Gemotions

The phone felt glued to Michael’s ear. He paced the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath his bare feet. He had three conference calls scheduled before lunch and a looming deadline at work. His gaze kept drifting toward the calendar. Friday: parent-teacher conferences.

Then, there it was, printed in black and white: "Mrs. Davies - 3rd Grade." He nearly choked. Mrs. Davies? The woman who had made him cry in front of the entire class during a spelling bee? The memory of his trembling lip returned with startling clarity.

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his agitated fingers. He imagined the way she'd look, a slight smile perhaps, a knowing glint in her eyes. It was like his past was coming back to haunt him. He found himself picking at the skin around his thumbnails, a habit he hadn’t indulged in since his childhood.