Gemotions

“Just browsing,” I said to the woman behind the table, my voice a little too loud. The yard sale was a blur of discarded items, but my gaze had become fixated on one: a bear. The bear. He was smaller than I recalled, one ear practically hanging off, a few seams starting to unravel.

My breath hitched. I remembered the scent of lavender from the potpourri my grandmother used to keep near my bed. The way the bear’s fur felt between my fingers. I remembered my dad fixing the bear.

I knew I shouldn't. I'm a grown man. What would I even do with him? But I couldn't tear my eyes away. I haggled a little, more out of habit than need, and paid the woman. He felt both substantial and fragile as I held him, the memories swirling.