Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words on the screen blurring slightly. His father, retiring? After all these years? It just didn't compute. He’d always pictured his dad, a gruff but dependable figure, at the factory. Now, here he was, staring down the barrel of a public address.

The drive to the event was a silent, tense affair. His hands were clenched so tightly on the steering wheel he thought he might crack the plastic. The venue, a cavernous banquet hall, buzzed with forced joviality. He found his assigned table, feeling as if someone had punched him in the gut.

As his name was called, he rose, his legs feeling like jelly. The room tilted. He hadn’t written a speech. He hadn’t even considered it. He imagined his father, sitting there, expecting something profound. He gulped audibly, the sound amplified by the microphone. The words felt like lead in his mouth.