Gemotions

He ran his fingers over the cover of the first spiral-bound notebook. "English 101." His mother, bless her heart, had never stopped being proud of his "A" in freshman English. Now, years after her passing, the notebooks were in his possession, a testament to her unending affection. He flipped it open. His own childish handwriting, filled with grammatical errors. He paused, a knot forming in his stomach.

He examined the meticulously corrected essays, the red pen slashes across the page. His mother had saved all of it? All the awkward poetry and rambling prose? He felt a prickle of discomfort, a sudden heat rising in his neck. This seemed… excessive. Like she had expected him to fail, and wanted to be able to say, “I told you so." He shut the book with a snap, a feeling of being observed washing over him.