Gemotions

The diner was nearly empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like irritable insects. Sarah poked at the lukewarm mashed potatoes on her plate, the bland flavor doing little to appease the knot in her stomach. The waitress, a woman with a tired smile, refilled her coffee cup, and then moved on. The time capsule, unearthed during a landscaping project at her childhood home, sat on the table beside her. It contained a collection of things that were supposed to be significant: a love letter, a pressed flower, a small, heart-shaped locket. She regarded them all with a blank stare, the memories they represented feeling like someone else's life. "Check please," she said, her voice flat.