Gemotions

The silence in the house pressed down on him. Each tick of the clock was a hammer blow against his frayed nerves. He’d rearranged the living room furniture twice, dusted the shelves, and still the feeling remained, a jittery energy that demanded release. He was examining the imperfections in the paint on the walls when the bell rang.

It was Maria, from next door, her arms loaded with gardening tools. “David,” she said, her voice bright, “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I used a small section of your yard to grow some herbs. You never seem to use that spot, and it gets such good sun.” He swallowed hard, a dry, scratchy sensation. The thought of someone *else* cultivating the earth felt incredibly wrong.

He managed a weak smile. “I’m… uh… considering some landscaping.” He needed an escape. He turned and retreated inside, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on him. He felt trapped. He needed to be moving, to be *doing* something.