Gemotions

He adjusted his tie for what must have been the hundredth time, the silk clinging uncomfortably to his sweaty neck. The podium felt alien under his hands, and the room, usually full of people he knew, now seemed filled with strangers. He'd practiced this speech for days, but the words had deserted him the instant he stepped up to speak. A flush crept up his neck, and he could feel his cheeks burning.

He began, his voice surprisingly high-pitched. He felt like he was watching himself from the outside, a clumsy puppet fumbling with the strings. Each word felt wrong, inadequate. His father, a man of few words but enormous presence, sat with a look of barely concealed amusement. He could almost hear the unspoken judgement.

He felt the gaze of his colleagues, their silent assessment. He imagined the stories they'd share at work tomorrow. It was a disaster. He rushed to the end, mumbling a weak "congratulations." He quickly retreated from the podium, eager to vanish into the crowd.