The Legacy of Cousin Tom

I open my front door and step out onto the snowy porch. As I close the door and pull my keys out to lock it, I notice the box next to me.

‘Oh no,’ I think in dismay.

My cousin, Tom, is back in town for a family reunion. He’s a great guy and truthfully, I adore him. Tom is, however, a prankster. He always lets the family know it’s him too: my father receives items that are always wrapped in duct tape, my mother’s will always have a bow - which he does not use for anyone else or other, true gifts for my mother. And I always get a prank in a box wrapped in brown paper.

Admittedly, sometimes the prank is that he’s psyched me out by putting a nice gift in a box that 80% of the time in the past has held something unpleasant. The last two had been rather kind gifts - Marigolds (my favorites) in one and a healthy pear tree in the very last.

I am overdue for a prank. Thinking back on some of the past gifts, I edge away from the box.

A few years ago, I opened one containing a light-up target. I watched confused as the light turned from green to an unsettling red and only noticed the incoming drone when I could hear the buzz of it’s motors and blades a few feet behind me. Tom had flown the flying monstrosity after me until the battery finally lost power, laughing his fool head off all the while.

As a teen, he once sent me a matador costume. As I stood looking at the cheap costume’s fabric, I suddenly heard Tom let out a yell, and he and two of his friends began directing a grown bull in my general direction from atop a couple riding lawn mowers. I’d managed to jump into my uncle’s truck, and the bull rammed right into it, causing massive external damages. Those boys got chewed out - I think any of us would have rather faced the bull again. We all assume they got the bull from the local stock show, but Tom still won’t say.

A decade ago, in winter, he left me a decaying shark he’d found on a nearby beach. Thankfully, since it was mostly frozen from the cold, it didn’t smell as terrible as it would have in the summer heat, but it was still a ghastly sight in the dark of early morning that day. My neighbors still laugh at me for the horrified scream I let loose upon glimpsing the shark.

Poor Steve next door tried to race over in slippers and bathrobe, thinking I was in trouble, and slipped on a patch of ice en route. Old Bob had been looking out his front window drinking coffee when he saw Steve tumble; he’d gotten to see more of Steve than he ever would have wanted and he’s since told me he’s just happy he spat the coffee out rather than the hot liquid exiting via his nasal passages. Tom has since made himself scarce in either’s presence, fearing repercussions.

To “make up” for the stress of finding a dead shark on my porch, the next box came during the summer and housed a live one. The box contained a cooler, in which there was a small shark - which began thrashing in reaction to me opening the cooler and exposing it to a radical light change. The creature was promptly returned to the sea from which it came, and I didn’t so much as ask about Tom for 3 years after that.

Absolutely anything could be in the box.

I stand, arms crossed, staring at the package. But there is nothing to get a read on from a box - it has no facial features or body language to tell me anything about it. Cautiously, I reach over and prod it. I wait, but see no movement. To be safe I repeat the process. Fairly certain whatever is in the box isn’t a live creature now, I relax slightly. Slightly.

I still remember the time he left a raccoon. I had prodded and waited, but apparently the critter slept through that. I don’t know which of us was more startled when I opened the box - me or the raccoon!

The heft of the box tells me it is something of substantial size and weight, and my curiosity is peaked. Just what has my cousin gotten up to this time? I’m almost hopeful that my mother passed along my desire for a pair of large planters; besides a talented prankster, Tom is also very crafty. Woodworking, clay, metal - my cousin works with them all. It isn’t unheard of for him to give a table or planter away if he knows someone wants one, after all.

I tear the paper covering the box slowly. Despite the weight of it, my actions seem to rock the box some. Again, I wonder what Tom’s left this time. I remove the last of the paper covering the top. Prying the first flap of the box up, I notice there is something brightly colored near the top….

POP!

I let out a short yell as I stumble back, startled by the loud noise and the rain of colorful paper confetti pieces. An eruption of giggles comes from within the box, which wobbles until it tips over.

“Hi, Martha! Daddy told me you’d be really excited to meet me if I waited here!” exclaims a young girl. She can’t be more than five years old, and one look at her confirms it; this is Tom’s child. I wave at the kid breathlessly. I didn’t know Tom had a child.

Suddenly, Tom himself steps into view, grinning ear to ear. I shake my head and glare at him, too busy holding my hand over my heart and trying to focus on breathing to tell him exactly what I think of this latest surprise. My cousin simply laughs harder.

The commotion has once again caught the attention of my nearest neighbors, and curious faces peek out through curtained windows and cracked doors. Many lose interest quickly when they realize the exciting bit is already over.

“Hey, cousin!” Tom exclaims, extending a hand to help me up out of the snow pile I’d landed in. I can feel a growing wet spot on the back of my pants from the melted snow they’ve sucked up; I’ll have to change before I go meet up with the rest of the family back in town. Tom continues, “This is my daughter, Deanna!”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I ask.

“Uh, well,” Tom falters - unusual for him - “Her mama - you remember Amanda?” I nod. “Well, she didn’t tell me I had a daughter. And I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t know if I’d get to see her. Big custody battle with Amanda’s folks after she passed away - heart attack - but I won. So I wasn’t just keeping you out of the loop or being funny-”

“PSYCH!” yell both Deanna and Tom, Deanna adding, “Mama brought me here herself! You can see her when we get breakfast!” The girl then laughs and runs off towards the nearby parking lot.

I see Tom rushing along after the child, both giggling madly. They deviate from the parking lot to reach the nearby pond; the pond is thickly frozen, and they both glide along the surface until they are out of sight, wreathed in the shimmering daylight reflected off the ice and snow.

Steve and old Bob approach me much the same as the last time my cousin’s actions brought us together; Steve in slippers and bathrobe, and Bob with his cup of coffee. At least he isn’t wearing it this time. Bob’s wife, Tammy, pops her head out their front door.

“What was all that about? Was that Tom?” she asks. Bob shakes his head and turns to her.

“Warn the town - there’s two of them!” he exclaims, exasperated.