Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Michael leaned against the countertop, the weight of the unopened boxes pressing on him. He felt like his limbs were lead. He’d been putting this off for so long, and yet, here he was.

He finally pried open a box labeled, in his mother’s distinctive handwriting, “Michael’s School Stuff.” He felt his jaw tighten. Inside, a chronological parade of his school years unfurled: science projects, creative writing assignments, artwork. His mother hadn't thrown away anything.

He pulled out a faded drawing from first grade. It was a picture of him and his mother, their faces large and bright. A lump formed in his throat. He leaned heavily on the counter.