Doormat (short story)

A couple minutes before her expected clock-out time, Macy rearranged her desk to a neat state, sanitized her area, and powered off her computer. When she reached under her desk to gather her belongings, she checked her cell phone. 3% didn't appear to be a big deal since she would soon be on her way out. While still bent over, Macy heard a throat clear up behind her. She spiraled up out from under to see Ben smiling, standing there holding a heavy stack of folders.

"I know it is almost 5, but would you mind entering this data? It shouldn't take more than an hour. I'd really appreciate it," Ben said as he subtly extended the bulk out to her.

Macy stood there staring at the stack that awaited her. An hour!? That could mean two. Say 'No.' Tell him to ask someone else, for once. Tell him, 'Sorry, but I have a bus to catch.' Say it! Come on. "Sure. I'll be happy to help."


"Thanks. I knew I could count on you!" Ben placed the thick stack into the palms of her hands and added, "Don’t forget to lock up. I’ll be leaving in a few."




When Ben turned the corner, Macy dumped the folders onto her desk and let out a sight filled with stress. Being a bit paranoid, Macy leaned her chair back to be sure her boss was completely out of sight. To get all the nagging out of her system, she snidely whispering under her breath, "My pleasure, Ben. I'll just catch the next bus home." She restarted her computer, slid the mass of sandwiching folders closer to her, and began the assignment.




The existence of time had vanished until her stomach began to growl and ache. As Macy was inputting the last bit of information into the computer, she took a second to check her watch. The hour was up! Overcome by joy, she thought, At least Ben didn't lie to me this time. 




Hoping a bus was on its way, Macy fled down the flight of stairs, locked the office doors, and ran to the bus stop. Panting, she read the digital sign posted on the schedule, separating each word with a wheeze. "Transit out of service." Her jaw dropped as fast as her shoulders slumped."




"Why today," she shouted to the sky with her arms out wide.


Macy plopped herself onto the bench at the stop and thought of whom she could call for a ride home. She found herself eliminating everyone she once knew—either because she had pushed them out her life, lost their phone numbers, or had been too shy to rekindle relationships. It finally occurred to her to call Mrs. Fray, her neighbor from down the hall.

Once, Macy had lent the old woman a hand when she noticed her struggling to get groceries out of her ancient station wagon. Mrs. Fray told Macy not to hesitate knocking on her door if she was ever in trouble or needed the favor returned. Even though Macy had declined the offer in advance, the woman had suggested they exchange numbers, and so they did. Macy couldn’t bare the idea of seeing an elderly woman beg. She feared it could very well be herself in the future: desperate and alone.




Macy patted her forehead and wondered what time would be more appropriate time to ask for a favor, than now. She pulled out her cell phone to make the call. But upon dialing, her screen turned black. She knew it was dead, but refused to believe it, so Macy pressed the power button countless times with the expectation of it turning on again.




Her eyes, now flooded, stood wide open, resisting even the slightest blink. All Macy had ever tried to do was be a good person. She avoided confrontations at all costs; she always donated to the poor and homeless–even if she knew they were too lazy to find a job. Although she didn’t feel like an asset to her company, she was the most zealous employee in her office. But maybe that was her problem. 

“I’m through with people stepping all over me and using me,”

She said as she sprung off the bench and stormed in the direction of her home.

Macy's short heels had clicked dully over broken pavement for nearly two blocks. Now that she was walking through these streets, instead of riding past them, she realized how trashy and deserted it had become them. The walls were filled with distasteful art, people laid on the steps of shops that no longer existed, and garbage trended on streets rather than in cans.

Macy soon came across a vacant building with cleaner walls, and found it to be the only suitable place to rest her weight on. After studying its aspects, she remembered it used to be the most popular café in town, which her good friend used to own. Except, now, the windows were boarded up, and she was no longer Macy’s good friend.

One by one, she took pressure off her feet by raising each of them off the floor. The stinging pulsations on the ball of her feet were sheer indications that the blisters from last Saturday night were beginning to resurface. Immediately, she regretted having gone dancing for her first date because it had been years since both occasions had occurred.

Before continuing, Macy looked down at her now-scuffed work shoes and pursed her lips. "Looks like we're going to have to invest in a pair again. Guess I won't be eating for the next five days!" Macy had owned her astonishingly low heels for so long, they were practically begging to be laid to rest.

Looking at the road ahead, Macy packed up her deadpan humor, pushed herself away from the window, and proceeded to the next intersection. She would have to move quickly if she wanted to get home before it became too dark and dangerous. 

As Macy turned the corner, she found herself surrounded by civilization again. There was food, people, and more importantly, cars! It took Macy a couple of tries to draw a taxi. The many that passed her up didn’t seem to notice her waving, whistling, or standing with a hitchhiker thumb out. She was irritated and exhausted from trying when a yellow cab stopped a couple of feet ahead of her. The moment she walked up to it and grabbed the door handle, another hand simultaneously reached out. It was a woman. Slightly older and also dressed in business attire, this woman was most likely wearing all of the jewelry she owned.

“Sweetheart, would you mind taking the next one? It’s been a long day,” said the woman persuasively.

“I don’t think you know the meaning of ‘long’.”

Macy and the woman began to nudge each other at the hip until Macy bumped her beyond the cab’s backdoor, and then said, “Excuse me, but this one’s mine.”

The older woman yelped in offense but Macy disregarded her cry, she squeezed herself into the car, and said to the driver, “13232 Valor Street, please.” 

Why Don't You Wear Any Make Up?

I'm afraid my face will break out. I might have another allergic reaction—a spectacle similar to the one I woke up to the day of my graduation. I can't afford the expensive stuff. I don't know how to apply it to my face without looking like a birthday cake. I don't want to look dead when you catch me not wearing any. I'd rather do something more productive with my time, like sleep in, or make my hair look decent. 

If she hadn't been a 5-year-old, I would have given her at least one of these reasons when my friend's daughter asked me, with a face similar to the picture above, "Why don't you wear any make up?" 

While she waited eagerly for a response, I looked at my brother's girlfriend and noticed her delicate line of eyeliner. As dumbfounded as we both had been, she giggled at the girl's quizzical expression. So I turned to my right. But with the entire bottle of mascara weighed throughout my younger cousin's lashes, no hope remained. I reverted my attention back in front of me where the little girl stood staring up at me. I gave her my best 5-year-old comeback and said, "Well ,neither do you." To that, she said, "Tha'th cuth my daddy won't let me." Fair enough.

Later that night she had me thinking. Why don't I wear make up most days? I would like to look pretty all the time, not just some times. I think I've convinced myself that I don't need to rely on my face to feel beautiful. And the curiosity of a little girl shouldn't make me doubt my beliefs...but it did. 

Although it was hilarious to be taken aback by an honest child, at that moment I wished I had thrown on my barely-there make up routine: lightly dab my face with foundation, wing my eyes with eyeliner, stroke two rounds of mascara onto my upper lashes, define my sparse brows, and top it off with my translucent powder. (As much as I'm not a fan of focusing full attention on facial appearances, I wouldn't want to be a "butter-face" either!)

What was it about a 5-year-old's interrogation that struck me more than my mom's constant rant about not wearing make up? Don't get me wrong, I love how it looks on most women who wear it. I just wonder how the average ones learned how to put it on and know what works best without breaking their bank. 

I've watched countless tutorials on YouTube, and have learned a couple tricks from my mom (because we have similar bone structures and eye shapes),  But the one thing I have failed at—due to my lack of products—is highlighting and contouring my face. I wish there was someone who could easily teach me which drugstore products would work best on my complexion and how to go about applying it without looking too overdone. I have to admit, there are days when I get tired of seeing the peach-fuzz on my cheeks (haha).

Thou Shall Live a Little

These past few weeks have come down on me hard. Although some really great things have happened, tragic events have also occurred. (Why does the bad have to outweigh the good?) After mopping around and making myself useless, I told myself, something is out there for you in this world. You just have to go out and find it. So I've convinced myself to believe that nothing bad's happening to me. It;s just life; life is what's happening to me. And the only way to beth through it is to live through it. I want to experience so many things, but I allow timing, shyness, and most of all, money to be barriers.

Because I budget my wallet so tightly, most of my hard-earned money is spent on paying off my loans and other bills. I see myself more as a saver than a spender. But how can you experience anything if all you do is save and avoid using what you've earned? It's like, what is so important that you are saving everything for? I guess I avoid wasting money because I worry too much about the future and the results of my actions. It's as if I won't have enough for a house of my own, enough money to sustain a decent life.

A while back, my mom shared some advice with me that her boss drilled into her: You shouldn't work with the mentality of having to pay things off. It's so negative. Have a goal in mind, and work hard so you can have the thing it is you want.

Although I still believe there are many things you can do without spending a fortune, there are just a few things you can do without any money at all. Recently, when I was with some friends, I realized money was in fact a necessity to have fun. Obviously I wouldn't want to go out and spend daily, but doing it more often might be good for me! Besides, what better time is there to live newfound carefree experiences than now?

Without labeling them with their expenses--or having any at all, let me see if I can step out of my comfort zone and manage to fulfill this summer's bucket list (in no particular order):

1. Find a new car

2. Visit beaches I haven't been to before

3. Go to Six Flags

4. Read new books

5. Get a massage

6. Visit museums in Los Angeles

7. Go hiking/explore nature

8. Watch new movies at a movie theater

9. Begin a veggie garden 

10. Go dancing

11. Bake from scratch for the fun of it

12. Learn how to cook

13. Watch a Dodgers game this season
14. Take a trip up north and visit Alcatraz Island
15. Try out a new restaurant

I'm falling apart inside...Literally!

Maybe it's a mental thing. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems. Maybe it could be worse. Maybe I'm being initiated into real life--real freaking fast. The man upstairs is probably testing me to see how well I can handle myself as a true adult. I'm 22, yet, I still live with my parents, hardly pay any bills, and still have a curfew. I'm still dumbfounded at the fact that my mom had just moved into her own house, was married, and pregnant with her second child at my age. Naturally, she became more mature at my age than I am now. (But I think she was always that type of person: a topic I'll get into once I'm more comfortable with blogging.)

Current mood: stressed (physically and mentally). 

Current location: not on ground level (physically and mentally).

And both are problematic. I keep telling myself I need to relax and fix my problems one thing at a time. Instead, I take everything as a whole and make the situations worse than they really are. I'm not trying to make my problems seem minute nor condescend these matters, because even though it’s been confirmed that my car is a total loss, I might have to find my own car insurance, I went to the chiropractor and felt uneasy being there, and I falsified information, there is definitely some light in all of this.

I paid $4900 for the car I totaled two weeks ago. My insurance is paying me $6200 to pay off the car so I can get a new one. The insurance man said to see the situation as if I had a free car from the time I bought it. Although I wished they could just fix it, it is “irreparably damaged.” Apparently, the cost to fix my car would be more than the car is worth. I still think that’s a lie. I believe they just want to keep it and fix it so they can sell it for more money. On the brighter side, I made a little over a thousand dollars. Hopefully that can get me a newer model.

As for the chiropractor, I should have listened to my mom. (Why, oh why are mothers always right?) She specifically told me not to sign any papers at the doctor’s office…yet I did anyways. The doctor said even for a consultation, they require patients to fill out the necessary documents for records. And he reassured me that they would be shredded if I decided to not come back.  After filling them out, I was examined and he said, “Did you want me to do work on you?” “I have no money on me,” I answered sheepishly. “That’s okay. I will take care of you at no cost. But maybe we can work something out.” Like an ignorant bimbo, I said, "okay." He cracked and massaged my body, but I ended up in the same amount of pain, as well as soreness, as when I went in. ...Moral of this story, I was scared beyond words. Only terrifying thoughts ran through my mind. I thought of telling this incident in detail, but I'd rather create a short story based on this incident. It's been a while since I wrote fiction. 

My Nameless, Nonexistent Children

Have you ever felt like the world is passing you by? As if people are maturing faster than you, doing things before you, or even taking things that were yours even though there were no legal rights of you owing what they took? I felt like this recently. Although I am totally unprepared and far from ready to have kids, I constantly think of baby names. At my job, I read through numerous names and when I come across the ones that sound catchy, I repeat them to myself over and over. I go through my checklist: can it be pronounced in English and Spanish? Is it common? Is it the best way to be spelled? Can it be associated with offensive words in either English or Spanish? I wouldn't want my child to go through what I went through for years. In elementary school, I was teased by a boy on the daily. He called me Vanessa la mayonesa.  (In English, "mayonesa" means mayonnaise.) I remember hating my name even more than I had before that horrible nickname.

I then put the name through this potentially-jinxing analysis: I sound out the first name with my boyfriend's last name--just in case I do end up being blessed with his child--and I make sure it has an eloquent and euphonious flow. But when I'm in a circle of soon-to-be mothers talking about names, they dance around those which I have already preselected.  It's as if they asked themselves, "Which names has Vanessa already chosen so we can choose them too and use them before she can?" Deep down it annoys me because I'm not the one who is about to have a baby, and even though there is no rule against recycling names, I wouldn't want my child to have a cousin with the same name.

Some days, I wonder to myself if I am waiting too long to have kids. My dreams are to be young enough to keep up with them before my body begins to deteriorate faster than it is now; I'd want my grandparents to meet them and love the child I created; and I'd want my closest cousin's children to be able to play together. But at this rate, their children will be teenagers by the time I decide to have kids. On the flip side, I'm like: Hello, you're 22 and don't even know what you want to do with the rest of your own life! How can you decide for another human being? And is having the perfect, unused name for your child worth having to change the lives of two people before you both are ready? I would want to be able to provide for my future child with little struggle. I would want to be happy to announce my pregnancy (not be ashamed or embarrassed). And more than anything, I'd want to provide them with guidance and wisdom like the special people in my life have continuously given to me.

Since I'm already on this rant, I'll go a step further and ask you all: How can I get my boyfriend to not want a ton of kids?  He is obsessed with the idea of having 4+ kids. Although I only want two, three is my absolute max! I just don't understand why he would have that kind of need. I don't think he has considered that we'd  have to take 4+ kids to amusement parks and manage to not lose one of them, make sure they are all well-behaved at church, get them through school, and if the majority are girls, that would mean we'd have a bunch of quinceñeras to pay for. I mean, we could always be super cheap and conjoin all of our daughter's 15th birthday parties together, but I'd want each of them to have their special day. I wouldn't want to be like that family with 19 kids. That's just not my thing. Bottom line, I don't know how else to convince him haha!

Mean Girl

As many times as I've thought of seeking revenge, hurting someone, or wanting something bad to happen to them, I've never fully acted upon my plans. Although I do have the courage--and believe me, I have plenty of it--I'd feel horrible after doing wrong. I am a holistic believer in karma. And if I must go into slight detail about that, I'd say it's because I've always believed in God having a plan...a solution for everyone and everything. So, as much as I would want to take vengeful matters into my own hands, I simply don't [always] because things sort themselves out the way they ought to be. This past Friday, I wanted to sock my co-worker's face in. Aside from having defaced property from time to time, I'm really not a violent person. But this guy nearly had me say the things you'd never say in front of your mother.

As soon as I got myself upstairs on Friday morning, I walked into an office of ringing phones. This surprised me because Fridays are usually slow, so I've learned. I got to my desk and did the usual thing: place my purse underneath, turn on the computer with my foot, and stare at the screen until it asked for a password. While I waited, the phones had still been going off nearly every minute but everyone was busy speaking to someone on a different line. I took a look at my phone and noticed the red lights, the ones that indicated which lines were in use, were all lit. And again the phone rang. I peeked over my desk-fence and saw that everyone around me was still holding a phone to their ear. It ringed some more. I hesitated to answer because I had a ton of orders to print that morning. But see, I'm the type of person to be happy to help, when I'm not being lazy. So being the wonderful person that I was at 9am, I decided to multitask my own responsibilities with the tasks of others. I thought, it can't hurt to do both. 

As soon as my co-worker M decided to make his appearance, he straight-up yelled at me in front of everyone for taking phone call orders. "What are you...why are you taking orders?" Leaving me no time to answer he continued, "You're supposed to be pulling the online orders."

In the most demeaning and calm tone I could sound out, I told the Chinese Harry Potter, "I know, M. That's exactly what I was doing. But can't you see that everyone else is busy? I'm just helping them."

"Why? You are MY assistant. That's the whole point of you being here. You do what I say!"

The room grew silent and cold. Deep down I wanted to put him in his place and tell him that's not what the boss said when she hired me. Besides, all you do is boss me around and kick back while I do all the work. I ended up answering respectfully for two reasons: 1. the boss is his aunt. 2. I wouldn't have gotten anywhere by raising my voice as loud as his.

Monday Mayhem

I feel like I have been in one of those Allstate mayhem commercials, except, that mayhem man wasn't there, nor was the Allstate man with the deep voice, or any professional stunt drivers. It was just me, and two others involved. Although no one was hurt, I wish my car was hit by the car trying to merge into my lane. I know I should be thankful nothing else happened and that it was truly an accident, but I wish I wasn't the one to be blamed. My car is a wreck and soon, my pockets will be starving. I am still regretful, ashamed, tense, and exhaling loudly as if I need someone to ask me, "What's wrong?" But I hope no one does because I will probably mentally berate the first person to ask, and then answer them with the least words as possible.

If I were someone else, I'd tell me to get through the insurance process, report the damages, deal with what is in front of me (before I screw that up, too), pay for my mistake, and move on because life always does. People mess up, it's in our nature. And if I keep reminding myself of how stupid I was for letting it happen, I'll never get over it and I'll just keep playing it over and over in my head. Who cares if my dad said my story made no sense. It's how I saw it happen.

Advice seems all so easy when you're giving it away. But it's another thing when you're giving it to yourself. It doesn't seem to digest the same way. I should have honked my horn. I could have kept scanning my surroundings instead of solely focusing on whether or not the car beside me would hit me, and I could have and would have done all of those things, but I just wanted to get to work. And now that I'm here, I barely feel an ounce better. Well, it beats dealing with the awkwardness at home.

I used to think blogs were for hipsters

I call myself a writer but have never created a blog in the past?  Who does that? Obviously someone with a Creative Writing degree, without guidance, and simply too afraid of exposing their blood, sweat, pleasures, and tears for the public to see. I was convinced these spaces of outlet were for people that always have something to nag about, people who sit in coffee shops and drink overly priced beverages while they waste time writing things no one will ever read. I thought it was pointless and lonesome. Truth is, I have come to realize that one cannot be great at something without practicing something they enjoy. I once read an article how reading/writing is like building a couch. Just because you've sat on many, doesn't mean you can construct one correctly.

Luckily, I like to try almost everything at least once. So why not start a blog? Friends and family have constantly asked me, "If you like to write, why don't you start a blog?"  My answers were always passive or negative. But I think it's time to take action and see where it can take me.  Besides, it wouldn't hurt for me to tell the stories, thoughts, and feelings that I keep to myself half of the time.