Gemotions

"Reunion?" Mark muttered, the word a small explosion of disbelief in the quiet of his kitchen. He'd built a wall around himself, a quiet life of routine and solitude. He had to think of a reason not to go. His palms became suddenly slick with sweat.

He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that dislodged a few strands. He hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from high school, not even his closest friends. He had simply disappeared, consumed by his own world of spreadsheets and numbers. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

The thought of walking back into that world, of facing the ghosts of his past, made his stomach clench. He pictured the easy camaraderie, the effortless connections, and he felt a pang of something akin to loneliness. He crumpled the invitation into a small ball and chucked it into the trash can. Then he retrieved it, smoothed it out, and pinned it to the bulletin board.