Sarah followed the receptionist down the hall, her feet heavy. The door at the end of the corridor bore a small, brass plate: "Brenda Miller, MA, LPC." *LPC*? Licensed Professional Counselor? This was a prank, a cruel joke.

Brenda smiled, a practiced curve of her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Please, have a seat.” Sarah sat, feeling utterly disoriented. Brenda gestured toward a box of tissues.