What's in the Box

One would think I’d learned my lesson, but no, I still every now and then get the bug to clean out my closets. The problem, or perhaps the fun part, is I never know what I’m going to find. Totally felt like Forrest Gump there. Anyway, during the cleaning of the hall closet I find a package.

Nothing real special about it. It’s an average size, bigger than a shoe box, smaller than a printer box. What is weird is it’s wrapped in plain brown paper with no name or anything on it. I have no idea what it is or who it belongs to. I take it out and put it on the island in the kitchen where our family puts most notes for each other to see if anyone gives a “hey you found it!” yell. I go about my day as usual.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER…

“Hey, honey, what’s up with the box on the counter?” my husband yells to me.

I walk to the kitchen so I’m not yelling, “That would be why it’s there, to see if someone claims it. I found it in the hall closet this morning.”

He picks it up and turns it over, “Doesn’t have anyone’s name on it.”

“Really, Captain Obvious? I hadn’t thought to look for that. You don’t remember sticking a box in the closet I take it.”

“Nope.”

“Considering I know you don’t remember what we had for dinner, I’ll mark you down as a maybe for right now.”

“You’re full of sass today.”

“Aren’t I every day?”

“Cute. I’m heading out.” He gives me a quick kiss. “Let me know what happens with the mystery of the brown paper box.” And he walks out toodling the twilight zone theme. My husband the comedic genius.

I look at the box again. It’s not very heavy. I don’t hear anything moving around in there. I consider opening it. Who knows how long it’s been in that closet? I should just open it so I know and can move on with my day. But it could be a gift or something private of one of the kids, respecting their boundaries really sucks sometimes.

MUCH LATER…

One of my millennial boarders emerges from his room while I’m in the kitchen cutting up some fruit for myself for lunch.

“What’s with the box, mom?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you knew anything about it. I found it in the hall closet this morning.”

“Really?” He picks it up with a kid-in-the-candy-store look. “What’s in it?”

“I don’t know, that is why it’s sitting there.”

“There’s no name on it.”

“You have really been working on your observation skills.” That earned me a look.

He puts the box up to his ear. “I don’t hear anything.” Then he shakes the box.

“Don’t shake it! There could be something breakable in there.”

“Wouldn’t it say fragile on the box then?” he asked while pouring himself a bowl of muesli.

“If someone took the time to write fragile on the box, don’t you think they would also write their name?”

“Touché. Is it really safe to keep a suspicious box on the kitchen counter?”

I looked at the box, then at my son. “You don’t think it’s dangerous? It’s been sitting in the closet for who knows how long. If it was a bomb, don’t you think the closet would be gone by now?”

He shrugged between heaping bites of breakfast. “Maybe it is triggered when you open it.”

“Thank you. Thank you for putting that into my brain.”

“It also could spray anthrax or botulism.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment. “All I want to know is who it belongs to. Please take pity and leave it at that, I don’t need to get my anxiety fired up as well.”

“No problem, mom. I’m heading back up to application essay writing.”

“How are those coming?”

“Three are out and I have two more to do.”

“Nice work. Let me know if you need anything.”

LATER THAT NIGHT…

Dinner was finishing in the oven, and I was enjoying a nice Malbec as I stared at the still to be identified paper covered box. It is just so strange to have a wrapped box that I’m unfamiliar with, considering I’m the only person in this family who knows how to wrap when it comes to needing to wrap gifts.

My son comes down and pulls out a can of Dr. Pepper. “How much longer until dinner is ready?”

I looked over at the oven, “Another 10 or 15 minutes.”

“Still nothing on the box?”

“It’s still been just you and me all day. I’m waiting for your sister. She should be home from school anytime.” My husband walks in right at that time. “How was work?”

He gives me a kiss then pours himself a glass of wine. “Still staring at the box, huh?”

“Yes, our resident tree over here has ruled out bomb and anthrax.”

“A tree, seriously?” my son said with an eye roll.

“Yes, California called wanting their missing Redwood back. I told them I was still happy with him where he was.”

“Were they offering money this time?” my husband asked.

“Not enough.”

“You two are not funny; you realize that, right?” my son groaned.

“I don’t know about your dad, but I am hilarious, just ask me.”

The door opens and shuts. “I’m home!” my daughter calls.

“We’re in the kitchen,” I called back. “How were classes?”

She walked in the kitchen, “They were fine. Made progress on my oil painting. Hey! Where did you find that?”

“What? The box? Is it yours?”

“Yeah, I use it when I create still life settings to raise up certain pieces.”

“And you stick it in the bottom of the closet why?”

“That’s where I put it! I’ve been looking everywhere for it!”

“Guess you were right, Mom, no bomb or anthrax.”

The oven timer rang out. “Dinner is ready. You two, set the table, and let’s eat. We will discuss proper places to store our art supplies.”