Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Sarah unfolded the brittle, yellowed paper. Her mother's handwriting, still elegant even in its faded state, filled the page. Number one: *See the Northern Lights.* A shudder ran through her. Her mother had never even mentioned wanting to go to Iceland. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on the chipped paint of the window frame. This was all so… strange.

The attic air felt thick, heavy with dust and forgotten memories. She reread the list, each item a tiny stab of bewilderment. *Learn to play the ukulele.* *Write a novel.* *Swim with dolphins.* Her mother, the meticulous accountant, the woman who ironed her underwear, wanting to do these wild things? Sarah sank onto a dusty trunk, the silence of the attic amplifying the pounding in her chest.