Gemotions

He was acutely aware of the ticking clock on the wall as he listened to Clara. She was describing their trip to the museum, a trip that had been a disaster in his memory. He sat stiffly on the sofa, trying to appear relaxed.

Clara recounted details, and filled out the story with gestures and flourishes. His own recall was murky at best, but he knew what she said felt inherently wrong. He clenched his fists.

"You were so excited about the Egyptian exhibit, remember?" Clara laughed, and his knuckles went white. His memory contained a vague sense of boredom and the feeling of the crowd, none of it exciting.

He forced a smile. He felt a rising panic, a need to control the situation. He searched for clues in the way she moved, in the way she spoke, in the way she looked at him.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice almost a whisper. He needed to be calm, to absorb everything, to understand the discrepancy. He needed a moment to himself.