It’s midnight and I’m laying in bed on my side with the blankets pulled up to my nose. My eyes are open and I’m watching the headlights from the passing cars on
When the house was built around 1900, I think that our rooms were one. At some point during the past 95 years someone constructed a thin wall and separated the room into two. For all intents and purposes, Gretchen and I could be sleeping in the same bed: I can hear the bed springs creak when she tosses and turns. And I can certainly hear her now:
“Whoever put the bathroom light off, can you turn it off?” A simple request, it seemed.
Our bedrooms are on the third floor of an old colonial house. Gretchen’s room has two windows, one that 
overlooks the side yard and the other that overlooks the back yard. The latter is also kitty corner to the bathroom window, which for some reason (as I write this, it is ringing a bell with the “Brightest Streetlight in
This is my first night back in
“Can you shut the bathroom light off?”
I look at my alarm clock and it’s 12:13. I assume that whoever was in the bathroom will return to it and do as she has asked. Clearly, I have been away from home for too long. This rationale does not apply to our family dynamics.
“Shut the bathroom light off.”
It’s 12:17. I am committed to keeping myself sealed off in my bedroom, not caving into whatever dysfunctional relating is beginning to unravel. I wonder who put the light on and figure that they must still be awake. They are just being stubborn and will eventually wave their white flag, climb out of their cozy bed and turn the light off.
“Shut the bathroom light off.”
It’s 12:19. The intervals are getting shorter, Gretchen is beginning to sound like a broken record and my anxiety level is climbing. Who put the light on?
“Shut the bathroom light off. Shut the bathroom light off. Shut the bathroom light off. Shut the bathroom light off …”
This is reminding me of those “Emergency Broadcast System” tests on television: “If this were an actual emergency, this message would be followed by…” I feel my heart rate flutter as I fear the rest of the summer at home will be like this.
“Shut the bathroom light off. Shut the bathroom light off. Shut the bathroom light off. Shut the bathroom light off.” She is waiting exactly 2 seconds between each repeat.
It’s 12:22 and I can’t stand it any more. I get up, stomp my way to the bathroom and shut the light off.
“Thank you.” I hear Gretchen behind her closed door as I pass it on my way back to bed.
I feel bullied. I’ve just lost several battles: the one with myself about not caving into dysfunctional family dynamics, the unstated one with Gretchen and caving into her demands, the passive aggressive one with the other 5 people in my family who are certainly not asleep but outlasted me in caving into Gretchen’s demands.
I go to sleep anxious.
I wake up anxious.
Downstairs the next morning, everyone is preparing for a day of activity: baseball games, dance classes, grocery shopping, Red Sox watching. The kitchen is buzzing with logistical conversations and telephone calls and I walk into the fray by asking, “Ummm, who put the bathroom light on last night?”
Everyone stares at me. My dad stops chewing his mouthful of egg sandwich and smirks at me like I just asked, “Who’s the President of the
Tommy elaborates the reaction by saying, “Are you serious?” I have no idea what’s happening: why people are reacting to my question in this manner. “She does this every night. Sometimes she’s the one that leaves it on.” I roll my eyes and realize that he is the culprit. I grab a bagel and walk over to the toaster.
“Is she ready, Freddy?” My mom walks out from the downstairs bathroom, where she has started an epic day of laundry. “You’re going to be late.”
My dad nods in comprehension as he chews.
Then it happens again. This time she is in the upstairs shower. I’m staring at the toaster fantasizing about how it would make a wonderful time travel machine. It could deposit me three months into the future, back at Bates.
“Shut the water off.”
The house is old, the pipes are sensitive, the water pressure is weak. Certainly having a washing machine and shower run simultaneously causes distress to both the house and my sister. I continue staring at the toaster, wondering if anyone has ever cleaned it. My bagel is getting smoked rather than toasted: the leftover crumbs in the bottom are burning and there is a cloud of smoke hovering above it. I’m exasperated. Kirsten is leaning with her back against the counter and she smiles at me, recognizing my internal breakdown upon return to family life.
“Shut the water off.”
No one acknowledges the broadcast. People walking on the sidewalk outside can certainly hear, as the windows are open and Gretchen’s voice travels down the stairs right outside before it wraps itself around the corner, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. I am baffled. But I will not surrender this time.
“SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF!” Then I hear stomping from above my head and Gretchen has decided on an alternative method. She would like to stomp us into submission.
My toast pops up into the smoky cloud.
Stomp, stomp, stomp. “SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF! SHUT THE WATER OFF!” The words evolve into a sing-song rhythm (with the “WA” of “water’ as the melodic stress) and she is dancing to the syncopation.
I begin to butter my bagel and look over at everyone else in the kitchen. My dad is reading the Herald, Kirsten is staring out the window drinking her juice, Tommy is making weird faces at Danny, who is desperately trying to ignore him, my mom is on the phone.
“Oh my GOD.” I fling my bagel onto my plate and everyone looks over at me. It almost seems that I am the only one aware of the singing, dancing, showering banchee of a sister. I walk into the bathroom and turn off the washing machine.
“THANK YOU!” The stomping comes to an end and I walk back into the kitchen.
My dad looks up at me from the paper and chuckles.
As I sit down at the table and start eating my bagel, I come to the realization that maybe they have collectively decided that I am on Gretchen patrol since I have missed out on most of the year. Then I wonder if they have all grown so accustomed to it, that they no longer hear it.
“
“What kind of faces?” My
“Like this,” Danny contorts his face and his body and imitates Tommy.
“Just like that, hunh?” My dad looks around at us as we are all laughing.
“Yeah.”
“OK, Tommy don’t make faces like that anymore.”
So, Tommy tries some new ones.
I hear the stairs creak as Gretchen descends and she walks into the kitchen dressed in her baseball uniform with her wet hair pulled back. I am mesmerized by her fleeting temper and think about how I am going to help her get a grasp on it. Before I can say anything, she smiles at me and says, “Hey, Er, what’s up. Welcome back.”
6 comments:
That first picture must have been a morning when no one complied. The water must have shut off after 3 seconds after arriving in the shower. I remember those times when it was the middle of the winter and I would get blazing hot water for literally three seconds, and then the water ceased. Although many people are burned in the first second of the shower they forget about it having the ability to adjust the water temperature to suit their desire. Then I would go downstairs to find the washing machine on with people sitting in the kitchen. I would say, “Did you hear me?”, and the response would (obviously) be,
“Yes”.
That’s it.
It wasn’t the first time.
Also, I can only imagine that I am thinking about the light that was on all night in my face. Perhaps this was the day the blinds in my room were forcefully taken down.
After you went back to Bates I did resort to towels and sheets to deter the light.
It works. But I recommend shades.
I have to say though; it was nice having someone feel me reaching out for a little intercommunication.
I don’t know if you remember the squirrels, or if you had the privilege of having them in your room, but I got to say that the CROWS in the pear tree AND SQUIRRELS in my walls/at my window are unforgettable. I’ve evolved into loving all of these things.
INTERCOMMUNICATION: “to communicate mutually, as people” (www.dictionary.com)
Gretch, you actually were requesting the light be turned on, because the bathroom light weakly shining through your window was your version of a nightlight (those 500 consecutive nights were at the height of my life's memory). But Erin, for the story and it's sake, "Shut the Bathroom light off" and "PUT THE BATHROOM LIGHT ON" both prove the point.
lol. I actually shared the room with Gretchen. I always wanted the bathroom light OFF. Gretchen insisted that the bathroom light stay on and the radio stay on all night as well.
Still to this day, no one is the world can make the faces that Tommy made. Me and Gretchen were the only ones that ever saw them. There is one video that we saw like 5 years ago with Tommy making faces by the fridge. I would like to see it again.
I must clear this up.
I agree with Thomas here. I did go through a period of "PUT THE BATHROOM LIGHT ON",
But like an enlightenment, I switched almost over night to, "SHUT THE BATHROOM LIGHT OFF".
I really think that no one acted in accordance with this fresh necessity because of the drastic overnight switch. AND, I believe my persistence grew with “SHUT THE BATHROOM LIGHT OFF”, because my enlightenment forced me to question why the heck I would have ever wanted that on in my face. I was more adamant with this new demand because I failed to comprehend my previous.
I’m sure it was the aim of the other 5 people, excluding Erin that they “teach” me a lesson because they never wanted it on, or more importantly never understood why I would persist on having it on.
Now that I wanted it off, it was time I got a taste of the forcefully imposed light, or better yet I think it was (psychologically speaking) in their point of view, “a aha, I was right. See” moment for them. It was their time to ignore my new mandate. And it made them feel good. And more importantly right (like you idiot, what were you thinking, we told you-right).
I remember both the “on” and “off” requests; and both equally achieved the same amount of passion and essential attention. And both equally attained the amount of disregard from the “bathroom goers”.
I must have sympathy for both Erin and especially Daniel of those moments.
YOU LOVE ME. And how I have made you appreciate submissive people!
Oh yea, and by the way, Daniel is absolutely correct when he speaks about those faces. Seriously, I want to see that video again. And I don’t think I was laughing when Daddy said “what kind of faces” because I knew what Danny was talking about. We have a special understanding and bond regarding “Dad, Tommy’s making faces at me”.
I understand Dan. And Tom, you’re talented.
PS. no one mentioned my cast in my picture. Let me just bring this back to light...I BROKE IT ON TOMMY'S HEAD!
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