Gemotions

He’d always considered himself a practical man, but Mark felt a distinct flutter in his chest as he walked into the classroom. The familiar scent of chalk and floor wax transported him back thirty years. Mr. Abernathy, his son’s new teacher, was a younger, slightly more robust version of the man who’d once ruled Mark’s seventh-grade world. His palms felt damp.

Mark found himself fidgeting, smoothing down his shirt, even though it was perfectly neat. He listened intently as Mr. Abernathy outlined the curriculum. The teacher's voice, friendly and encouraging, seemed to pierce through Mark’s carefully constructed composure. He kept glancing at the old, cracked window, yearning for a breath of fresh air.