Gemotions

The air in the spare bedroom smelled like mothballs and forgotten memories. John had stumbled upon the collection while looking for old photo albums. He ran his fingers along the spines of the meticulously labeled notebooks.

A physics test, a crumpled drawing of a lopsided house, a book report on *Moby Dick*—all meticulously preserved. He picked up a science project on the anatomy of the frog, a project marked down with several criticisms and corrections. He had often felt his mother thought he was not trying.

He examined the writing in the margins. He snorted. He felt his shoulders relax slightly. *Interesting.* He smiled. His own high grades felt that much more important now.