Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the attic window. Maya coughed, fanning away a cloud of ancient smells as she unearthed a trunk. Her fingers, usually clumsy, felt surprisingly deft as she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten blankets, were stacks of manila folders, each labeled with a year and her mother’s youthful, loopy handwriting. A grin crept across Maya's face as she pulled out the first one, a 7th-grade history project on the Roman Empire.

She sank cross-legged onto the floor, the rough wood cool against her skin. The faded ink, the meticulously drawn maps, the teacher's red-pen corrections – it was all so intimate, so revealing. A giggle bubbled up, unbidden, as she read her mother’s surprisingly sassy commentary on Julius Caesar.

Maya's heart rate quickened. She felt a lightness in her chest, a giddy anticipation for what other treasures lay hidden within these pages. She needed to know everything.