Gemotions

"The willow," Mrs. Gable said, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness. "It's blocking the sun." The willow that cascaded beautifully over the fence, creating a private oasis. I could feel my neck muscles tighten.

She smiled, a practiced, condescending smile. She probably thought she was being helpful, considerate. She talked about the potential for damage, her voice smooth and falsely gentle. I hated the way she looked at me, with her perfectly coiffed hair and her pristine garden.

I said nothing, just stared at the willow. The thought of its absence filled me with a strange, heavy sadness. I thought of the shade, the peace, the way the wind moved the branches. I wanted to tell her to get off my lawn. Instead, I forced a smile and offered her some lemonade, the taste of which seemed to curdle in my mouth.