Gemotions

The boarding pass felt heavy in his hand, a tangible symbol of his frustration. John wanted to scream. His daughter's recital was the one thing he was looking forward to. He had practiced his clap along, prepared a surprise, bought her flowers. Now he was going to be the last one, late, a disappointment.

He slumped into a plastic chair, his shoulders slumping. He felt a coldness creeping into his limbs, a feeling of inadequacy. He watched families hugging and laughing as they waited, and a pang of resentment, sharp and sudden, pierced him. He squeezed his eyes shut.