Cardboard

© Nathan Tapp

When I was five Santa brought me a brand new Nintendo 64. Apparently my eyes were as big as plates or something, at least that's what my mommy tells me. She also told me that later that day when she came to my room I hadn't even opened it up yet. Apparently I had carried all the cardboard boxes from all the other presents up to my room and built a fort. She said it was “precious.” My dad wondered why they bought me the darned thing in the first place. But I guess the point is I really just like playing with boxes.

To adults, the inside of a cardboard box might just look kind of brown. But when I get inside of a cardboard box I can see almost anything! Sometimes I would be exploring the deepest and darkest oceans in my submarine. Sometimes I would be in outer space, chasing after aliens! I spent all day in those boxes, imagining all sorts of things. And if it got to lunchtime and I was still pretending my mommy would bring me food. She would even play along!

Like one time I was in the jungle, riding around in my big jeep, my mom sneaked into my room wearing all sorts of crazy face makeup! She came up and knocked on the door of my car and said, “Hello! My name is”—then she would make a clicking noise, that I still can't make!—“would you like to try some water buffalo?” And I looked down and there was a turkey sandwich! I laughed, hard. And that's the truth, I swear it.

My dad didn't like it when I played in boxes. Sometimes he would yell at me, and tell me to go outside, and play with the neighbors. I tried to tell him that the neighbors were older than me, but he wouldn't always listen. My teacher told me that sometimes grownups would get upset about something and instead of being mad at that thing they would get mad at someone else. She said it's called projection.

One day my mommy came home and she started crying, really loudly, to my dad. I tried to hear what was going on but she is hard to understand when she gets like that. My dad seemed to understand her though, cause he just sat there beside her going, “Uh huh, uh huh. I know.” And then he just kept saying, “We'll get through this, we'll get through this.” I think he even started to cry, which is weird because he never cries. Later on he told me that mommy had cancer in her chest. And though I wasn't really sure what it meant, I was pretty sure that this is why he kept “projecting” on me.

That night my mommy and I sat inside one of my cardboard forts. She told me that she wanted to go somewhere, somewhere far away from our house. I told her that we could go anywhere except a cave, because they kind of scared me. And that made her laugh. I always liked it when I made my mommy laugh because since adults have been around a lot longer than kids, they really know what is funny. She stopped laughing and told me that she wanted to go to the future. I asked her how far, and she told me that she wanted to see me when I was older, and I told her that I'm always older, because every minute that passes I am a minute older! She thought I was really clever and then she held me.

The week after my mommy died I lived in my cardboard box. I would try to imagine a place that I could go where cancer or dying didn't exist. But every time I tried I would imagine my mommy instead. Like one time when dad was out of town on business and mommy rented a movie and we ate ice cream right from the container. Or this other time when we were all driving across the country and mommy started singing this song from when she was a kid that her mommy sang to her. She had a really beautiful voice. But I didn't want to imagine her voice or her face or her. It made me sad. So, I stopped trying to imagine things and I decided that sometimes a box does look kind of brown, and I just sat in there all day.

A couple of days after my mommy's funeral my dad came up to my room. He asked me what I was doing, but I didn't really feel like answering him. Sometimes I just didn't feel like talking. But he asked me again, a little louder this time. So, this time I told him that I was trying to imagine something. This made him sigh, and I heard him walk to my bed and sit down. He told me that he knew this was tough on me and that “we'll get through this” and then told me that the hiding in a box wasn't going to help. I told him that I wasn't hiding, I was imagining. He then asked me again to get out of the box. This time he said it a little meaner, and so I kept quiet.

My teacher told me that sometimes people can will take out their frustrations and “project” their anger through physical ways. That's what she said bullies do, and if we ever see a bully hurt someone that we should tell her right away. Most of the bullies at my school like to hit the younger kids because they are small, and they won't hit back. I never would hit a bully, sometimes I think that's what they are looking for. Sometimes it's better to just be quiet. My mommy told me once that if you come across a bear, you should lie down and pretend that you are dead because bears don't really like dead things. Just so you know, that's only if you see a grizzly bear. They're the big ones.

But my dad's not a bully or a bear but you can never be too careful. So I decided just to lay still. I didn't hear anything for a moment, but then I heard the floor creak really quietly. I tried not to cry, but I was in my box and all I could think about was that night my mommy held me. Then I heard my dad leave the room and shut the door. And then all I could think about was my mommy in her coffin.

Later that night I heard a knock at my door. I shouted, “Come in!” but no one opened. I was pretty sure that it was my dinner and my dad was still mad at me and so he dropped it off at the door. I scooted to the door and lifted up the box for a few seconds and opened the door. But instead of my dinner I saw another cardboard box, except this one was a little bigger and had two holes cut out in the front, and taped on the box there was a note: “SO YOU CAN MAKE IT DOWN THE STAIRS WITHOUT HURTING YOURSELF. THERE'S A SURPRISE IN THE LIVING ROOM.” My eyes got wide as plates.

I don't know why I like cardboard boxes so much. I think maybe it has to do with surprises and mystery. Whenever it is Christmas or my birthday, there are always bunches of neatly wrapped boxes sitting around. And when I see these boxes I can't help but wonder what is inside them. I mean, they all look the exact same from the outside, so the inside could hold almost anything you can imagine. When you open them up, the mystery is over. You realize that it was just a shirt or a dinosaur or something. But that box that it was in can hold anything that you want it to hold! I guess that's why I've always liked boxes.

A surprise? I quickly put the new box over my head, and the eyeholes worked perfectly! I could see everything! I don't know how I didn't think of this before. I raced down the stairs and turned the corner into the living room, but nothing was surprising. “Hello?” I called out. I looked around the living room and on top of the VCR I saw a tape from the video store. I turned around and called out again. From the kitchen I could hear my dad yell, “Take a seat, I'll be there in a second!” So, I turned to the couch and hopped up onto it, facing the TV. I waited for what seemed like hours when all of a sudden I heard something run into the wall, “Dammit.” I tried to turn around, but unfortunately there weren't eyeholes on every side. Then all of a sudden my dad comes into full view, blocking the TV. My eyes were wider then plates this time. My dad wore a cardboard box! But it was really small, and it barely fit to his belly button! He had two large holes cut out for his eyes and even bigger holes on the side so he could fit his arms through. “Tada!” he said. I started laughing. I laughed so hard that I fell off the couch. Then I realized that my dad was laughing too, even harder then I was! When I stopped I asked him why on earth he was wearing a box. He told me he wanted to “see what I see.”

As we sat on the couch, watching the movie, wearing our boxes I asked him how he felt. He reached his arm up and put his hand on top of my box and said that he felt “safe.” And sometimes I imagine that his hand on my head was actually my mommy's hand, and I'd like to think that maybe he was thinking the same thing. And that make me smile.

Nathan Tapp is currently a student at the University of Colorado at Boulder studying English and Creative Writing. After his graduation in the Spring he plans on becoming a teacher, all the while pursuing his writing career.