Gemotions

The ice in his glass had long melted, but David kept swirling the drink, the ice clinking against the glass. The restaurant was nearly empty. He sat at the bar. He’d been coming here for years. He always ordered the same thing, a dirty martini, the olives now bobbing like tiny, green boats. The coach hadn’t said the words yet, but David knew what the conversation would entail. He pictured the coach’s face.

He lifted the glass to his lips, but the alcohol did nothing to ease the tension in his jaw. The silence of the restaurant amplified his internal turmoil. He felt a constant itch in his palms. He ran his hand through his hair. He wanted to disappear. He felt a wave of anger bubble up.

He signaled the bartender for another drink, even though he knew it wouldn't help. He had been preparing for this moment. He had been expecting it. He took a long gulp and then slammed the glass back down onto the bar.