Gemotions

The flyer, crinkled and worn from a week in the kitchen, announced it: "Welcome Back! Ms. Gable, Second Grade." A wave of heat flushed over Arthur's face. *Ms. Gable.* He remembered the starched blouses, the bun, the way her voice always seemed to hover just above a whisper. He’d hated her. He had been a terrible student. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. His son, Leo, deserved better.

He’d spent the evening meticulously sharpening Leo’s pencils. Each one had to be perfect, the point a needle of graphite. The new backpack, still stiff, sat on the counter, filled with color-coded notebooks. He'd done everything wrong in second grade. He hoped Leo would be different.

He found himself constantly checking Leo's homework. His own assignments had been a mess. He’d barely understood the addition worksheets. Now, he hovered, offering unsolicited corrections, the air thick with his anxious energy. Leo, initially enthusiastic, began to withdraw, eyes downcast. Arthur felt a familiar tightening in his chest.