Gemotions

He had told his mother he would help. That was a mistake. Now, Leo stood in the cramped storage room, surrounded by his own discarded history. The air hung with the odor of mothballs and dried glue. He felt an undeniable urge to flee.

The box in front of him, overflowing with school assignments, seemed to radiate a silent judgment. His mother’s intention was clear: she wanted to relive every moment.

He wanted to scream.

He picked up a crumpled drawing, a crude representation of a spaceship. A wave of irritation washed over him. He was a grown man! He had better things to do than to revisit his awkward early attempts at art. He would give her the satisfaction of the memory, or this would take forever.