Gemotions

I heard the stomp of feet on the porch, followed by a knock that reverberated in my chest. I didn’t want to open the door, didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. But the insistent sound persisted.

It was Mr. Garcia, his face a mixture of excitement and concern, gesturing toward the ancient elm. He was going on about branches, about potential hazards.

I just stared at my feet, my brain sluggish. Even simple things felt impossible. The thought of having to decide, of making a choice, made me want to collapse. I just wanted the quiet.