Broken Doll

Dear Journal

I am a doll. I’m always told what to do, never in control for myself. Pull the string hanging between my shoulder blades and I will repeat the same three phrases over again for you with a voice full of false happiness. “Yes ma am, no ma am, I’ll be right there ma am.” I’m tossed around like a simple rag doll and no one has taken the time to see my tatters and tears this has caused. The smile permanently stitched on my face hides my inner most thoughts from the outside world. Instead, I give off a sense of peace and innocence. I am easily disposable and just as easily forgotten when I’m not wanted anymore. If you looked deep enough behind my glass eyes, you would see that instead hope and love, they are filled with sadness and anger… “Cynthia! Where is my coffee!”

I jumped out of my chair and had to push my glasses further up my nose. “Um, right here Margaret.” I half sprinted out from behind my desk, knocking a package of paperclips to the floor with my thigh along the way. Margaret was just sitting down as I skid in.

“Ugh, Cynthia! You know that I should have my coffee the moment I walk through these doors!” She pointed her finger straight at me but it was her acid voice that seared my flesh and sunk into the marrow of my bones.

“Yes ma am.”

I had just turned the knob to leave when, “Pssssssffffppppphhhhhh!” Margaret glared at me through her green contacts when I meekly asked what was wrong. My searching eyes found the answer. There was a dark spatter smiling up at me from its place on the white, freshly steam-cleaned rug.

“There was sugar in my coffee, Cynthia! Sugar!” I bit my lip and answered as softly as I could.

“Margaret..... Mrs. Harrington, you always have two sugars in your coff…”

Margaret slammed her fist on the expensive desk so hard that I heard a sharp crack. Her face was as hard as stone and I could hear the emphasis behind each individual vowel as it hissed through her artificially whitened teeth.

“I am trying to lose weight before Fashion Week next month so I can fit into my new dress.” I realized what the stain was. Obviously Margaret had spit out her mouthful of coffee before a single grain of that sugar could be swallowed, even accidentally.

“Get me another coffee right now! With sweetener!” She stood up and walked towards the door out of her office. Her six-inch heel leaving tiny but deep imprints in the fabric of the carpet.

“Oh,” she added just before she left, “clean up that carpet before I get back.” And with that she turned and left me alone in her room with my doll-like smile hiding my anger.

Dear Journal

I’m sorry for the interruption before. Margaret wanted her coffee. I HATE that woman. If it weren’t for the fact I’m paid so much to deal with her crap, I would not continue to be her assistant. Sure, she is one of the most influential television personal in the history of fashion, and it IS my field of expertise, but that woman is completely ridiculous. She is going on a diet for Fashion Week next month and decided to change the sugar in her coffee to sweetener. WITHOUT EVEN TELLING ME! It’s not like she even needs to lose weight anyway! She’s a freaking size TWO! Not like me, Ms. Size Six who only drinks mineral water, has frozen yogurt as a treat twice every year, and hasn’t had any bread or pasta since she turned twenty. Now I have to go back to the coffee shop and get her another coffee, and call up someone with a spot cleaner for that carpet.

I had just got back to the building as Margaret’s limo pulled up so her coffee was fresh. I had to make sure that I was upstairs, in her office when she walked in. I ran into the building, being careful not to spill the coffee. I frantically pushed the elevator button and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed.

The sound of the door clicking behind me as I walked into Margaret’s office was relieving. I noticed that the carpet was cleaned but I expected it would still be a little wet for another hour or so.

The sharp clicking of her heels drew my attention back to Margaret. I could tell that she had just exited the elevator and was making her way towards her office. She walked in and silently grabbed the coffee from my extended hand. I always waited for a “thank you Cynthia,” or a “nice job Cynthia.” It never came.

Margaret looked down at the carpet. Her expression didn’t change, but I knew she was glad the stain was gone. She sat down behind her big fancy desk, took a sip of her coffee. She picked up her expensive, golden letter opener off of its stand on the desk and started opening the stack of letters that were spilled into the contents of a wire basket at one corner of her desk.

“Oh Cynthia, I almost forgot,” she added just before I left to go back to my desk. “You’re fired.” Her face was as serious as if she just told me the meaning of life.

I felt my jaw drop as she started back at her work once again. “But… But… Why!”

The expression on her face was that of question when she looked back up at me. It was like she thought I should have guessed the reason she fired me. “Well Cynthia, you and I are just too different. And frankly, I’m tired of you.”

“Tired of me. You are tired of me! I have worked tirelessly by your side for close to six years now! I have done everything you have asked me to do without question! How in the world does that give you the right to fire me?!” I screamed.

“The right? The right?! I am Margaret Harrington! I can hire and fire anyone I want!” She knew that she would have her way. She always got her way.

I tried to fight back the tears and asked her one last question. “Please, just tell me why!”

Margaret sighed. “I already told you! I’m tired of you. Your attitude and work ethic are absolutely fantastic. You are probably the best assistant I’ve ever had, but I need a change. A fashion expert wouldn’t be caught dead in last season’s dress. It’s the same thing with you. You are last season’s dress. Think of it as… as sort of an upgrade for me. Out with the old and in with the new as they say.”

“Out… with the old! I am not even at half the age you are!” I knew that arguing with Margaret wouldn’t help me one bit, but I wanted answers.

Margaret started laughing, “Yes, but I am Margaret Harrington. I have more money than you can ever dream of having, and a career that thousands of people would kill for. Yes, I may be older than you, but I have a toned body that I have worked very hard for and a rack that cost me a fortune. You, on the other hand, are looking frumpier and frumpier by the hour. You seem to have no fashion sense and constantly wear last season’s clothes. I’m twice as old as you are, but I can get a man your age at the snap of my fingers. Now, get out of my office!” And with that, I knew the conversation was over. I opened the door and made my way to my desk to start packing my things. Leaving a fresh trail of tears along the way.

Dear Journal

I am now the discarded doll. Thrown away like a piece of common trash. But I am surprisingly… well SURPRISED. I knew that my time as Margaret’s assistant was wearing thin, and I expected the initial sadness. But what I didn’t expect was the feeling of empowerment. Empowerment… and anger. I have always kept my anger pent up inside, but now I feel like there is a new person inside me who wants to do things that I never had the guts to do. She began to show herself back there in Margaret’s office. The old me would NEVER speak up to Margaret, because I’d be afraid of what she would do. Since she had already fired me, I had nothing to lose. It makes so much sense now! I need to embrace this new person.

She knows what I need to do. No! I know what I need to do.

My key pass wasn’t deactivated yet so I was able to get into the building after dark. It was always open but not many people were there. The security guards on every floor and the caretakers. Basically everyone else had gone home for the night. Six years working under Margaret gave me access to every detail of her personal schedule. I knew that she left the building at 8 o’clock sharp every night. No exceptions.

I opened the door to her office for one last time. The care taking staff had already finished up on this floor and no one would expect a thing. At least, that’s what the new me said.

I made my way over to her pristine filing cabinets. I knew where she kept the key, in the potted plant set on top of one of the filing cabinets. I grabbed it and started with the first cabinet.

Within minutes there were shredded scraps of white paper blending into the already ivory carpet. It seemed like the floor was made up of tiny, printed letters. I had made my way through the alphabetized files, ripping and tearing at every spec of work Margaret had ever had part in. Many of these files were actually put together or written by me, but I felt no sense of sadness as I quickly tore them up.

I had a hard time getting into Margaret’s desk for her “very important” files. I succeeded by taking a hairpin from my hair and picking the lock. The drawer slid open soundlessly. I saw it was full of sketches. I took a look at some and started laughing. The dates on them were recent, but the styles looked like someone threw up the 80’s on a piece of paper. “Huh, I’m glad I won’t be here when she unveils this tragedy.” I spoke aloud.

“Tragedy eh?” Replied a voice from the darkness. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest as I turned to see Margaret standing in the doorway.

“I… You… What are you doing here?” I stuttered.

“Me? I should ask you the same question. This is my office, I have the right to be here. You, on the other hand, do not. I had a feeling that you would lash out at me after I fired you. You seem the type. Collected, quiet, obedient. It was just a matter of time before you would snap out of your lapdog routine. My wrath unleashed your pent up one. Now, security has been called. How about you finish up what you are doing, get all of your anger out and leave. I’d suggest you do so before they get here.” And with that she stepped out of the office

I didn’t know what to do. She was right. My unbridled anger had taken over me. I tried to relax myself so I could leave in one piece, but the harder I tried the more tightly the pent up anger squeezed me from the inside out. I tried to fight it, but I found myself eying the golden letter opener standing alone on Margaret’s desk. I tried to fight my hand as it reached forward to grab it. I tried to warn Margaret to run but some otherworldly force sealed my lips and left me mute. I fought tooth and nail against myself, my new self as I ran towards Margaret with the letter opener raised. The last thing I remember before I was buried by my own pent up anger were the words, “It’s the job that thousands of people would kill for. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

Dear Journal

I’m all gone.