Spreading Myself Thin Like JELLi

Diana Campos

I was the master of the word “yes”. 

Graphic by Mina Do

I said yes to staying an extra hour at work. I said yes to a friend’s sudden move. I said yes to making dozens of baked goods for my work potluck. I truly believed I was a woman made of steel, that I could bend myself every which way without ever breaking. 

I was wrong. Totally wrong. I found myself turning gelatinous. 

I was rushing to work, praying I would make it in time before my boss even noticed the few minutes I was sitting at my desk. I was sprinting out of my car when I suddenly felt that I had lost my bone structure. I wobbled down the parking lot, making a soft splat noise right on the pavement. 

I didn’t bleed a drop; I didn’t cry a single salty tear. I simply spread around. 

Within seconds, I found myself transformed into a gigantic jelly puddle. I was rose colored, and just scented of strawberry. A sticky substance just being trampled by my coworker’s shoes and tires. 

“Great,” I said to myself. “Now I’m really late, and I'm going to getreamedd for it. Bad.”

I tried to lift myself, but to my discovery, my hands were nothing but a puddle of sticky jelly. Every time I tried to muster the willpower to stand, I just merely sloshed further down the parking lot, thinning out until I could see the grit of the pavement through my own body. The harder I tried to force myself back into her old shape, the more I sloshed and separated. I was trapped in a prison of her own over-extension.

Night fell, cold and quiet. I just lay, stretched across the pavement, exhausted from hours of useless flipping and flopping. For the first time in years, I had absolutely nothing to do because I just physically couldn’t do it. I began to take inventory. Why had I run myself into a literal puddle of shiny and tasty jelly?

She thought of the documents that needed her approval, just waiting for her to finish them for her boss. She thought of the endless and growing boxes her friend had that she for sure would have hurt her back for. She thought of the disgusting mess waiting for her at home, with flour and eggs flying from the mixer for her potluck cupcakes. 

“I just wanted to play my Switch all day, damnit,” I relieved myself silently under the starry night sky. 

The moment I admitted it to myself, a strange thing happened. A small ripple ran through the outermost edges of my watery puddle of a body. The jelly pulled back by a fraction of an inch, thickening slightly.

I floated through my consciousness of thoughts, all the things I need to complete during the weekend, a never-ending list of tasks. “I’m going to play my Switch,” I told myself defiantly. “I’m taking her out, and I'm playing all my backlog of games until my brain turns to smoosh.” 

Plop. 

A massive wave of my jelly self suddenly surged back toward my center, thickening my watery mess. It finally hit me then. This gelatinous nightmare wasn't some random curse. It’s just what happens when you have no backbone left. Every single "yes" I had given out just to be nice had watered down my very soul. I didn't need muscles and bones to stop being a puddle; I just needed to learn the power of "no."

I’m going to start small. I’m calling out tomorrow. 

Slowly, those strawberry-hued pillars of mine started pulling back together, forming shaky but solid legs under my clothes.

I’m telling my friend I need a self-care day. 

My midsection finally grew firm, lifting itself from the asphalt as I shed the grime and trash of the parking lot.

I’m buying those cupcakes at the store. 

“From now on, my time belongs to me first.”

Pop. The atmosphere snapped back into place. I stood there, no longer a strawberry-scented puddle but a woman made of solid bone and muscle. I stared at my hands, watching my fingers twitch with a strength that was purely mine. 

My phone vibrated—a buzz of desperation from my boss asking me where I was.

 I just smiled as I looked at the glowing screen. The gelatinous nightmare was over; I finally felt like steel again.