Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a low, irritating drone that seemed to burrow into Amelia’s skull. She swiveled in her chair, the squeak of the casters grating on her ears. Another email, another spreadsheet, another day blurring into the next. She tapped her pen against the desk, a rapid-fire staccato against the silence, then abruptly stopped, feeling the tiny tremor of the halt in her fingers. Across the room, David was humming to himself, oblivious, organizing files. “Hey, David,” Amelia blurted out, the word escaping before she could fully consider it. “You ever go to Camp Clearwater?”

David looked up, his glasses perched precariously on his nose. "Clearwater? The one with the rickety zip line and the awful cafeteria food? Yeah, I spent a few summers there. Why?"

Amelia felt her chest loosen slightly. A memory, flickering and bright, of a mosquito-filled cabin and a late-night bonfire, surfaced. "I did too," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "I thought I recognized something in your laugh."