My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) by Rene Gutteridge Page B

haste toward the lamp at the end of the couch. A little light would quickly diffuse this situation. But when I got halfway there, a dark figure emerged suddenly from the hallway.
    I screamed. And screamed again. My body wiggled with the electrocution of sheer terror. Then I realized something astonishing. I wasn’t the one screaming. With my mouth open but with no sound coming out, I stared through the darkness and realized the person hopping up and down in the hallway looked remarkably like Elisabeth.
    She finally stopped screaming. I switched on the light by the couch. “Elisabeth! What are you doing?”
    Grasping her T-shirt at chest level, she managed to say, “You scared me to death!”
    â€œHow did I do that? You’re sneaking around my apartment in the dark!”
    Her nostrils flared. “I’m not sneaking. I just got here, and I was using the bathroom. I do have a key, if you remember.”
    I glanced down the hallway and saw a small slice of light glowing from the bathroom. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œLooking for you. I called twice, and you didn’t answer.”
    â€œDid it occur to you I might be out?”
    â€œYou’re never out on Tuesdays, especially after nine.”
    Her words stung. Was I that predictable?
    â€œI was worried,” she added, but not convincingly. “Looks like I should’ve been. Heard of an umbrella?”
    I sighed. “I need to go change.” I walked past her and into my bedroom, where I dried off, wrapped my hair in a towel, and changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants. In the kitchen, Elisabeth was fixing us both tea, which meant only one thing. She needed to talk.
    I didn’t feel like listening to her problems. Not tonight. I had enough to deal with. I noticed she was fixing chai. This was not a good sign. It didn’t just mean conversation. It meant a heavy conversation. I walked straight to the living room and sat down.
    After a few minutes, she joined me. “Here you go.” She smiled, handing me a large mug.
    â€œElisabeth,” I started. All I wanted to do was fall into bed and cry myself into a deep sleep. She turned, waiting for me to finish.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    I could see trouble in her eyes. “Need more sugar.”
    She plopped another cube into my mug, then made herself comfortable on the couch.
    I switched on the lamp, my body aching with the weight of so much worry. Elisabeth didn’t notice. She was now furiously stirring her tea and looked like she was about to cry.
    I sat down next to her, and as soon as I put my arm around her shoulder, she burst into tears. I held her, my heart aching for her unknown sorrow. I’d never seen her this upset in all our years of friendship.
    Soon enough, though, she calmed down and I went in search of tissues. When I returned, she set her cup down and said, “I’ve decided to have an affair.”

Chapter 8
    [Fumbling her words, she becomes silent.]
    R ain was coming down again, the damp environment a constant reminder of the new low I found myself in. I drove cautiously, both hands gripping the steering wheel, my bloodshot eyes stinging and scared to blink for fear it would turn into a short snooze at the wheel.
    I’d spent yesterday deleting scene after scene from my play, punching the Delete key in rapid succession to try to get that same feeling I used to have when I actually ripped up pieces of paper. It wasn’t quite the same. But close. Especially when my Delete key jammed up.
    But in reality, it wasn’t my play that was frustrating me. In fact I’d made some progress today, though the idea that I had in my possession some sort of prophetic talents still made me shiver. No, my mind was plagued by my friend Elisabeth’s dilemma.
    Was it really a dilemma?
    Somehow it had turned into a dilemma, and somehow I had let her walk out the door of my home remaining confident that this was what she had to