Gemotions

The hallway closet, usually a jumble of coats and forgotten umbrellas, now held a different kind of treasure: boxes. Boxes filled with her entire educational history. Emily stared at them, her eyebrows raised. Her mother, the woman of logic, the queen of order, had meticulously archived every book report, every math test, every creative writing piece she'd ever done. A sensation like falling washed over her.

She pulled out a box labeled "High School - Freshman Year." It felt heavy in her arms. She opened it and a cloud of dust tickled her nose. Inside, a sea of papers, all bearing the handwriting of her younger self. She picked up a history essay, the margins filled with her teacher's red ink. A strange sense of dislocation took hold of her.

She didn't understand. She took a step back, as if the boxes themselves were slowly closing in around her. Her hands felt clammy.