Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 176

You guys,

We have two house rules:

1. No shoes in the house

2. No glassware by the pool

My family was visiting — Mom, Dad, and two of my sisters, Stephanie and Jessica. They’ve been here before. They know the rules. It was their first night and we had just finished dinner. I spent most of the evening in the kitchen, making dinner with Sam. I spent after dinner cleaning and putting Layla to bed. When I came downstairs, my family was making cocktails and meandering out to sit by the pool. 

I thought of cleaning up more but wanted to be social and make the most of their time with us. So I paused, filled up my glass of water, and walked outside with them. Stephanie moved the little plastic table over by the pool and put her martini glass there. I placed my water glass next to hers. Mom sat next to me in a lounger and held her drink. Jess sat with her feet in the water, her vodka martini with a twist at the edge of the pool. Dad sat in a chair and placed his gin and tonic at his feet. 

Our second rule somehow completely slipped my mind. There was delicate glassware everywhere, all around me, but I didn’t see it, didn’t notice it. 

Sam had been in the house, putting George to bed, and it was only as he walked out, maybe because of a subtle look on his face that was only perceptible to me, that I suddenly remembered. 

“Oh shoot,” I said. “There’s glass by the pool.” 

Sam nodded and laughed, trying to not make a big deal of it. At this point, I could have righted the situation. I could have said, “Alright, let’s transfer our drinks to Solo cups.” 

But I did nothing. 

Something happens when I’m around my family. Sam and I have rules, we have clear boundaries, but I struggle to keep them because I want everyone to have a good time and I want them to be happy about their visit.  

There’s also been “jokes” made that I’ve changed. That I “act like Sam” now. Like how I’m a germaphobe like him, and a clean freak. Partly, they’re right. When you marry a person, you become influenced by them, and Sam is a very clean person. Partly, I grew up in filth. After an hour of walking around my parents’ house in socks, the bottoms of your feet will be black. So maybe I’ve changed because of Sam, or maybe I’ve changed because I was desperate to. 

So when Sam walked out and I suddenly remembered our rule, I could envision the conversation my family might have on the car ride home. “Charlie didn’t care about glass by the pool. It was only because Sam was there that she even remembered!” 

And then of course there was Sam. Later that night, whispering in our bedroom, he couldn’t understand how I could actually forget about our rule. And then when I did realize it, I still did nothing. 

All of these things swirled in my subconscious and kept me frozen in the moment. I didn’t know what to do. I worried Sam would be mad at me, worried glass could break at any moment, worried how my family would react to me announcing that everyone had to go back inside and transfer their martini glasses to big plastic cups (the horror). 

As I sat there, there was talk around me about the glassware. Jess said, “I knew it was a rule but Char didn’t say anything so I wasn’t going to say anything.” 

This comment encapsulates my sister as a person. They recently went on a trip and when they were at the airport, Jess cut the line numerous times. Each time, Mom asked what she was doing. Urgently, under her breath, she rushed my family along. “Move! Let’s go.” 

Jess was the one who bought us little white plastic tumblers last year because she knew our rule from her last visit. I cursed her silently for being the most inconsiderate person I know. Then I cursed myself 1,000 times because I was the asshole who walked out to the pool with a glass in my hand. 

Mom chimed in, “You said this was supposed to be like my OBX vacation, and this is what I would do at OBX.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if not drinking out of a martini glass by the pool would ruin her vacation. 

Stephanie yelled, “Dad! Be careful!”

His hand was on a pool float. He mindlessly hit the pool float, inches from his glass. 

“What?” he responded. “It’s fine!”

Moments later, Dad knocked his glass over. 

It didn’t break. We all stood up, anyway. It was time to go inside.

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Dear Diary

My mom brought me a huge, heavy, blue storage container filled with things from my past: loose pictures, photo albums, plaques, notes passed between classes from all my girlfriends, school assignments, and thrillingly, my diary from age 18-22, which I called a journal because “diary” was too girly.

The book of embarrassment, circa 2004-2008.

Here’s a snippet from the first entry, sophomore year of college, on January 13, 2004:

And for the last topic of discussion: stupid boys. Not that I'm not stupid, too, because I am... extremely. I have serious psychological problems when it comes to guys and I'm not even kidding.

Pretty much, I become obsessed over guys I can't have. For instance, famous people (George Clooney --- hubba hubba!), people who live nowhere near me (Lonnie's cousin Matt), guys who show no interest in me, or incredibly gorgeous older teachers. Yes, I am still completely infatuated with my high school teacher.

Basically, I make sure I never like a guy who I could actually have a relationship with. …

It turns out there might be hope for me yet. I finally like someone who likes me back. Hugh Baker. Usually by now, I would have found reasons and excuses for not liking him, but I haven't. I really like this kid. Just something about him, I don't know. He's so cute. We'll see how this goes...

February 29, 2004

Well that didn't last too long. Things are over with me and Hugh. I don't feel like writing about it, but we're still friends.

—

Until next week,

Charlie