Gemotions

The invitation sat on Sarah’s kitchen counter, a pristine white rectangle taunting her. She’d read it a dozen times, each time a new wave of heat prickled her skin. It was just a speech. A short, congratulatory speech for her mother. Yet, the thought of standing in front of all those people, all those judging eyes, made her stomach churn. She slammed the refrigerator door, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent house.

Her palms felt clammy. She found herself wringing them, trying to imagine the words, the perfect words. They wouldn’t come. Only a blank space in her mind. Then the feeling of a lump in her throat, thick and resistant. She had to do this.

That night, she practiced in the mirror, her voice barely a whisper. Each failed attempt, each stumbled word, fueled her internal conflict. The mirror reflected her unease. Would she be able to get through it?