Gemotions

The silence in the bookstore was deafening. John’s announcement that he was going to France to study felt like a punch to the gut. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him feeling hollow and vulnerable. He pretended to browse the shelves, selecting a random novel, but his eyes refused to focus on the words. He was acutely aware of his own presence, his every movement feeling awkward and clumsy.

He felt the familiar pressure in his chest, a sensation that had become all too common in recent years. He hated the way his hands felt, too big, too rough. He kept shoving them in his pockets, feeling like he was attracting attention.

He heard John talking about the food, the history, the adventure, and he felt a wave of inadequacy wash over him. He felt as though he would be forever stuck, a bystander to a life of exciting possibilities.

He cleared his throat, feeling a deep ache in his chest. “France, huh?” The words were a dry whisper.