Gemotions

The invitation, a crisp white card, sat on the kitchen counter, mocking him. He read the details, his eyes scanning the names of the organizing committee. They were the popular kids. He wasn't.

He walked over to the mirror. He looked at his face, at the lines and creases, at the hair that was starting to gray. He was older, heavier. He wasn't the person he’d hoped to be. He pictured everyone, as they are now, what they did after high school.

He had always felt like an outsider, a spectator. He felt that familiar, unwelcome sensation, that feeling of not measuring up. The urge to stay home, to hide away, was overwhelming.

He poured himself a large glass of whiskey. The harsh liquid burned going down, but it didn't numb the feeling. The party was in two weeks. Two weeks.