Gemotions

The smell of old paper and mothballs filled the small, cluttered storage room. Liam stared at the overflowing boxes, each one labeled with a grade level and his name in his mother's familiar, looping handwriting. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still used.

He picked up a crayon drawing of a firetruck, his own messy signature scrawled across the bottom. A wave of nausea washed over him. He felt exposed, stripped bare.

He heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs. He slammed the lid of the box shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.