Gemotions

The microphone felt surprisingly heavy in her hand. She stared at the buffet table, its offerings a colorful blur. Another shrimp cocktail. Groundbreaking. Her father beamed at her from across the room, a hand raised in a small, hopeful wave. She gave a perfunctory nod in return. The room was stuffy.

Her speech was written, meticulously so. It was all the right things: gratitude, appreciation, a few carefully chosen anecdotes. She glanced at the words, but they swam before her eyes.

"To my dad," she began, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears. A cough. A sip of water. The clinking of glasses. The room’s enthusiastic chatter fell away as she spoke. She continued, going through the motions. The applause at the end felt like a distant echo.