Gemotions

The dinner party had been a disaster from the start. Aunt Carol’s overly enthusiastic pronouncements on the benefits of raw food, Uncle George’s incessant jokes, and the general cacophony of voices. Then, amidst the clinking of champagne flutes, my cousin, Emily, announced she was leaving everything behind to join a Hare Krishna commune.

A sudden, dizzying wave of nausea washed over me. I felt the color drain from my face, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. The meticulously prepared meal, the centerpiece of the evening, suddenly looked repulsive, the colorful vegetables and carefully roasted meats a mockery of the situation.

I wanted to run, to escape the suffocating closeness of the room, the judgmental stares of the gathered relatives. I felt a frantic need to breathe, to find some semblance of normalcy, but I was utterly paralyzed. My hands were shaking, and I could feel my pulse hammering in my temples.