Gemotions

He bounced his leg, the wood of the chair creaking in protest. Michael tapped his fingers rhythmically against the worn surface of the dining table, the rhythmic beat a counterpoint to the chaotic symphony emanating from the living room. His meticulously crafted model train layout, a source of solace for years, was now the backdrop for his son, Leo’s, enthusiastic train-related theatrics. Leo was obsessed. He was also taking over. Michael’s sanctuary, his carefully constructed miniature world, was being overrun with construction paper tunnels, glitter-covered mountains, and a cacophony of train whistles. He ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips.