Gemotions

He found it wedged between a stack of old National Geographic magazines in a box labelled “Miscellany.” David, slumped in the dusty armchair, barely registered the find. He’d expected to find bills, maybe a forgotten will. Anything but a list. ‘Ride a Harley-Davidson.’ ‘Visit the Great Wall.’ ‘Fall in love again.’ His father, the man who had traded adventure for a steady paycheck and a quiet life.

David’s fingers traced the spidery script, his hand heavy. He'd been asked to go to the funeral with a specific tie, not to wear a tie of his own choosing. He had agreed. He'd agreed to the family dinner afterwards. It was easier that way. He felt his jaw tighten, a familiar ache. The list seemed to mock him with its vibrancy, a collection of hopes he knew he'd never possess.