Gemotions

The shadows of the late afternoon stretched across the lawn as I watched Mr. Peterson, my neighbor, smile hopefully at me. He was suggesting a communal garden. The weight on my chest, already heavy, felt like a physical presence, a boulder pressing down.

My mouth felt dry. I opened and closed it, trying to form a sentence. The thought of shared responsibility, of someone else's presence, felt overwhelming. I needed control, even if it was just over the small patch of grass outside my back door.

"I... I don't know," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. The air around me suddenly felt thick, almost suffocating. My palms were starting to sweat.