Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams slicing through the classroom window. Michael slumped in the hard plastic chair during the parent-teacher night, listening to Mrs. Gable drone on about "classroom participation." His shoulders were hunched, his gaze fixed on the scuffed linoleum. This was going to be an ordeal. The exact same teacher? The same tired jokes, the same lesson plans, probably the same reprimands.

He remembered the endless worksheets, the tedious projects. He could practically feel the sting of the ruler across his knuckles, a phantom pain that tightened his jaw. He heard Mrs. Gable mention his daughter, Emily’s name. A slight nod, a rote reply to the teacher, and he was able to escape. He saw his daughter heading over the the snack table, grabbing a cookie, which she then offered to her friend. A weary sigh escaped him as he went to leave.