Gemotions

The scent of burning incense filled Sarah’s grandmother's small, cluttered apartment, a smell she usually found comforting. Today, it was nauseating. Her grandmother, Ruth, was going to become a Hare Krishna. Sarah felt a tremor run through her.

She sat stiffly on the floral-patterned sofa, watching Ruth dance around the room, chanting and swaying. She felt a deep, uncomfortable prickle. Her grandmother had always been her rock, the voice of reason. Now, her eyes shone with an alien intensity. Was she not enough? Not interesting enough?

Sarah found herself picking at the threadbare armrest, the rough texture a distraction from the churning in her gut. She’d always struggled to measure up to her grandmother’s energy, her boundless optimism. Now, she felt like a pale imitation, a shadow cast by a brighter, more vibrant light. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, she bit down on her lip, a wave of sadness washing over her.