Gemotions

She'd smiled so wide, her face crinkling at the corners of her eyes, when he said yes. He pictured that smile now, as he sat on his porch swing, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the yard. Mr. Peterson, his neighbor, had been so earnest, wanting to grow some pumpkins for the upcoming harvest festival.

He kept glancing over at the pumpkin vines, already beginning to sprawl and choke the grass. He knew he should have said no, or at least hesitated. He loved his lawn, its clean expanse a point of pride. Now, it was slowly succumbing to the encroaching green.

His fingers tapped an agitated rhythm on his knee. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes, a familiar throb that usually came with sleepless nights. He should have thought about the implications, the time, the space. He should have protected the things he valued.