Gemotions

The drive to the venue was a blur of blurred streetlights and racing thoughts. Michael gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. He imagined the look on his father's face, the pride and the expectation. He knew he should be feeling celebratory, but a sense of unease was churning inside him.

He kept replaying the words he’d prepared in his head, but they felt stilted, inadequate. He longed for some way to back out, to let someone else handle it. His palms were clammy. He could almost feel the weight of the speech, pressing down on him.

He noticed that he was unconsciously accelerating, speeding towards the retirement party. He eased off the gas pedal, and he took a long, deliberate breath. As he pulled into the parking lot, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him.