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

of the class.”
    I knew I was in even more trouble when a lump formed in my throat. Was it the lack of sleep? The emotional evening I’d had with Elisabeth? The fact that Edward thought I should be here?
    The idea someone might think I was fake? Faking what? The fact that I didn’t want to be here?
    â€œCinco, we’re going to start with you. Why don’t you tell Ernest what you think is fake about him.”
    Cinco stared at the ground for a moment. He didn’t appear to relish the task. After all, Ernest was a pastor. In the Old Testament, bad things could happen to those who insulted a man of God. But Cinco also didn’t look nervous, even though everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to start.
    Ernest was surprisingly calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world. I had the sudden urge to go to the bathroom, but then that would probably be seen as an attempt to escape. And it would be. But I sat still and crossed my legs. In the short time Cinco required to think through his answer, I planned on escaping by other means: urgent cell phone call, smelling smoke, or gagging on my pen and making myself throw up.
    Cinco looked up at Ernest with a gentle, apologetic look on his face. Then he said, “Ernest, I think that you’re not as peaceful on the inside as you look on the outside. I think in reality you’re really angry.”
    Ernest’s docile eyes flickered as we all watched his reaction. He met Cinco’s gaze for a moment, then looked down at his feet. His hands were clasped together like he might be praying, but then he looked up and said, “Thank you, Cinco. And I think your on-air persona is a bunch of bull.” Everyone’s heads rotated back to Cinco, who stared right at Ernest. Cinco maintained steady, expressionless eyes. There was a cold silence except for a strange noise I couldn’t at first identify. I suddenly realized it was my grinding teeth, and I stopped immediately.
    After the rest of us finished gawking at the two, we looked to Marilyn for continued guidance. She had the luxury of focusing on her notepad while jotting notes. I thought maybe I should jot down some notes.
    Finally she looked up and smiled. “Good. Both of you. I sensed some tension, which isn’t unexpected. But let me assure you that when you’re in that kind of situation, the tension is noticeable. You may be talking in a normal, nonthreatening voice. You may be making normal eye contact. You may even be smiling, like Leah’s illustrating so perfectly.” The smile dropped off my face. “But when there’s tension, there’s tension. There’s nothing wrong with tension, let me clarify, but let me also say that nobody is fooled by practiced body language. If you’re going to resolve the conflict, you’re going to have to be genuine about your resolve, or else there will still be underlying tension, which can be just as damaging as conflict itself.” She looked at Carol. “Carol, why don’t you go ahead.”
    Carol whimpered. She looked at me. Her eyes actually brimmed with tears, magnified by her gigantic glasses. Carol couldn’t even manage to look at Glenda. She was fumbling around with her words, making slight gestures with her hands, which wasn’t helping in the translation. This went on for a good minute and a half, and Marilyn looked content to wait patiently, but Glenda suddenly shouted, “Carol, for crying out loud, get it out! I don’t want to sit here any longer than I have to!”
    I gasped, Carol gasped, and the other faces froze with shock. Glenda looked around the circle. “What? This class is obviously going to take some guts. I’m not sure Carol is cut out for this kind of thing.”
    I looked at Carol, and a big tear rolled down her left cheek. Now I could hear apologies rolling out of her mouth. I looked at Marilyn, but she was jotting down notes again. I was about