Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty school hallway. Thomas leaned against the doorframe of his classroom, the air thick with the scent of chalk dust and forgotten lunches. His hands, usually fidgety, were still. He gazed at the simple brown paper bag on his desk. The note read: “Mr. Evans, I finally did it. Thanks. - Emily.” The feeling that had been constricting his chest since the morning's staff meeting, the worry about the new standardized test scores, was suddenly, inexplicably lessening.

He walked over to the desk and picked up the bag. He reached inside and pulled out a small, framed photograph. It was of Emily, standing proudly in front of a brightly colored mural she had painted, her face beaming. The mural was a new addition to the outside of the school. The school board had been very unhappy that she was using her art to express herself.

He smiled, a genuine, unforced expression. He knew the effort and the struggle that went into the mural and how much it meant to her. He remembered the arguments he had had with the administration to keep it up. The relief was a subtle easing in his chest.