Don’t be a doormat
Tags: Law, Short Story, Storytelling, Power, Fiction

Don’t be a doormat

As more people flood in through the front, Amelia pushes deeper into the corner of the tram. Droplets of moisture condense as she presses her olive skin against the glass window. She brushes her brown hair away with her frail hands and nervously checks her watch - again.

8:15am.

The tram was two minutes behind schedule due to the accumulation of last night's snow on the roads. The snow glazed over Boston like the fresh froth on the top of a latte.

Time never used to be on Amelia’s mind. She would normally indulge in her beverage of choice and a sugar-laden muffin at a coffee stand. However, several weeks ago she hopped off the elevator, late by mere minutes, to find herself publicly humiliated by her boss, Harvey. It was this day that made Amelia overly conscious of the ticking noise beneath her sleeve. Yet, Amelia didn’t resent Harvey. It was a small price to pay in the eyes of an inexperienced lawyer, for being offered the chance to work at a renowned law firm. Harvey never failed to remind her of his generosity in hiring her. “Hiring you was out of the goodness of my heart,” he’d say. Amelia didn’t like to be pitied; reluctantly, she accepted his charity.

In her village in Thrace, she was admired and respected. Her father took great pride in Amelia and grabbed any opportunity to include a comment about her in a conversation. Amelia felt embarrassed when he bragged about her, but it also made her smile to see him proud. The village was small but lively. Locals would warmly greet each other; workers would chat in the fields; kids would play soccer through the burnt-orange dust, using empty barrels as goal posts. It was six months ago that her father gave her an envelope. Inside, a ticket and a watch. “Time is important over there,” he had said with a forced smile. The cheerful expression painted over his face didn’t reach his eyes. The moment still lingered securely in Amelia’s memory. Boston was a place where Amelia could reach her full potential. Her father loved her enough to know that leaving was the right choice for her future.

***

Ameila checks the time before squeezing past the people in the tram; they are tightly packed like sardines in a can. She sprints, dodging the wave of busy looking people, marching intently to their own destinations. She runs straight into the elevator, anxiously watching the numbers light up, as the metal cage creeps up the shaft to the fifth floor. She takes a final deep breath and forces down the suffocating fear that is causing her throat to throb. The number 5 glows a pale orange; the door opens.

Harvey’s lips curl at the sight of Ameila’s attempt to conceal her fear. Her blood-drained face and specks of cold sweat give her away. A chill runs down her spine as he pats her on the back, guiding her to his office. She remembers the way her dad would pat her on the back, to support her, to comfort her … She tries to convince herself that this is the same.

He sits down on his chair, leaving her standing awkwardly in front of his desk.

“Care to explain why you couldn't make it on time?” The words barely escape his gritted teeth; they slither malevolently towards her.

“The tram was late … Sir,” Amelia stammers while trying to seem as calm as possible.

“You’re telling me there’s no other way to get to work?” His stinging green eyes threaten to pierce Amelia, as his voice heightens.

“I’m not comfortable with the transport ... yet ...” Her voice trails off.

“I hired you. I took you in when no one else would even look at your pathetic resume. The least you can do is Get. Here. On. Time!” He swings a glass mug at the chairs in front of her, shattering the vessel and spilling coffee all over the carpeted floor. “Clean it!” he yells, as he slams the door behind him.

Amelia presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth and stares at the ceiling in a futile attempt to fight back her tears. She loses the battle - her eyes become glossy; her vision blurred. Ignoring the riveted stares penetrating through the glass walls, she kneels down to pick up the shards of glass. She feels a sharp pinch, as blood seeps through her cotton sleeve. It traces back to a cut from a piece of jagged glass lodged in her finger.

***

Amelia’s expectations, and excitement, about Boston slowly began to turn sour after she began working at the law firm. When Amelia first met Harvey, he was kind and encouraging. Nevertheless, his true nature eventually emerged from the shadows. There was no sudden turning point - it was a gradual transformation. He became impatient; his smile started to appear disingenuous. The first few times he yelled at her, she told herself he was stressed, or just wound up tight. Somewhere along the way, the yelling became her doing. His words, “I brought you here, I helped you,” constantly weaved through her mind. They reminded her of her vulnerable position. She desperately wanted to escape back home.

***

*Tick*

Amelia stops in the middle of the hallway and wipes her trickling tears; she glances at her watch. Immediately, she is reminded of her father. He works tirelessly in the wheat fields in the service of her better future.

Amelia knows she wouldn't be able to face him if she went home. “Where’s the tenacity? The resilience? The perseverance?” he would ask. She knew he would also tell her: “Do not be a doormat!”

The icy air screams into Ameila’s lungs. It instantaneously fills her with a drive to rid herself of this emotional pain; this abject humiliation. She straightens her skirt, straps a band-aid over her cut and stares at her watch.

She strides back into the office for the last time.