Gemotions

It had been a routine phone call, until Mom said it: she was embracing Rastafarianism. My hands, gripping the phone, started to sweat. Her voice, usually so steady, sounded a little... different.

I remained on the other end, unable to articulate a response. Images swam in my head: Bob Marley, dreadlocks, the green, gold, and red. What did it all mean? What would change?

I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the background, a common sound that now seemed alien and far away. It was as if I was standing on shifting sand, the ground beneath me unsteady and untrustworthy.