Gemotions

The humid air of the waiting room hung heavy, smelling faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee. Sarah found herself tracing patterns on the worn linoleum floor, a habit she’d had since she was a little girl. She could practically taste the lemon squares her grandmother used to bake on her tongue, the memory so vivid she could feel the crinkling of the cellophane wrapper. The interview was only in fifteen minutes, but the minutes felt impossibly stretched, each a tiny shard of the past.

Her gaze drifted to the framed photograph on the wall, a picture of the previous CEO. He was older than he looked in the portrait, his face weathered from a life of hard work, like her grandfather. Sarah found her fingers itching to smooth the image of the man's hair, just like she used to smooth her grandfather's.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. This job meant so much, the same feeling that coursed through her when she was a child playing in the woods behind her house, full of hope and a sense of endless possibilities. She hoped her friend, Mark, understood.