Gemotions

“Well, this is just great,” he muttered, his voice tight. His mother’s house was a time capsule, a museum to her life. Now, it was a museum to his. He found the boxes in the garage, covered in a thin layer of dust.

He had expected the boxes to be filled with toys, or clothing. Not this. Inside, every test, every worksheet, every drawing, perfectly preserved. He grabbed a math test from seventh grade. His mother had circled a few answers. He remembered the feeling of failure. He threw the test against the wall. He needed a drink.