My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts)

by Rene Gutteridge

  When I got there, I went in the back door, through the kitchen. Mother was standing near the stove. “Hi,” she whispered. “I’m just making your father some tea. Want some?” I could barely make out what she was saying, but I gathered from the teakettle in her hand that she was offering me a hot beverage.

  “Sure,” I said, joining her at the stove. “Why are you whispering?” I whispered back.

  “Your father. He’s very fragile.”

  “Do you have to whisper?”

  She nodded. “Yes. And I’m keeping all the lights low, so don’t go flipping switches all the way through the house.” She handed me a large mug. “This is chicken broth. Why don’t you take it to him. I’ll bring the tea in a little bit. You want sugar?”

  I nodded, a little taken aback by the lengths Mother was going to. “What, exactly, did the doctor tell you to do once he got home?”

  “He said absolutely no excitement.”

  “So he was referring to things like golf and lap dancers, right?”

  Mother didn’t find that funny. I wiped the smile off my face. “Seriously, Leah, he’s still in a frail state. I have to do everything within my power to make sure he stays calm and collected. I’m forbidding him to take any phone calls until next week, at the earliest.” She waved me on into the family room with the chicken broth.

  There was Dad, propped up by fluffy pillows, staring blankly at the television. He still looked pale, but when he saw me he smiled that familiar, easy smile I’d convinced myself he reserved just for me.

  “Hi, honey, I didn’t even hear you come in.” He tried to sit up. “What you got there?”

  “Chicken broth,” I said apologetically.

  He groaned. “I have no appetite, and your mom is trying to force-feed me.” I set the chicken broth on the table next to him and joined him on the couch. He didn’t look frail or feeble. He just looked tired.

  I’d performed perfectly at class when telling my parents that I was not going to marry Edward. Of course, Mother was played by Carol, who sympathetically nodded her head the entire time. And Pastor Ernest played Dad. He just hugged and consoled me, even though I didn’t shed a tear and actually became pretty invigorated by how I handled the situation.

  But it was from practicing with Cinco that I gained a confidence I never knew I had. And after all, wouldn’t my parents want me to be happy? That’s what Marilyn said. She told me I was being played by “fear and scenario,” as she called it, where I allowed a fear to play scenario after scenario in my head. It was true. I’d spent hours doing it with Edward and my parents, and Jodie, I realized, was not helping the situation by adding her unwanted commentary.

  Dad patted my knee. “So, any new wedding news?”

  I smiled. “I just saw you a few hours ago.”

  “I wasn’t in too talkative of a mood, though,” he said. “I want you to know I really am happy about this wedding, though I’ve never heard of one being planned this quickly. But, Edward has assured me that this wedding will be worthy of a senator’s daughter and that this wedding planner has even done celebrity weddings before. He assures me you’ll be well taken care of.”

  “Um . . . how many times have you talked to Edward?”

  “A couple, I guess. He called your mother to get phone numbers of all our relatives. He’s really over-the-top happy.”

  Mother entered the room, bringing the tea. She served Dad his, but not before blowing on it and reminding him in a whisper to be careful because it was hot. Dad shot me a look. I tried to hide how nervous I was becoming. I was losing my confidence. Yet this was not going to be as hard as telling Edward, and in fact Marilyn had said it would be a good practice run to tell them first.

  Mother turned down the volume of the television, reminding Dad that he was not supposed to get excited.

  “I’m watching C-SPAN,” Dad complained, “not NASCAR.”

  “Don’t be glib with me,” Mother said. “I won’t put up with it like those nurses.”

  Dad rolled his eyes and decided to try some of his tea. His hands were shaking badly as he picked it up, and I watched nervously, but he brought it to his lips and set it down without incident.

  I was about to broach my subject when Mother said, “Well, Kate sure seems in love. She can’t stop talking about Dillan. We may have two weddings this year!”

  “Dillan’s been good for her,” Dad said, like that wasn’t the understatement of the year. Dad never liked to be overly obvious.

  “And Dillan and Edward seem to get along,” Mother added. “It’ll be nice to have two sons. Daughters are nice, but I always thought I’d be more suited toward sons myself.” She looked at me. “But God knows best, I suppose.” She sipped her tea.

  I took a sip of tea. I knew it was time. I had to do this or I would completely lose my nerve. I looked at the television, focusing on the gray-haired man droning on and on about natural gas.

  “Mother, Dad,” I said, and I could feel them both look at me, the mugs in their hands halfway to their mouths, “I’m not going to marry Edward.” I said it directly, just like Marilyn had taught me, with my emotions in check. It was very matter-of-fact. I kept staring at the television, waiting for a response. I didn’t hear anything. Finally, I looked at Mother.

  She had grown pale. “What did you say?” she asked, still whispering.

  She was going to make me repeat it. Great. “I’m not going to marry Edward.”

  Dad looked frozen. I couldn’t make out any expression on his face. A different expression, on the other hand, passed across Mother’s face every second. “What are you talking about?” she asked in that demeaning tone she was so fond of using with me. “We’ve just been sitting here talking about the wedding.”

  “Edward’s not the right person for me.”

  “You couldn’t have figured that out before?” Mother set down her tea. She wasn’t whispering anymore.

  “It’s . . . something I’m just now realizing, Mother. The engagement came as a complete surprise. I was talking to Edward about how maybe we weren’t right for each other, and the next thing I know I’ve got a ring on my finger.”

  “It just slipped right on there, did it? Without you knowing?” Mother’s usually well-hidden small-town Southern accent was starting to show.

  I bit my lip and looked at Dad. He was still holding the mug just inches from his lips. “I know you are both disappointed. I’m disappointed too, but—”

  “Disappointed? Only the entire world knows about this engagement, Leah. I even had a Times reporter call me about it! It’s no small thing when a senator’s daughter gets married, you know. It’s an important matter. The wedding is two weeks away, for goodness’ sake! You can’t just call off a wedding that’s two weeks away. I’ve already had Sylvia start designing a dress for me!”

  I clawed the armrest of the couch, trying to hold back the anger that wanted to come out. “Mother,” I said, “all of that aside, doesn’t it matter to you that I don’t want to marry Edward? What if it was the day before? So what?”

  “That would be so like you,” Mother said. “It would certainly fit your propensity for the dramatic. At least you didn’t do that.”

  Dad finally put his mug down and spoke. “Leah, why don’t you want to marry Edward? Maybe this is just a case of cold feet.”

  “I don’t think it is,” I said. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought, Dad. Just like you told me to do in life. Give everything thought. That’s all I’ve been doing.” I shook my head, trying to explain myself. “It’s just that Edward is a very scheduled, predictable man. And I’m starting to understand about myself that I need more spontaneity. I need someone in my life who is going to challenge me. Edward doesn’t challenge me. Everything about Edward is very safe and . . . and I need more . . . and I didn’t know this until I met this guy who is everything that I’m not . . . everything that I fear, really, but when I’m with him, I feel alive and—”

  “Wait a minute!” Mother screeched
. I jumped. “Are you saying you cheated on Edward?”

  “Cheated on him? No!” I said. “Well, no, not really. I mean, I didn’t cheat, but I did meet this other man that—”

  “Heavens!” Mother declared. She looked like she was going to faint. I turned to Dad for help, but he looked concerned about Mother.

  “Mother, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not with this man. I just realized that Edward wasn’t the right person for me and—”

  “Leah,” Mother said sternly, “there is always something to make us think the grass is greener on the other side. Don’t you understand that Edward really is a nice find? I’ve known Edward for as long as you have, and he’s a decent, caring, dependable man, Leah. Dependable. Not everyone can say that. Don’t take that attribute for granted. Why do you need all this other stuff you’re talking about? A man who brings excitement to your life? There are a lot of people who just wish their husbands would come home with a decent paycheck! And Edward makes a very good living. He always will. He’s respected, he’s intelligent, and he’s willing to marry you, Leah. Are you going to throw all that away?”

  I felt like a knife had sliced right through my heart. My mother’s words stung as much as anything had in my life. Edward was “willing” to marry me. Did she think so little of me that she didn’t believe I could find another man to love me? I felt my face turn red.

  “How can you say that?” I said, tears rolling down my face.

  “I just want you to be happy, Leah, and you have a tendency to not want to be happy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re just one of those people in life—and maybe it’s because you’re the artsy type, I don’t know— who want to be downtrodden. It’s like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it doesn’t, you take off your boring navy flat and throw it to the ground, just for good measure!”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wanted to scream and cry and slap my mother. I actually wanted to slap her. But I could see in her eyes that she wanted to slap me just as much.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad move. It was about time he came to my defense. He never was good at standing up to Mother. He could lead a filibuster but could hardly win an argument with his wife.

  Mother glanced at him, as if ready to smack down any remark he was about to make. And then we both noticed at the same time. Dad had spilled his broth, and it was dripping down across the pillows and onto the floor. And he was grabbing his chest. And wincing. Mother screamed.

  “Go get the phone!” she ordered me, and I ran into the other room, trying to find the cordless phone. I got it and ran back into the room. Dad was slumping to the side, still grabbing his chest. “Call 911!”

  I quickly dialed and told the operator what was happening. My entire body trembled as I watched my mother cope with the situation in front of her. Dad was still conscious, but he looked like he was in a lot of pain.

  “They’re coming, Mother, they’re coming,” I said as she glanced at me, her eyes filled with terror.

  “This is all your fault!” she yelled at me, and with that she began crying. I’d never, not once, seen my mother cry.

  Chapter 25

  [She tears the page.]

  On the same dirty padded bench in the same stale hallway, Mother and I sat, waiting, at the hospital. She stared forward, indicating she did not want to talk, so I didn’t push it. The doctor had informed us that Dad would be fine, and in fact was probably experiencing non-life-threatening muscle spasms, but they were checking him out anyway.

  Waiting gave me a good forty-five minutes to assess my own mental state of being. I had always taken pride in the fact that I was able to self-assess, and so this seemed as good a time as any to do it.

  I tried to step outside myself and figure out if I was insane. This was not an easy task, because most insane people don’t know they’re insane, but I talked myself into the fact that being the extremely self-aware person that I am, I would probably notice at least a few red flags before others started to intervene.

  So, was my parents’ reaction to the news their weird and freaky quirk, or was the very fact that I was calling off the engagement a sign of my own weird and freaky quirk? I asked myself the tough questions, like: Was I really that lucky Edward was marrying me? Did I really not have that much of a chance to find true love and happiness after he was gone?

  I tried to gauge whether or not my conflict resolution class was the problem. Perhaps it was trying to render me into a person I wasn’t capable of being. Maybe there were people in life who were meant to be peacemakers, the ones who always said yes when they meant no, the ones who always agreed when they disagreed, the ones who always put others’ feelings in front of their own.

  I stared at the squeaky-clean white tile underneath my feet. That’s how my life used to be. Squeaky clean. Problems, sure. But still, nice and tidy. A tad on the antiseptic side. I felt numb and wondered whether I would snap out of it any time soon. I knew there was a very good chance I could walk down that aisle, family and friends on either side of me, smiling broadly as they do at weddings, and I could feel nothing. Oh, sure, I would nod and gesture as if I did, but I knew there was a real possibility that I might not feel a single thing.

  Either way, insane or sane, I had definitely hit the lowest point of my life. And it seemed that no matter what choice I made, the outcome was not going to be good.

  My thoughts turned to Cinco, and I wondered if there was really a chance for two people who were so different to be together. I wondered if my infatuation with him was only because he was my antithesis. Was it silly to throw away a two-year relationship because of one that had spanned only a few weeks, if that? Besides, it looked as if the relationship was already doomed. He’d called me on lying. Who would want to be with a liar?

  And then, to my utter surprise, Mother spoke. She didn’t look at me, and at first I wondered if she was really talking to me or just talking out loud. But I sat very still and listened.

  “It was a year before I met your father, 1967. I was working on my master’s and there was a . . . a . . .”

  I leaned forward, anticipating.

  She glanced at me before continuing in a much more hushed voice. “Well, a freshman,” she finally said. “His name was Howard. He preferred Howie, but I called him Howard because it just sounded more dignified. Anyway, he was studying . . .”

  I rocked forward again, trying to help pull the words out of her mouth.

  “. . . opera. Yes, that’s right, opera, of all things. He had this voice . . . this unbelievable voice. I can still hear it in my head after all these years. I was smitten with him, and he with me. We were an odd couple, that was for certain. My goodness, I was six years older than he. But nevertheless, we dated for almost a year before I met your father.”

  I tried not to breathe. I didn’t want to distract Mother in any way. She’d never opened up like this, and I didn’t want to stop it now. I figured I knew what was coming, a lecture about how although she liked Howie, my father was the better man for her, but I listened anyway, just for kicks.

  “Of course, your father was any woman’s dream, as you know. He was studying law, but anyone who knew him knew he had a future in politics. His entire family served in politics, and he was expected to do the same. Not only that, but he had a charisma for it, you understand. Everyone knew he would do great things. I was captivated with him from the moment we met, and my family was too. Pretty soon I knew that I would not marry Howard, but that I would marry your father.” She paused, and I sighed. Then she said, “But I never stopped thinking about Howard.”

  I turned to her. “What?”

  She looked at me. “It’s true. I never have, actually. From time to time I think about him and wonder what he’s doing, wonder if his life took him the way that he dreamed. He was a dreamer, oh, what a dreamer. He lived his life in the clouds most of the time. But we really had such a good time together. I nev
er have felt like that before or since.” She cleared her throat. “Your father is a good man, and he’s done great things. His greatest pride and joy, of course, is you girls. And he’s been a good father; there’s no disputing that.” A but hanging in the air was never spoken. It didn’t need to be. I could see it in my mother’s eyes. She regretted losing Howard. My stomach churned at the thought, but my thoughts were interrupted by the white doors swinging open and a blue-clad doctor walking toward us.

  Mother stood, and any hint of the conversation vanished from the air.

  But not from my heart.

  They wanted to keep Dad overnight, and Mother sent me home, telling me I had better things to do with my time than sit in a hospital room. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but it was certainly true on more than one level. I managed to get four hours of sleep but was awoken once again by the phone ringing. I couldn’t manage to get myself out of bed, but J. R.’s voice came through loud and clear.

  “Leah, you really must call me back. This is the second message I’ve left, and that’s one more than I’m accustomed to. Thank you.”

  I rolled my eyes and groaned, praying sleep would find me again. But underneath the heavy pile of covers, all I could do was listen to myself breathe, so I finally got up.

  And I marched straight to my computer. I was going to finish this play if it killed me.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Immersed in my play, I barely heard the phone ring. The answering machine picked up. It was Edward. “Hey you.” That was his newly engaged phrase. Hey you. He’d never used a phrase like that in his life. I guess it was the closest I would get to a pet name with him. It made me smile a little. “Just wanted to check in. Cynthia said you hadn’t called her, so I wanted to make sure I gave you the right number and everything. I’ll be home at 5:30. Call me then.”

  I grasped in my hand one hundred and three pieces of paper that held my play. I’d been working all morning and all afternoon. But there was nothing to show for it. The play was a mess. It had gone from what I thought was a pretty decent play about an unromantic woman to a jumbled collection of scenes that now made no sense.