Gemotions

The restaurant buzzed with conversation. He sat across from me, smiling, and told the tale of the championship game, like he was the only one who had mattered. The way he spoke, you'd think he'd single-handedly won it.

My jaw tightened. He'd conveniently forgotten the missed free throws, the turnovers. He'd forgotten my game-winning shot, the assist that made him look good. He always did. He'd rewrite the past as easily as changing channels.

I took a deep breath, and started telling my version of the game. I detailed the plays, the misses, the tension, and the final moments. I didn't stop until his smile had faded, replaced by something resembling a frown.