Gemotions

Michael slammed the car door a little too hard. "Remember that history teacher? Old Man Hemlock?" he had asked his son. The kid, eyes glued to his tablet, had just grunted. Now, staring at the crumpled syllabus in his hands, Michael felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach. The same handwriting. The same terrible, archaic lesson plans.

He found himself pacing the hallway, the worn linoleum creaking beneath his feet. The echoing silence of the school only added to his agitation. He remembered the humiliation of being perpetually singled out for his ‘lack of attention’.

His son's laughter floated from the classroom, a sound that grated on Michael's ears. It was an involuntary reaction, a rising tide of the past. He swallowed hard, pushing a stray hair from his forehead.