Gemotions

The air inside felt stale, even with the windows open. She kept jumping up and down, doing laps around her kitchen island. Her muscles ached for movement, but she couldn't seem to focus on anything. The urge to flee was overwhelming. A hesitant knock at the door.

It was Mr. Davis, his hands calloused from years of gardening, carrying a small, worn watering can. "Excuse me, Susan," he began, his voice hesitant, "I was hoping… would you mind if I took advantage of that sunny area on your side of the yard for a small herb garden?" She felt her jaw clench.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but no,” she said, her voice tight. She needed to escape. She immediately turned and marched towards her car, the engine, a welcome promise of motion.