Gemotions

He found the list tucked inside a well-worn copy of “Moby Dick.” His father, a man of few words, had a surprisingly long list of ambitions. “Learn to play the blues.” James picked up his dad's old guitar, the wood worn smooth with years of playing. His fingers felt clumsy at first, but with each missed chord and fumbled strum, he felt a deeper connection to the man he’d lost.

He spent hours, days, learning. The calloused tips of his fingers stung, but he pressed on, driven by a quiet devotion. He imagined his father, nodding, listening. When, finally, he played a recognizable blues riff, a wave of peacefulness washed over him.