Gemotions

"No." The word, mouthed silently, was both a denial and a question. Clara sat rigid on her porch swing, the gentle rocking motion now a dizzying, sickening sway. The letter lay open on her lap, the words of polite dismissal seeming to twist and morph.

The humid Louisiana air, thick with the scent of jasmine, felt heavy, suffocating. She felt a tickle in her throat. She found herself reaching for a glass of sweet tea, but her hand stalled midway. The ice clinked in the glass, a sharp sound in the otherwise quiet evening. She couldn't drink it.

Her breath hitched. She had envisioned this, yes, but not like this. Not a flat no. Not like her dreams of the future had vanished. She closed her eyes, and a single tear escaped.