Gemotions

From his vantage point behind the buffet table, Mark watched the guests arrive, each new arrival sending a fresh jolt through him. He’d volunteered to help set up, a desperate attempt to avoid the main event.

He adjusted the tablecloth, fidgeting with the silverware. His hands shook so violently that he almost dropped a tray of canapés. He kept replaying the opening sentence of his speech in his mind, but each iteration seemed worse than the last.

He avoided eye contact, ducking and weaving behind the tables. He wished he could disappear, vanish into the shadows, and allow someone else to give the speech. He hated being the center of attention.