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

Causing conflict?”
    Cinco’s smile faded a little. “Lost my temper and let a few fly on a reporter in front of my home. I’m one of your beloved court-ordereds.”
    â€œGood to have you, Cinco,” Marilyn said. “Next.”
    Next to Cinco sat a woman with Merle Norman eyes and a drawn mouth. Her face was shiny with either overdone moisturizer or one too many cosmetic procedures. With penciled-in eyebrows and ratted blonde hair that looked like it’d been cooked over high heat, she was the quintessential sixty-year-old trying for forty. Her practiced smile greeted the group, and then she focused on Marilyn.
    â€œI’m Glenda. I’d prefer not to use my last name. You can’t be too careful these days.”
    I glanced at Cinco, who looked like he was willing himself not to zing her with some sarcastic challenge.
    â€œI’m court-ordered as well, but it wasn’t really my fault. The police officer that pulled me over was a complete jerk and an imbecile. And if you can’t protect yourself against the police, how can you protect yourself at all?”
    Cinco couldn’t keep quiet. “What’d you do?”
    Her head lifted with superiority. “It’s nobody’s business, but let’s just say the police will think twice about pulling me over in a school zone again.” She blinked and looked at everyone. “And listen, if you believe the news-paper article about how those kindergartners were traumatized by the event, you’re a moron. Their screams were no doubt a result of some high-sugar snack they were fed that day. And just for the record, any police officer who gets knocked down by a purse is a ninny anyway.”
    Marilyn’s mouth was hanging open, and I realized mine was too. “Next,” she said.
    â€œNext” was the biggest guy I’d ever seen. His muscles rippled under his shirt, his head was smooth and bald, his skin tan, and his eyes green and mean looking. He sat with both feet firmly planted on the ground and his large arms entwined across his large chest.
    â€œI’m Robert Goden. I’m a police officer.”
    My whole body flushed with heat, and I looked at the ground instead of all the shocked expressions I knew were making their way around the group. And, to my horror, I felt the first signs of my most dreaded weakness . . . my hives. They were simply uncontrollable, and the most I could hope to do about them was avoid uncomfortable situations. But I knew that soon enough the itching would begin. Large welts would climb up my chest, and people would start asking me if I was okay. My hand nonchalantly crept up my shirt to feel my neckline. Fairly high, thankfully. If I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself, I had a chance of slowing them down at least, and with some careful maneuvering of my hair around my neck, I could possibly hide it all, including my beet-red ears.
    I stared at the concrete below my feet and tried not to listen, but it was impossible. Robert was saying, “I’m here under court order. The anger management class was full.” I glanced up, and Robert was staring at Glenda. I quickly glanced back down. Robert continued. “And lady, if you’d like to try to swing your purse at me, go right ahead. Just make sure it’s not one of your favorites.”
    I could hear Cinco laughing. He was the only one. By the way feet moved back and forth slightly, I could tell everyone else was squirming in their seats. The hives were at my collarbone. I carefully moved one side of my hair and wrapped it across my neck nonchalantly, willing myself not to scratch. I glanced up once and noticed Cinco watching me. I tried my best not to appear startled. I wasn’t sure if I pulled it off. So instead, I looked at the next fellow in this torturous line. He was the nervous one.
    Maybe. But does he have hives?
    â€œI’m Ernest. Ernest Jones. Reverend Ernest Jones.”