Gemotions

The request had been whispered, not announced. "Maybe, dear, a few words?" her mother had suggested, her voice soft but insistent. For Martha, it was a sudden thing, a bolt from the blue, to be asked to speak. She almost choked on her morning coffee.

She’d spent the weeks leading up to the party oscillating between acceptance and dread. She’d practiced in front of the mirror, her words sounding stilted and unnatural. She’d envisioned everything from tripping on the way to the stage to forgetting her own name.

The banquet hall, bathed in the warm glow of the chandeliers, seemed to amplify her anxiety. Her jaw clenched. Each friendly face seemed to be staring directly at her, waiting. As she walked to the stage, her legs felt like lead.