Gemotions

I walked into my sister’s house to find my nephew, Ethan, happily scribbling away with crayons. “I drew Rusty!” he exclaimed, holding up a paper for me to see. I felt a surge of annoyance. Rusty. My imaginary dog, an invention of my childhood. I had tried so hard to outgrow that stage.

I felt a familiar tightening in my chest. Ethan, oblivious to my silent turmoil, continued to chatter about Rusty’s adventures. I forced a smile. Then, I quickly changed the subject and steered Ethan in a different direction. Later that evening, the drawing was gone, removed from the fridge.