Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the kitchen, a welcome blanket against the November chill. Michael hummed along to the radio, kneading the dough with practiced ease. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the flour dusting his forearms. He'd come to visit his mother, promising to help sort through the attic, a task he’d put off for far too long. He’d never been particularly sentimental, unlike his mother, who held onto everything.

His fingers brushed against a heavy box tucked away in a dimly lit corner. He pulled it down, its contents a jumble of forgotten treasures. As he began sorting, a familiar, slightly musty smell tickled his nose. He began to find his old report cards, the little drawings on his essays, his spelling tests with a note or two from his teacher.

He recognized his own handwriting, the looping letters and bold underlines. He noticed he’d misspelled "necessary" in the fourth grade. The room was oddly comforting, filled with the ghosts of his childhood. He smiled, feeling as if a gentle hand was resting on his shoulder.