Gemotions

Mr. Henderson adjusted his tie, tugging at it until it felt like a noose. Today was Open House, and he loathed the saccharine pronouncements and forced smiles. Then came the gift. A framed photograph. A black and white portrait of a grinning, gap-toothed child, and a boy he’d failed to inspire. It was signed, “To Mr. Henderson, with immense gratitude.”

He stared at the picture. His jaw tightened. He recalled that the boy, Kevin, had struggled with even basic algebra. The child had always sat at the back of the classroom, chewing on his pen and staring out the window. Mr. Henderson had labeled him as lazy and unmotivated.

His stomach clenched. He could still remember the sneering dismissal of Kevin's mother when she came to talk to him. Now, here he was, staring back at him from the frame. It was a picture of Kevin as a successful, handsome architect, he guessed. The irony was almost unbearable. He slammed the frame down on his desk, the glass rattling.