Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the bass from the house next door, usually a source of annoyance, suddenly took on a different resonance. Michael drummed his fingers on the table, staring at the unopened mail. He'd been avoiding it all day, the way he usually avoids things he doesn't want to deal with. The envelope, addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Blackwood," sat heavy in his hand.

It was the auction catalog that had done it. A casual glance in Mrs. Blackwood’s front window had revealed a collection of antique furniture, more valuable than the house itself. The bass drum thumped again, a insistent throb in his ears.

He’d known them as “Ted and Mary,” the quiet couple with the well-behaved golden retriever. Now, he wondered if his perception of his own life would change. He had to remind himself he was okay. He was doing just fine. The unease inside was a simmering ache.

He picked up the envelope, the paper cold against his fingertips.