Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the gate against the fence startled him from his reading. He sighed, recognizing the familiar sound. Another escape. The dog, a boisterous Labrador, bounded across his lawn, eager for a playmate. He remembered afternoons spent with his dad, playing catch in the yard.

He slowly closed his book, the pages whispering as he set it down. He glanced at the worn leather of his baseball mitt, leaning against the door frame. His chest felt tight, a strange sensation as if his favorite sweater had been shrunk in the wash. That old baseball mitt used to belong to his father. "Well, looks like I have a playmate," he muttered, the corners of his lips lifting.