Gemotions

I was tending my rose bushes when Mr. Peterson came over. He looked…off. His eyes darted everywhere but at me. The air was thick with pollen and the aroma of the roses. And then he spoke, his voice unusually soft. “That pine tree… on the line…”

He wanted to cut it down. His words felt empty, devoid of emotion. His reasoning was a muddle of vague worries. The pine was the pride of both our backyards. I felt a disconnect, a sense of falling, a sensation of my insides being twisted.

I questioned him, but his answers only deepened the confusion. My mind whirled. It was hard to breathe. The request felt like a betrayal. I simply didn't understand.