Gemotions

He ran a hand across his jaw, a nervous habit. The departure of his classic pickup had left a gaping hole in his day. The driveway was empty. He felt a tightening in his chest.

He wandered out to the back yard. He picked up a football, tossing it from hand to hand. He remembered the countless weekend barbecues, the tailgates, the laughter. The truck was always present.

He walked over to the shed, and started to sort through the tools. It was a familiar routine. It didn’t ease the ache. He held a well-used wrench, feeling the texture of the metal. He closed his eyes, recalling his dad.