Gemotions

The silence that followed was deafening. My aunt, Susan, had chosen to convert to Hinduism. The family gathering that celebrated her news felt like a wake. I played with my soup, swirling the broth around and around.

My palms were sweating, making the silverware slippery. The chatter that had filled the room earlier had died, replaced by a hollow echo. I felt a tightening in my jaw.

I found myself drawn to the piano in the corner. I sat and ran my fingers across the keys, playing a sad song. The sound, filling the room, was the only thing that felt real.