Gemotions

The weight of the silence in the car was almost unbearable. Michael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the insistent rhythm a counterpoint to the thrumming in his temples. He and David had been best friends since kindergarten, but after last night's argument, the comfortable camaraderie felt shattered.

He glanced at David, who was staring out the window, his shoulders hunched. The trip to the old school was meant to be a nostalgic trip. Now, Michael felt every mile like a betrayal. They had fundamentally different versions of that disastrous high school party. David’s version painted Michael as the instigator, the reckless one. Michael just remembered a lot of laughter and shared beer, that was all.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. The familiar landscape of their childhood held a sudden, sharp edge. He felt that familiar tightening in his chest, a feeling he got whenever someone accused him of something he knew he hadn't done.