Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the school hallway hummed, a monotonous drone that seemed to amplify the silence in Mark's head. His tie felt tight, the collar of his shirt constricting. He felt the familiar weight of anxiety settling in his stomach. He was waiting to meet his son's teacher.

When the woman emerged from the classroom, he recognized her instantly, the same sharp eyes, the same precise way of holding herself. Mrs. Eleanor Pierce, the woman who had once ridiculed his drawings in art class. The feeling was a heavy anchor pulling him downward. He felt like a boy again, small and insignificant.