Remember When We Used to TP Houses?
Sunday, November 6, 2005
Dear NB,
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Our house was toilet-papered last night. When I came downstairs in the morning, for a second, I thought it had snowed. Our whole front lawn was covered in white. The trees, the bushes, even the mailbox.
I don’t know how it is in other towns, but around here, getting TP’d is usually done by friends. Like, it’s a joke. A “ha-ha, got you!” kind of thing. Not revenge. Not bullying. Unless they use eggs…then they probably hate you. Since I don’t really have any friends (and my sister is basically Miss Popular), it was pretty obvious who the culprits were most likely targeting. So, of course, my parents turned to her first.
The conversation with my dad went something like this:
“Do you know who did this?”
“No.”
“One of your friends?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about your boyfriend? Did he have something to do with it?”
“I said, I don’t know.”
My dad scoffed. My mom rolled her eyes. Then they both turned my direction.
I was about to say, “Don’t look at me,” when my mom gasped.
“Oh no,” she said, raising one hand to her mouth and the other pointing towards the window.
We all turned to see where she was pointing. At my sister’s car, parked at the end of the driveway.
Egged.
Big, sticky splatters all over the windshield and driver’s side door. So much for a harmless prank. Someone wasn’t joking. Someone wanted revenge. And from the look on my sister’s face, I could tell she had a pretty good idea who it was. She didn’t say anything. She just stared at the car like somehow it had betrayed her.
“What is going on?” my dad asked, clearly out of patience.
I don’t know what came over me. Maybe the silence got too heavy. Maybe I just can’t help myself.
“Well… it probably has something to do with you cheating on Shane.”
Dead silence. My sister whipped her head toward me like she couldn’t believe I had just said that out loud. My mom’s mouth actually dropped open. My dad blinked like he didn’t hear me right.
“Who told you that?” my sister snapped.
“I…I don’t know,” I lied. “Just people at school.”
“Well, maybe you should stop repeating everything you hear,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
I suddenly wished I could rewind about ten seconds. But it was too late. And now, the look in her eyes said this wasn’t over. My dad ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.
“Both of you, outside. Now. Spray that car off right away before it ruins the paint.”
My sister and I exchanged a quick glance. Hers sharp and furious, mine full of guilt and nerves. She slid on her shoes and stomped outside. She grabbed the garden hose, and headed down the driveway. I followed, clutching the towel Mom had handed me.
The cool morning air did nothing to settle the knot twisting in my stomach. As the water sprayed over the sticky eggs, my sister didn’t hold back.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” she snapped, eyes narrowed.
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to — ”
“Yeah, well, you always say things you shouldn’t. Remember my surprise birthday party last year? When you ‘reminded’ my friends at church that it was a surprise, right in front of me!”
I winced. She was right.
“And Christmas? When we got Sammy? You blabbed about that as soon as you found the adoption papers Mom hid in a drawer.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I just get nervous or excited or something.”
“Well, sometimes you should think before you talk,” she said, her voice softer now but still serious. “Not everything is meant to be shared.”
I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in.
“I’ll try,” I promised.
We cleaned the car in silence for a few minutes, the running water the only sound between us. Then, a car rolled slowly down our quiet dirt road.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” my sister muttered under her breath.
“What? Who is it?” I asked, my heart suddenly racing.
And then I saw. It was Shane. Driving his mom’s minivan. Dad must have called his house. Just then, my mom opened the door and called out,
“Girls, come on back inside!”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I ran to shut off the hose, and we both went indoors. Dad walked out to meet Shane with some garbage bags and a rake. At first, he seemed calm. Then we heard him shouting. Something about how much the car cost.
Shane fired back that it was “just a prank.”
“A prank?” Dad shouted, “You’re lucky I didn’t call the police!”
My mom told us to go up to our rooms, which we did. But since my room is at the front of the house, I continued watching, peeking through the blinds. Shane cleaned up the whole yard, cursing under his breath the entire time. When he was finished, he tossed the full garbage bags and the rake onto the porch. Then he looked up, right at what he knew was my sister’s window, and shouted,
“We’re done! Do you hear me? Done!”
Then he got into the minivan and drove away.
I still haven’t come out of my room. I think my sister might actually kill me.
