Gemotions

He slammed the door, the sound echoing unnaturally in the cavernous apartment. The funeral had been two days ago, and now, the apartment, once filled with his father's booming laughter, felt hollow. He'd found the list tucked inside a worn copy of *Moby Dick*. ‘Ride a Harley,’ it began. A bitter smile twisted his lips. His father, a mild-mannered accountant, wanted to ride a Harley?

He dropped the list onto the kitchen table, the paper landing with a soft thud. He felt a profound sense of disorientation, like the ground beneath him had shifted. He wandered towards the window and looked out at the city. It was gray, a mirror to his mood. He replayed their last conversation. So typical, so boring. Did he ever truly *know* his father?

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he’d inherited. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He felt…unmoored. His father’s quiet life, so predictable, had just become a mystery.