He awoke with an ache in his back.  Straightening up, slow and stooped, swinging over to the right, he dropped one foot off the bed at a time.  He lifted his hands to his face and wiped away the film of sleep, scratched the top of his head, massaging through his ever graying hair.  He felt the oil under his nails and considered if he could go another day without showering. No. Probably not. With a sigh, he lifted himself off his bed and shuffled into the bathroom.  

The water, a shock at first, turned to relief.  He let it pour down his back and do the work of the only therapy he could afford: hot water.  His mind lingered on his back for a few moments before he picked up the shampoo. He hardly thought of it at all anymore.  Barely a scar of note. A mere shadow of a star, low and centered.

If he truly thought of it, life was easier without it.  He could keep his feelings to himself, no great tells. And clothing was certainly easier, he mused, as he reached for his towel and began to dry himself off.  The ache barely a hint now. Yes, it was as the doctors said, a much easier life without it. Yet, his joy always felt a little incomplete when all he had to show for his emotion was a mere nod of his head.

When he was young, before the procedure, he didn’t think of emotion much.  It happened to him, revealed itself through the swish and straighten. A plush remnant of his ancestry.  A living emotional weather vane pointing out his love and fear. Oh, how his heart raced when he would take off running.  Wind whipping past, dodging trees and passing pedestrians. He felt his life then. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his… well. No point in dwelling now.  There was work to be done. And his life was good now. Honest work, honest pay, and all that. Emotion wasn’t an external thing after all. It stemmed from within and could, with practice, be tamed so as to have a healthy relationship with the world around you.  He was in control of his emotions, not the other way around. Besides, he was older now, the young ones needed his guidance just as he had needed the guidance of his elders before him.

Right, speaking of work. He grabbed his keys and jacket, and, locking the door behind him, he started off down the lane.  If he left at this time, he could avoid the usual traffic. The fog was lifting and the sun was rising behind it. He felt the dampness begin to cling to him as he moved along.  The birdsong was loud above him, and he breathed in the cooling air. His ears twitched slightly with the breaking of a twig to his left, but it was only another traveler on their way to work.  He nodded slightly as they met eyes; he quashed the flitting in his belly, squared his shoulders back, and continued on his way.

The initial days after the procedure had been difficult.  There was a definite adjustment period. But, he knew what he had been getting into, and was happy to have made the choice.  Most everyone was in agreement. Sure there were still a few troglodytes who yelled about being true to our natures! And pushed back against the notion of equal rights, tried to relive their youths by wearing phony tails.  They all just seemed sad to him and a little desperate. It was time to move on. Time to rise above.

When he arrived at work, there were a few young pups already waiting with their book bags and lunch pails.  He unlocked the doors and held them open, made the usual good morning comments and jokes about whether or not they had slept here overnight.  The groggy-eyed young ones gave obligatory chuckles or had earbuds in and did not hear. Things were often quiet in the mornings. He knew by lunch time things would get more active.  Students would have their bellies full and more hydration and would be pinging off of each other’s emotions. The last few classes of the day were always a struggle. Tempers flared, hearts were broken, friendships severed and mended in a matter of minutes.  A whirlpool of instinct and hormones. Ah, to be young again. Or not. He went to collect his copies in the teachers’ lounge and fill his second cup of coffee for the day. Everything is a process, he thought. We do the best we can with what we know and have on this day.   

The first bell rang, he smoothed down his hair, felt a slight twinge in his lower back and instinctively rubbed the spot.  He picked up his copies and went on to his classroom. By the ring of the second bell, he walked into his classroom to find his class ready at their desks, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.