Gemotions

The drive home had been slow, each gear change a monumental effort. He parked the car, the engine sighing its own surrender. The note on the refrigerator, scrawled by his best friend, was stark: “No party. My fault. Sorry.” He stared at it, his throat closing. He hadn't wanted much, just a simple gathering. The prospect of seeing everyone had buoyed him. He walked into the living room and sank into the couch, the cushions offering no comfort. He felt as though every muscle in his body had turned to lead.