Gemotions

"Don't take it personally," his dad had said, his voice strained. But how could he not? The disappointment burned within him, a slow, consuming fire. He hadn’t made the golf team. He hadn’t even come close. He'd spent the entire summer on the course, practicing relentlessly, but it wasn't enough.

He wandered out to the garage, the smell of freshly cut grass and fertilizer clinging to the air. The clubs leaned in the corner, silent witnesses to his failure. He picked up his favorite driver, the smooth grip familiar in his hand, and stared at it, a bitter taste in his mouth. He thought about throwing it, smashing it against the wall, but he didn't. He couldn't.