Family Rules
Page 1
Family Rules
Written by Samuel S. Crawford
Part 1 of “Rules of Life”
Chapter 1
I am studying French from some flash cards Mom made me. Mom studied French in high school and in college. She lived in France for two years before she met Dad on a photo shoot in Los Angeles. Dad says his plan was to marry one of the models he worked with, but that Mom kept getting in the way. When Mom asked Dad out, she told him he could have smart children or beautiful children, but that someone his age, with his bad teeth and his mediocre job, couldn’t have both.
Mom asked Dad to move in with her and a year later, they were married at city hall. Only Dad’s two best friends were invited. Mom didn’t invite anybody. I don’t think Mom ever learned to make friends.
Tommy tries to order a gin and tonic from the stewardess, but she doesn’t believe that he is twenty-one. Tommy says that I am his sister and that I can vouch for him. I laugh and Tommy pinches my arm. “He’s seventeen,” I tell the stewardess. “He’s seventeen and he has had two DUIs.”
After the stewardess leaves, Tommy tells me that I have a huge nose, a real beaker, and that I will never get a boyfriend because I am an ugly prude. I ask Tommy if he would prefer that I act like the girls he takes out. I say, “I’ll slut it up all over town.” Then I pull down my shirt so that the top of my bra is visible. Tommy gets even more mad.
He says, “You are disgusting, you know that?”
Growing Pains is playing on all sixty of the airplane’s little TVs. “Liesel,” Tommy elbows me and says, “Switch seats with me.” I tell Tommy that I won’t switch seats with him. I tell him not to elbow me, to leave me alone. Tommy says his earbud jack is broken, that he is sorry he called me an ugly prude. He says all of his friends think that I am adorable, just adorable. I give Tommy one of my ear buds, but I regret this almost immediately. Tommy keeps leaning away and yanking the ear bud out of my ear. “You have to lean in closer.” I tell Tommy. Tommy says he can’t lean in on account of my bad B.O.
When Mom gets up to go to the bathroom I wave at her. She pretends she doesn’t see me.
I call her name. She pretends she doesn’t hear me. Tommy and I yell, “Mary! Mary Johnson!” Everybody looks at us. An old woman sitting in the aisle next to us tells us to shush. Tommy actually growls at her. I tell him to act his age.
Mom comes over to where we are. She whispers. She asks, “What in God’s name is wrong with the two of you?”
Tommy says, “Mom, switch seats with me.”
I say, “The headphone jack where Tommy is sitting doesn’t work and now he is trying to take my seat.”
Mom asks, “Why can’t you guys work this stuff out?”
Dad appears. He asks, “Mary, what the hell are you doing?”
Tommy tells Dad he is blocking the aisle. He says, “You’re a safety hazard.”
The old woman sitting in the aisle next to us shushes Dad. Dad tells her to mind her own goddamn business. The old woman looks scandalized. Mom scolds Dad and apologizes to the old woman. The old woman tells Mom that she is a disgrace to her gender. Mom gets mad. Dad laughs. Tommy laughs. The woman goes back to reading her tabloid. Tommy asks Mom if she has any food for him. Tommy says he is starving. Mom asks, “Why didn’t you bring your own snack?” Tommy says he packed a snack, but he forgot it at home. I tell Tommy I have some baby carrots he can eat. Tommy says that baby carrots are gross and that real men don’t eat them. Mom and Dad go back to their seats.
I give one of my earbuds to Tommy so we can watch The Princess Bride together. We laugh at all of the same jokes. Tommy asks if he can have some carrots. I tell Tommy the carrots are gone. I ate them all. Tommy says that I am good for nothing. I ask Tommy if he thinks Westley is handsome. Tommy blushes. He gives my ear bud back. He says he is going to sleep the whole rest of the trip. He says, “Liesel, do not wake me.”
Tommy can’t fall asleep. We play tic-tac-toe. The woman across the aisle snores loudly. Tommy is terrible at tic-tac-toe. I tell him this is a sign that he should do fewer drugs. Tommy crumples our game into a ball. Then he throws the ball of paper at the woman across the aisle. It lands in her lap. We laugh. She continues to sleep.
A different stewardess asks if we would like anything to drink. Tommy orders a gin and tonic. The stewardess asks for his ID. Tommy says his ID is in his suitcase. He says he fucked up real bad. I tell the stewardess Tommy is twenty-two. “His birthday is August seventeenth.”
“What year?” asks the stewardess.
“1965,” I say. I am really good at arithmetic. It’s the reason why I have managed to bullshit my way through algebra so well.
The waitress gives Tommy his gin and tonic. Tommy says that he and I are friends again. Tommy falls asleep. I fall asleep on Tommy’s shoulder.
We land at Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport. I am surprised to see that it is dark outside. Mom keeps making Tommy and me practice our French. Tommy only knows how to say, “Aux Champs-Elysées, aux Champs-Elysées!” He says it over and over. Dad thinks this is funny, but Mom gets mad. Even though I have taken four years of French, I don’t know how to say hardly anything. This is because every year our French teacher gets fired. This is because I learned sign language so the only girl in our class who does know French can sign me all the answers. This is because I get frustrated by my French homework and Mom does most of it for me.
Mom gets us a taxi to the Latin Quarter. She has rented a small apartment for ten days.
The apartment has one big room and a loft. The shower is in the kitchen. This makes Dad furious. Mom wants to rest, but Dad wants to go out right away. Mom says that if we do go out, we need to buy groceries. We go out. Even though Mom is fluent in French, Dad insists on leading. Mom keeps muttering to herself. Dad is taking lots of photos. He steps into the street to take a picture of a cat outside of a bookstore. A truck comes down the road. Dad doesn’t see or hear the truck. Mom yells, “Attention! Attention!” She speaks in a French accent. Dad has no idea what she is trying to say to him. I laugh. Tommy laughs. The truck does not slow down.
Mom keeps yelling. Dad finally sees the truck. He yelps, then jumps onto the sidewalk. He is furious. He complains that he could have died. Mom says she tried to warn him. Dad says, “Yes, but in French.” Nobody mentions that “Attention!” is the same in English and in French. We go back to the apartment without any food.
Even though Tommy is seventeen and I am fifteen, Dad won’t let us out of the apartment on our own. Dad says I could be kidnapped and raped and that Tommy could be killed. Tommy asks why he wouldn’t be kidnapped too. I tell Tommy nobody kidnaps ugly boys like him.
Tommy says nobody rapes ugly girls like me. “See?” I tell Dad, “Tommy and I are safe!” Tommy laughs. I laugh. Mom says that if we stick together, Tommy and I can go outside. Dad gets mad. He yells. He tells Mom that he is tired of her undermining his authority. Tommy raises his eyebrows at me. My stomach growls. Mom and Dad agree that we can all go out together.
We find the nearest restaurant.
Mom orders for all of us and nobody gets what they want. Our waiter brings Dad some sort of spicy pasta. I get lamb. Tommy gets a plate of meatballs. We all order wine. Dad is mad because he wanted to eat at his favorite restaurant. Mom tells Dad that we have a reservation there for Friday night. This isn’t good enough for Dad. He pouts. Tommy and I order another glass of wine. I keep expecting to be scolded for drinking, but nobody says anything to me. Tommy and I are getting along again. A cute girl comes into the restaurant. She looks at Tommy. I look at her. Tommy looks at me. “Tommy, did you see that?” I ask. “That hot girl was checking you out!” Tommy looks at the girl. He says there is no way she was checking him out. He says sh
e isn’t hot. I tell Tommy he is crazy, that she could be a supermodel! The girl is picking up an order at the counter. I tell Tommy he should go talk to her. Tommy is too shy. I nudge him with my elbow. Tommy elbows me back. He says, “Stop it, will you?” The girl doesn’t stay long.
When she leaves, she waves at Tommy and me. Tommy laughs nervously.
It is late, but none of us are tired. Tommy and I are playing poker in the loft. Mom and Dad are arguing downstairs. Dad is mad the apartment is so small. Dad is mad the apartment is too expensive. Tommy yells down at Dad. He says, “You can have a bigger apartment, or a cheaper apartment, but you can’t have both!” I yell down at Dad. I say, “Actually you can’t have either! Mom already paid for this place!” Tommy laughs. I laugh. Mom laughs quietly. Dad tells us that we can all go to hell. He shuts off the lights. Even though it is only nine p.m., Dad says he is going to bed. He says if we make any noise, there will be hell to pay. Mom sighs loudly.
Nobody can sigh as loud as Mom can. Tommy shrugs. I shrug. We keep playing cards by the beam of Tommy’s flashlight. High-stakes poker. It is high stakes because if we are heard, Dad will come upstairs and kill Tommy and me.
Tommy and I used to be afraid of Dad, but once Tommy turned fourteen, Dad couldn’t push him around anymore. Tommy was too big. About a month after Tommy turned fourteen, Dad got really mad about “the state of the house.” He was yelling at me about keeping a pile of laundry in the middle of the hall. Tommy came out of his room and told Dad to shut up. Dad yelled, “What did you say to me?” and Tommy said, “I said shut up!” Dad went up to Tommy and pushed him up against the wall. He tried to hold him there, but Tommy was too strong.
Tommy pushed Dad back. Dad fell to the ground. Dad was furious. Tommy was furious. Tommy said, “Come on Liesel, we are going out.” Dad said, “You better not.” He was still on the floor. Tommy and I went for ice cream. We didn’t come back until late that night. Dad was asleep.
Mom was in the living room; she didn’t say anything but hi to us. When Tommy, Dad, Mom and I had breakfast the next morning, everything was back to normal. After that, Dad never hit Tommy or me again.
We have been in France four days. Today, Tommy and I are being dragged to the Louvre. If Tommy and I had a choice of going to the Louvre or not going, we would probably choose to go, but since Tommy and I are being dragged to the Louvre, we’re in terrible moods. All we had for breakfast was cheese and bread. Mom says this is because “we are being French.” Tommy says this is because Mom and Dad are shit at budgeting and we are poor. Once we get out of the apartment, Mom says the Louvre is that way. Dad says the Louvre is this way. They head off in opposite directions. Tommy and I stand still. Even though Mom knows French and has spent time in Paris, Tommy and I end up following Dad. Tommy says the Louvre probably is that way, but we’d be goddamn fools if we didn’t follow Dad.
Twenty minutes go by. Dad figures out that the Louvre really was that way. Mom says, “I told you so.” Dad calls Mom a bitch. This is rash, even for Dad. Tommy stands up for Mom. Dad yells. Dad says he has had it with all of the females in this family ganging up on him.
Tommy says, “I am not a female.” Dad tells Tommy to prove it. Then he swats Tommy in the nuts. Tommy howls. Dad tells Tommy to stop being such a pussy, that he barely touched him.
Mom wails. People are staring. Tommy tells Dad to go to hell. Dad shoves Tommy. Dad says we can all go fuck ourselves. Then he storms off.
I ask Mom if Dad knows where he is going. Mom says she doubts it. Then she says she doesn’t know why we can’t all get along. Tommy says we can’t get along because Dad is a narcissist and an asshole. I tell Mom we can’t get along because she doesn’t try hard enough to protect Tommy and me. Mom walks over to a bench. She crumples into it. Tommy follows Mom. I follow Tommy. Mom says she doesn’t want to be around either of us. Tommy says he is sorry. I say I am sorry, but I don’t mean it. Tommy points to a bookstore. Tommy says that he and I are going to the bookstore and that Mom can come with us or not.
Inside the bookstore are two black cats. The cats like Tommy more than they like me. I am trying to creep up on one of the cats. Tommy says if I pretend the cats aren’t there, they will like me better, that cats are just like girls. I ask Tommy what he knows about girls. Tommy turns red. I tell Tommy that he’s a handsome guy and that he could get girls if he wanted them. One of the cats weaves between my legs.
Mom comes in. She says Dad is outside. She says, come on, we can still make it to the Louvre. Tommy says he doesn’t want to go to the Louvre anymore. I say I don’t want to hang around with Dad. Mom sighs. I tell Mom she’s got to stop sighing so much. Mom says please give this day a chance. Outside, Dad is scowling. He says there are too many people around. Dad apologizes to Tommy. Tommy says, “It’s whatever.” Dad looks at me. He says, “What’s your problem.” I tell him he shouldn’t have hit Tommy like that. Dad says, “I barely touched him!” Mom says, “I thought we were moving past this.”
It is quiet inside the Louvre. The air is still. I like it because I feel like we are in a bunch of different centuries at the same time. I feel like once I go outside again, it could be any year, any place. It could be raining or shining or there could be a hurricane. I tell Tommy this and he asks, “Who ever heard of a hurricane in the middle of Paris?”
Dad wants to look at the Impressionists. Mom wants to look at the Modernists. Tommy and I want to go to the café. Dad says he didn’t spend thousands of dollars on a trip to Paris just to hang out by himself. We go to the Impressionists show.
Dad doesn’t like it when we are not in the same gallery together, but I don’t like it when Dad watches me look at the art. I’ve hung back in one of the galleries; it is empty and I can hear myself breathe. Framed by a skylight, the wind is twisting clouds into grotesque faces that disappear and then reappear. I am looking at a William-Adolphe Bouguereau painting. A young girl is posing in the painting. There is a broken pitcher on the ground, but the longer I stare at the painting, the more the pitcher fades into the background. The painted girl has her hands clasped together and she is dressed in a simple, rough-looking shawl and skirt. I try to take in the entirety of the painting, but I keep being drawn back to the girl’s eyes. She looks furious at having been painted. She looks lonely. The more I look at this girl, the more I see myself in her. It’s her dark eyes. Tommy comes over to where I am. He says Dad sent him to tell me to hurry the hell up. “Look,” I say, pointing at the Bouguereau painting, “she’s me.” Tommy laughs. He tells me that I am prettier than the girl in the painting. “You mean she is prettier than me?” I ask. “Come on,” Tommy says, “Dad is about to lose it.”
Outside the museum, there are about five or six children all whooping and running in and out of these sprinklers. Tommy asks me if I think the sprinklers are a part of the museum. I tell him I hope they are, that the sprinklers are the best damn art I have ever seen. The children all have muddy knees and dirt mustaches and they aren’t doing much of anything except for running and whooping.
Dad comes up to Tommy and me. He is huffing a whole bunch. He says he is tired and that he wants to go to the apartment and rest. Tommy calls Dad an old man. Mom hands me my purse. She says I forgot it at bag check. I tell her I knew all along that she had gone to get it.
Mom calls me irresponsible and ungrateful. Dad asks if Mom is ready to head back to the apartment. Mom says we can’t go back; she reminds Dad that we have a dinner reservation. Dad throws his hands in the air. He asks, “Why can’t we ever do anything I want to do?” Tommy says that Dad wanted to go to the museum and to the restaurant and that we are all doing exactly what he wants. Dad says, “Who asked you?” Mom says we can walk to the restaurant or we can take the Metro. I say that my legs are tired. Tommy says, “Let’s take the Metro.” Dad calls us babies. He makes us walk. He walks fast. Mom can’t walk as fast as Dad because “She is an old woman.” Dad yells at us to catch up. We arrive at the restaurant a half hour early.
The food arrives. Dad is on his fourth baby bottle of wine. He’s got the top off the bottle, and he is drinking quickly, freely. Tommy and I are on our second bottle. Mom hasn’t had any wine from her bottle. When the maître d’ comes around to collect the remains of our first course, he frowns at Mom’s still full bottle. “Drink,” he says. “Buvez!” She refuses. Then the maître d’ picks up Mom’s bottle and holds the nipple to her lips. Mom looks as though she’s about to cry. “Drink,” repeats the maître d’. Dad slams his fists on the table demanding more wine, more cheese. The maître d’ laughs with Dad, both of them singing, “More wine! More cheese!”