Pieces of a Broken Puzzle

The alarm sounds at 6:30 in the morning, just as it does every single day for Ella. She needs to put her costume on before showing her face in her office: a blush-colored blazer and skirt set, a crisp collared shirt, and low pumps with a pointed toe. Every piece was perfectly architectured to cause maximum discomfort to the wearer. This uniform keeps employees moderately unhappy at all times, united in their contract to experience no joy for a minimum of eight hours each day.

She gets to her desk and her boss is standing over her before she has a chance to sit down. “Elizabeth, I’ll need that report from you by noon. I need a few minutes to skim through the talking points before my lunch with the director today. I’m counting on you. You’re my star sales-girl!”

Ella flashes a smile, suppresses the internal cringing, and assures him that he’ll have it within the hour. As she’s saying this, her inbox is receiving a steady stream of emails, each with a new and urgent request. She takes a deep breath. She takes on every request that comes her way, working her hands into dust while eroding the few remnants of her personal life that remain. She and her husband are like ships passing at night, and her sewing machine is gathering cobwebs in a box on top of her dresser. Elizabeth is who pays the bills and keeps a roof over everyone’s head. Elizabeth is who takes priority at the cost of everyone else, Ella included.

One of the sales managers pauses on his way back to his office after grabbing coffee from the breakroom. “Elizabeth, hun, put a little lipstick on. You look terrible, like you might be getting sick.”

Ella felt fine. She glanced at her reflection on the computer screen and noticed she had forgotten her regular, pink lipstick that morning. Her cheeks hurt from smiling for so long, but all she noticed was her jaw clenching from the embarrassment. “Thank you so much, Stan! I won’t let it happen again.”

When the clock strikes five, the waiting game begins. All of the salespeople stay glued to their phones and computers, yapping away at potential leads and pushing themselves to be the last to leave. This meant you stayed in the trenches the longest, and hard sacrifice is what is most rewarded. The top salesperson each quarter gets a $15 gift certificate to a local pizza place. The real prize, though, was the verbal shout-out during the office-wide meeting. Those few seconds of appreciation and gratitude were intoxicating. 

At six, the last associate in the office gets a call from his son asking to be picked up from soccer practice. Ella waits for him to walk out the door with his laptop bag before she shuts down her computer. She usually got this honor of being the office closer because she and her husband hadn’t had the time to start a family. That energy had been given to the corporation signing her paychecks. 

At home, her husband had subtle yet unignorable expectations for a wife. They seemed to have been handed down to him from a century ago, leaving not an ounce of space or respect for her career or their status on children. Once he married her, she became the new Mother in his life. She kept his clothes and their house clean. She looked great while doing it, like all the time in her day was dedicated to staying sufficiently beautiful for him. She paid half the bills so they could buy this house, but that requirement was not to interfere with her other duties as his Wife. The alarm rings at 6:30 on weekends, too, so she can get up and run until her lungs burn more than the resentment in her heart.

Her husband got home by 5 every day. He was already yelling into a headset and mashing buttons on a controller when she arrived. “Liza, can you grab me a beer on your way back from the kitchen?”

Ella’s jaw clenched again. She hated when he called her that. He knew that, too, but he had more time so he got to make a hobby out of those pushing her buttons. She handed him his beer with a smile and went upstairs to change into her wife costume. The wife wears a flattering, pink silk dress, just pretty enough for her husband to remember she exists as an acceptable accessory but not so alluring that he might see her as a woman and not just a wife anymore. After all, a wife is not a woman. She almost pulls her hair into a comfortable bun, but then remembers how her husband said he doesn’t find those very attractive. That is the worst thing a wife can be: unattractive.

On Sunday, she puts on the dress that covers everything from her collarbones to her calves and heads to her mother’s house for a family dinner. She has a familiar knot in her stomach as they pull into the driveway. Conversations with her family always feel vaguely tense, likely stressed by the time and distance. She knew they resented her for not being there more.

“Ellie, you’re finally here from the big city! That dress is looking a little tight. Have you been eating too much again?”

Ella had enough. She had nothing left in her to be able to play her role as Ellie. She spun around on her heel and walked back toward her car. She felt the familiar vibration of her phone when a new work email came in and threw it into the street. She could hear her husband chasing after her now with curt whispers.

“Liza, come back,” he hissed. “Stop making a scene.”

“My name is not Liza,” she scowled. She was at her limit. She realized she had been hovering around it for a while, shielded by her own desperate need to feel like she was holding it all together. Elizabeth. Liza. Ellie. She hated those people. She barely recognized them, but that’s who everyone in her life needed her to be. To them, she was just a hard worker, a dutiful wife, and a modest relative. Ella was so much more. She wanted so much more. She craved being able to live life wholly and honestly. She wondered how high she could climb if she didn’t have to waste time and energy switching costumes every day. She wondered what people would think of her — the real her, the one living outside of those boxes. She didn’t care. She was ready to find out anyway.