Gemotions

The silence in the room was deafening. I stared at the overflowing box. My mother, in her infinite wisdom, had saved it all. “Jessica’s Memories” the label read in elegant cursive, a font I vaguely recognized from her stationery.

I slowly lifted the lid. The sight made my chest ache. I felt like an intruder in my own past. Every project, every spelling test, every handwritten note from a friend was there.

I picked up a drawing of a horse, a horse I had drawn in fourth grade. I remembered the day I drew it. The air in my throat became thick. I needed to leave the room.