Gemotions

He stared at the scribbled handwriting. His grandmother. So proper, so reserved, so dedicated to her routines. "Ride a motorcycle." He almost laughed, but the sound caught in his throat.

He examined the paper more closely. "Go skydiving." "Write a book of poetry." A profound sensation of bewilderment washed over him. He pictured her, a tiny woman with a bun, piloting a Harley. It was an image his brain refused to process.

The scent of lavender, which had always reminded him of her, suddenly felt different, tinged with an unfamiliar ache. He wondered how long these secrets had been kept.