Gemotions

The aroma of frying bacon and coffee wafted through the air as Michael approached the yard sale. He had wanted to go for a run, but his wife had begged him to do this, that they would find something to hang in the sunroom. Everything was always a collaboration, a compromise. He craved the solitude of his morning run, the simple freedom of movement.

And there it was. Stuffed amidst a pile of faded clothes, was Bartholomew. His bear. The very first toy he ever received.

He felt a sudden tightening in his chest. His hands clenched into fists. He remembered a time before responsibilities, before the weight of expectations had crushed him. He remembered a time when he could just be, without having to answer to anyone.

He wanted to scream.

“How much?” he asked, his voice strained. The woman, her face wrinkled, looked at him with an appraising eye, a look he couldn't stand. “Five bucks,” she replied. He fumbled in his pocket, paid, and stalked away.