Gemotions

A tremor ran through Amelia as she stared at the crayon drawing. A lopsided stick figure, identical to the friend she’d conjured as a child, stood beside a beaming sun and a house with a chimney that spewed rainbow smoke. Her niece, Lily, a sunny five-year-old, had happily presented it. Amelia bit down hard on her lip, a pressure building behind her eyes. "Lily, honey, that's…nice," she managed, her voice tight. A childish joy seemed impossible to meet.

Amelia’s mind flashed back to the dusty attic, the imaginary friend's voice, a gravelly whisper. Now, here it was, in a child's art, a resurrected memory she didn't want. The past had to stay buried.

She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. “It doesn’t look like anything special," she found herself saying, with an edge that caused Lily's smile to falter. The air in the room felt suddenly thick, hard to breathe.