Gemotions

He sat in the car, the engine running, but he wasn’t going anywhere. The invitation was in the glove compartment, tucked away, out of sight. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, a nervous tattoo echoing in the silence. He considered driving off, just putting distance between himself and the looming event.

The retirement party was scheduled for Saturday. He glanced at the calendar on the dashboard. It felt like a ticking time bomb. The thought of public speaking, of being the center of attention, made his palms slick with perspiration. He imagined stumbling over his words, his face flushing crimson.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He had to be prepared. He had to think of something to say. He knew he'd only embarrass himself. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "This isn't happening," he whispered. "This just isn't happening." The engine idled. He remained still. The minutes ticked by, each one bringing him closer to his fate.