Given the current state of…well, everything, I’d like to begin by emphasizing that the events described here took place in 1995, during which time the current, ongoing toilet paper shortage was not even a thought in anyone’s mind, and any toilet paper stockpiled 26 years ago would probably not inspire any butt-wiping confidence in the present day.
It’s a story that reminds me of a simpler time, a time when we could wantonly strew paper products over the property of friends (or enemies), secure in the knowledge that going to the store to replenish the supply wouldn’t be a whole…thing.
I’m telling this for fun, is all I’m saying. Please don’t get all uppity about it.
[Hey family–this is pieced together from several different accounts of events (mostly Uncle Rick, whose memory of these events is incredible–thanks Uncle Rick!). In some parts, I had to fill in the blanks. The dialog follows what I was told happened, but obviously, in many cases, I wasn’t actually there. If I got anything wrong, let me know and I’ll fix it!]
April, 1995: Laura’s family residence
I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen, bracing myself for another Monday. As I lurched through the living room, I reminded myself to wish Mom a happy birthday.
Movement outside the living room window made me pause and do a double take.
Dad was outside, stomping around the front lawn with a purpose. He was dragging the trash can behind him. He looked rather annoyed.
That was weird. My dad and his seven brothers ran a small business together, and Dad usually opened. He was normally at work before I even woke up for school.
Mom passed through the living room, and I gave her a hug. “Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks, sweetie! There are Dunkin’ Donuts in the kitchen, go grab one.”
“Yeah. …So, um, what’s Dad doing?”
“Oh. He’s cleaning up.” Mom looked slightly chagrined. “Someone toilet papered our house last night.”
*****
I left for school slightly unsettled. Who would TP our house? We don’t bother anybody. But clearly, someone had a grudge against us.
It’s not like it could be neighborhood boys causing trouble–there really weren’t any. Our neighborhood was almost entirely old people. They liked things quiet. The day we moved in, we kids got threatened with a call to the police for playing tag, in our own backyard, in broad daylight. Besides, no one else on the block had their house messed with.
Was it someone from my class? Admittedly, I wasn’t super popular. But that seemed pretty unlikely too–the upside of having very few friends was that very few of my classmates actually knew where I lived.
Well, maybe it wasn’t malicious. Maybe it was a harmless, friendly type prank. My brother’s friends, maybe? But logistically, that was a stretch. None of them lived within walking distance, so if a bunch of ten year olds wanted to TP our house, they would have had to involve an adult as a chauffeur. Maybe it was a sports thing? My dad was an assistant soccer coach, wasn’t there some tradition where you TP the coaches’ houses before a big game or…for school spirit…or something? But soccer season was WAY over, and again, it’s not like the players knew where we lived.
As weeks went by without any clue as to who had vandalized our house, the incident sort of faded from all of our memories…
*****
June, 1995: The Lair of the Conspirators
“So: are you free Wednesday night? Doreen’s birthday is Thursday.”
“Yeah–I was thinking, though. We’ve hit four houses already and none of them are even talking about it. Like, no one’s said anything. No one’s even reacting at all. Maybe we should just drop it.”
“No–that’s why I want to keep going! Because nobody’s saying anything. They’ve all got a secret, and none of them are revealing it! I want to see how long it takes.”
“Well…all right. As long as you’re still in, I’m still in. Let’s see how this plays out.”
*****
July, 1995: Uncle Don’s House
Uncle Don had an above-ground pool in his back yard, so for family gatherings in the summer, it was the natural choice. The family was starting to get too big for indoor gatherings, tallying in at 39 now: Grandma, her eight sons, their eight wives, and 21 grandchildren.
I tripped through a gaggle of toddlers toward a group of Aunts sitting together.
“Auntie Dor, do you have any more toilet paper? You’re out of it in the bathroom.”
“Oh–yes sweetie, I’ll get you some.” Aunt Doreen, always a conscientious hostess, jumped up.
“If we don’t, Dor, there’s probably still plenty in the trash can in the garage.” Uncle Don called over from the grill.
The Aunts made a surprised noise at Uncle Don’s odd joke.
“What? It’s still good!” He continued, grinning.
Aunt Doreen turned back to explain, since it was clear he wasn’t going to. “Our house got TP-ed last week. This is the SECOND time!”
“What?” My mom asked, stunned.
“Back in April, we got TP-ed on Don’s birthday! We figured it was some of the kids’ friends playing a joke. But last week, on my birthday, we got TP-ed again! It’s gotta be either our friends or someone in the family.”
“Dor,” my mom said excitedly, “we got TP-ed on my birthday too!”
“Wait,” Uncle Brian called from the pool, clearly getting fired up, “we got hit on Cathy’s birthday!”
“Yeah!” Aunt Cathy confirmed, just as Aunt Sue chimed in, “our house got hit on my birthday, too!”
The Aunts all stared at each other in astonishment. “Then it is someone in the family!” Aunt Doreen said, getting excited. “Who do you think it is? Rick and Bonnie’s kids?” Uncle Rick’s daughters were the oldest three grandchildren.
“It’s gotta be, right?” Said Aunt Sue.
Mom looked unsure. “Maybe for your birthday, Dor, but Jenny was at college for the rest of our birthdays. There’s no way she drove in on week nights to TP houses.”
“It could have been the other two, though,” Aunt Cathy pointed out.
“I don’t think so,” Aunt Bonnie said. “Shelly wouldn’t do something like that. And I think we would know if they were.”
Aunt Sue looked thoughtful. “Then I bet it was JT.” My cousin JT was twelve, like me. We were the next oldest grandkids.
Aunt Cathy shook her head. “To my house? Or yours? That’s like ten miles. What, did he ride his bike?”
My mom shrugged. “Maybe he had help?”
The Aunts looked at each other suspiciously.
*****
At ‘The Shop’
At the small business that the Uncles ran together (‘the shop’), speculations abounded on Monday.
“It’s gotta be the kids.”
“It’s not the kids! The only ones who can drive couldn’t have done it.”
“Why, because they’re girls? That’s stupid.”
“Maybe they were working together. Maybe JT got Jim’s house–”
“I still think whoever it is, their parents have gotta be helping them.”
“Okay, look, which of us has the next birthday?”
“Actually, I think it’s my wife. Next week.”
In other words–JT’s mom.
“Perfect! No one would TP their own house. We’ll check on the day of! If there’s no toilet paper, it’s him!”
One Uncle narrowed his eyes skeptically at JT’s dad. “You’re sure you know nothing about this?”
JT’s dad held up his hands defensively. “I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
*****
At the Lair of the Conspirators
“Can you believe they’re just openly announcing their plans to catch us at the Shop?”
“Even better–can you believe they think we’re dumb enough not to hit our own houses? Good thing we thought of that.”
*****
August, 1995
The case appeared to be going cold. JT had been cleared of all suspicion when his dad arrived at work the next day and announced that, yes, their house had been hit on his wife’s birthday. Two weeks later, on Aunt Bonnie’s birthday, Uncle Rick reported to the Uncles that the perpetrators had arrived stealthily in the dark and brazenly coated their front yard in Quilted Northern while they were, in fact, still at home and up the night before. By the time they realized something was going on in their yard, it was too late. “We got a glimpse of someone running down the block, but it was too dark to tell who it was.”
It was Uncle Roy’s birthday, and one of the conspirators was arriving at work, confident after another successful mission the previous night and looking forward to more bluster as the Uncles threw accusations at each other. Waving hi to the workers, the conspirator headed into his office and fired up his computer.
Instead of the usual Windows screen, however, his computer background had been replaced with a message, proclaiming in all caps, in blazing neon colors:
SMILE
YOU WERE ON CANDID CAMERA
*****
At the Lair of the Conspirators
The conspirators looked on, chagrined, as Uncle Roy and Aunt Sue triumphantly displayed the video footage. The conspirators could be clearly seen.
“Well,” one sighed, “it was fun while it lasted.”
“Oh no,” Uncle Roy said. “We’re not gonna rat you out. We want in.”
*****
At Laura’s Family Residence
It was the night before Dad’s (and his twin brother’s) birthday, and supposedly, we were going out to dinner. Dad was holding us up, though. He was bustling around my brother’s room, and whatever he was doing, it was taking forever.
Finally, when the rest of us were standing by the door with our shoes on, he emerged and ushered us out the door, looking very pleased with himself.
“What were you doing in there?” My mom asked, irritated.
Dad grinned. “Setting up a camcorder.”
*****
The Conspirators, En Route
 “This is gonna be warm. Two houses, in summer, dressed like this?” The conspirator in the passenger seat gestured to the hastily improvised stealth gear the trio had donned: ski masks and black plastic garbage bags.
“We know Jimmy set up a camera,” the driver said. “He kept talking about it all day at the Shop.”
“We’re not getting caught again,” said the conspirator in the back seat, glancing at a large piece of cardboard they’d brought along just for this circumstance.
The car slowed as they passed the targeted house. “Anyone see where the camera is?”
They peered at the front of the house in the fast-disappearing light of dusk. “I think I see something in one of the bedroom windows.”
“Okay. Give me the board. I think I can sneak up from the side.”
*****
The conspirators were mystified. They had carefully made sure that the video shot had been blocked before they started their work, and yet my dad had been bragging all around the Shop about how he’d caught irrefutable evidence that identified the TPer beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Now, he was playing his footage for one of the accused. Although nothing definitive could be seen in the brief, blurry flurry of motion before the cardboard was placed in front of the camera and everything went dark, several minutes in, amid the muffled voices of the conspirators, a distinctive “Huh?” could be heard that could only belong to a certain Aunt.
On hearing it, the Aunt in question turned bright red.
“Well–” she stammered. “It’s hard to think of everything!”
“Ha!” My dad said triumphantly. He turned to my Uncle. “Were you in on this too?” From the video, it seemed like there was at least one other person.
“I told you, I’ve got nothing to do with all this!” My Uncle said adamantly.
“Wait, let me see that again,” my Aunt insisted. She rewound until she found the spot with the clearly audible voice. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound anything like me. It’s probably one of Rick and Bonnie’s girls.”
*****
“Was it them?” I asked eagerly when Dad got home.
“At first, she admitted it, but then she took it back. Even if it was her, we still don’t know who else is involved.”
It was kind of creepy and exciting. A villainous conspiracy–right here in our own family!
*****
At the Lair of the Conspirators
“Okay, well, now we know we have to keep our voices down.”
“It’s not my fault!”
“Is Jimmy gonna tell the family? Or is he keeping this quiet like Roy and Sue?”
“I don’t think he’s gonna tell. I think I managed to convince him it wasn’t my voice. And he has no idea about the two of you.”
*****
September, 1995
The mall by our house had Dippin’ Dots, and really, what better way was there to say goodbye to summer than with novelty ice cream?
The mall was also a block from Uncle Rick and Aunt Bonnie’s house, and Dad suggested we stop by, since it was Uncle Rick’s birthday the day before. He’s my godfather, so naturally I’d want to wish him Happy Birthday in person.
When we pulled up, we found Uncle Rick outside, watering the grass. “Happy Birthday, Uncle Rick!” We called as we jumped out of the car.
We stood chatting outside and enjoying the beautiful evening for a few minutes as we finished our ice cream. Uncle Rick told us how they’d spent his birthday weekend, and we got to tell him about our first couple weeks of school.
“Drama class at the park district starts tomorrow,” I told him. “Miss Camille says we’re going to do Bye Bye Birdie this year. I’ve never seen it, so we’re gonna rent it from Blockbuster–”
Uncle Rick was listening, but he looked distracted. He was staring up into the Maple tree on his parkway. “July,” he said, which was his pet name for my little sister, Julie, who was about to turn six. “Come here for a sec.” He hefted Julie up into his arms and pointed up into the tree. “See that?”
We followed his finger. There was a single square of Quilted Northern still stuck on a tree branch. “Do you think you can grab it?” He asked. He lifted Julie up above his shoulders, and she just barely managed to snag the square.
“They got you too, Uncle Rick?” My brother asked.
He nodded. “When we came home from dinner they’d already hit. I cleaned it up right away because it was supposed to rain overnight. Looks like I missed a piece, though.”
*****
“Well, I guess that clears Uncle Rick,” I mused once we’d gotten back in the car. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” My brother asked.
“Well, it’d be pretty easy for him to fake TPing his own house, wouldn’t it? All he’d have to do was put that one piece up in the tree, and then conveniently call attention to it, so that we’d see the evidence that he’d been hit.”
My brother, ever the logical one, pointed out, “but how did he know we were gonna stop by?”
*****
April, 1996
It had been a long, cold winter for the conspirators, coating snow-covered lawns in Quilted Northern under the icy cover of darkness, but finally, in early February, their mission was complete. The final Aunt had received a celebratory papering. That was all eight Aunts, and all eight Uncles, toilet papered on their birthday–totalling 48 rolls of Quilted Northern.
There was still one more thing they had to do.
On the morning of April 10–363 days, to the day, after the mad TPers had begun their quest–Grandma woke up on her 71st birthday to find her lawn gently and considerately papered: a few strands across the porch railing, and wrapped around a small bush in easy reach, because everyone knew that Grandma would not call anyone to ask for help with clean-up.
After nearly a full year, the final roll of toilet paper had been thrown.
*****
Every Sunday afternoon, the entire family gathered at Grandma’s. This particular Sunday, since it was a few days after her birthday, celebrations were in order, and everyone had made an effort not to miss. The Aunts had made a cake; Mom’s signature brownies had been requested; the tweens were already getting yelled at for shaking the chandelier, and Uncle Roy cleared his throat.
“Now that everybody has had a chance to get toilet papered for their birthday, including Mom,” he said, “I want to go on record and say that Sue and I were the first ones to crack the case. So now that the TPers are retired–we can go ahead and reveal their identities.”
He pushed a VHS tape into the VCR and pressed play.
*****
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“You okay, Bonnie? You look a little tired.”
Aunt Bonnie took a seat on the couch, moving a little slowly. “I just need to sit for a minute. That was a long time on my feet.”
“Do you need anything? Some water?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks for coming with me shopping. Rick would have been no help.”
“What have I been telling you, since you first started treatment–that’s what sister-in-laws are for. You need anything, any time, just call, even if it’s the middle of the night. I’m right down the street.”
Aunt Bonnie smiled, because she knew her sister-in-law meant it.
“Try the wig on again.”
Obliging, Aunt Bonnie pulled the shopping bag toward her and took out her new wig, putting it on and straightening it on her head. “What do you think?”
“You picked out a really cute one!”
Aunt Bonnie shook her head a little bit, clearly enjoying that she had hair to bounce back and forth when she did so now. “You know, it’s funny? I’ve never worn a wig before.”
“Really, never?”
“Well, yeah, have you?”
“Well, no, but when you talk about things you’ve never done in your life, people usually think about jumping out of planes, not stuff like wearing wigs.”
“I guess there are a lot of things I’ve never gotten to do in my life,” Aunt Bonnie said.
There was a long, meaningful pause.
“Well–what are some of the other things you’ve never gotten to do in your life?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Aunt Bonnie said dismissively.
“No, come on, tell me! What are some things you’ve never gotten to do? Maybe we can cross them off your list!”
“I don’t know,” Aunt Bonnie said, searching her mind, “do drugs? Toilet paper a house?”
“Wait, seriously, you’ve never TPed a house?”
“Of course not!”
“Do you want to?”
“We can’t just go TP a house!” Aunt Bonnie said incredulously.
“Well, I mean, not a stranger,” her sister-in-law replied, the wheels already turning in her mind, “but if it’s someone we know, that’s not too bad, right?”
“Like who?”Aunt Bonnie asked, starting to get excited about the idea.
“Let’s think of someone. Who can we TP?”
Aunt Bonnie grinned. “Rick’ll be home soon. I bet he’ll help.”
Laura Writes 
The ones you never suspect…fun to read!
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