Gemotions

Coach Miller watched the rain streak down the gym windows, blurring the already dim lights. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a gesture he’d repeated a dozen times in the last hour. Across the court, the team was running drills, their movements sharp and practiced, unaware of the storm gathering in his chest. He’d brought the clipboard, the list, but it felt like holding a weight. He felt his stomach coil. He was going to have to do this, and the knowledge felt like a lead collar.

He'd promised himself it wouldn't be this hard. He thought he'd prepared himself. Now, looking at the faces of these young men, their hopeful eyes, he felt a sudden, profound resistance to the task ahead. He wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the shadows and the sound of the dribbling ball.

He had to get it over with, this final cut. He called out, his voice sounding thin even to his own ears. "Everyone, line up at the bleachers." He saw their forms coalesce, their faces shifting toward him. The game had started.