Gemotions

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up towards the chandelier. The ballroom was packed, a sea of unfamiliar faces. His mother, radiant in a floral dress, squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling. He offered her a half-hearted smile. The air conditioning hummed, a monotonous drone.

The notes he held were neatly typed, bullet points marking the key moments. He scanned them, the ink blurring slightly. He felt detached. The room felt miles away.

"So," he began, the word flat and toneless. He stumbled through the story about the time his dad tried to teach him how to drive. People chuckled politely. He finished, the words feeling like dust in his mouth. He retreated to the balcony, the night air a welcome change.