The Glass Door

It's Fourth of July,

we got together with our neighbors,

who are like an extension of our family.

Before they come over,

I help my mom clean our house.

She cleans the sliding glass door

leading to our backyard

because it was pretty gross,

decorated with dog slobber streaks,

some old, some new.

A few hours later,

our house is clean,

clean enough you could,

theoretically,

eat off of the floor

(not that you would want to,

we still have messy two dogs, you know).

Guests start filing through our garage door

and the party begins.

Because the weather here

in this desert of a home

is so unbelievably hot,

the misters and the cold pool

do nothing to cool us off,

we decided cold beers and sodas

were the best way to go.

We have a few side tables that are coolers,

perfect for the occasion,

so we sent my neighbor Nick

to run inside and fetch some ice.

I remember talking to someone,

standing in my living room,

when Nick walks by with our ice tray.

Boom!

Crash!

Nick runs right into the sliding glass door,

which he thought was open

because it was crystal clear.

Ice spills all over the wooden floors,

shattering into hundreds of little pieces;

my dogs go crazy,

ice cubes are their favorite.

The house,

which was alive with the chatter

of old friends

and music playing over the speakers,

suddenly gets dead silent

except for the music,

which keeps playing.

We were all in shock

for a good five seconds,

asking ourselves if that really just happened.

It did,

it was the best thing I'd see

for the rest of the night.

Forget about the fireworks

we planned to light later that night.

The only thing I needed

to make the night memorable,

or even entertaining,

was watching Nick

and a couple other clueless people

run into that sliding glass door.