Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the diner seemed to buzz louder, a grating counterpoint to the news humming through Maya's veins. "Mama Rosa's, shutting down..." the words repeated in her head, echoing the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her foot against the tiled floor. Her hands fidgeted with the sugar packets on the table, tearing them open and squeezing them, one by one.

The waitress, Betty, a woman who knew Maya's usual order by heart, approached the table. “Everything alright, honey? You look like you seen a ghost.” Maya just shook her head, unable to speak, her throat tight.

A sudden, dizzying rush of memories – her grandfather's birthday dinners, the countless Sunday brunches after church – swamped her. She found herself clutching at her chest. "Coffee. Lots of coffee," she managed to croak out, the words barely a whisper. She looked around the nearly empty restaurant, taking it all in, every single detail: the vinyl booths, the faded photos on the wall, the scent of sizzling bacon. She had to document this. Before it was gone.