Gemotions

The humid air pressed in on Eleanor as she surveyed the lawn sale. So many trinkets, so many lives, condensed into a collection of unwanted things. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest tightened. She needed a quick exit plan. Her phone buzzed, another reminder from her boss. She swiped it away, her fingers clumsy, and tried to focus on something, anything, other than the pressure building behind her eyes. Then she saw him. Hunched in the corner of a table, patched and faded, was Barnaby.

Her heart lurched. A wave of dizziness rolled through her, and she had to grip the edge of the table for balance. The woman running the sale – a cheerful, sun-weathered soul – caught her eye. "Find anything you like, dear?" she asked. Eleanor could only manage a weak nod, her throat constricted, unable to utter a response. Barnaby…he looked so small, so forgotten.

The memories, sharp and painful, flooded her. Late-night anxieties soothed, scraped knees kissed better, the comforting scent of him. She had thrown him away when she left home. She hadn't realized the magnitude of that decision. “How much?” she finally croaked, the question a tiny, fragile sound.