Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was cold, the air conditioning cranked to an arctic blast. Alex, stiff with grief, was sifting through his mother's belongings, following the instructions in her will. He expected bills, bank statements, perhaps some jewelry. He was not prepared to find a meticulously organized filing cabinet.

Each drawer, labeled with precise penmanship, contained a grade, a year, and the contents. Inside were graded papers, essays, even participation awards. He stood, frozen, staring at a particularly awful report card, his own name scrawled across the top in his mother's meticulous script. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He couldn’t process.