Stan Marsh has taken the back way home from football practice since peewee football. He was 7.
The first few practices his mom would pick him up, but then slowly the excitement of their only son playing a sport wore off, and Randy and Sharon Marsh soon forgot about the 6:15 pick up time.
Sharon most likely remembered at some point during the day, but keeping up with Randy took a little more than half of her attention.
It didn't matter to Stan, really. Once he found his special walk home, Stan started to look forward to his alone time.
His walk was short, four blocks at the most. He would cut through South Park elementary and sometimes stop at the swings and make his alone time bliss last a little longer.
Once high school hit, Stan started staying out on his walk a little later, unless he knew he would have the house to himself. Sometimes Clyde would ask him to hang out after practice, or he would get a worry-text from Kyle, but they were pretty used to Stan's declines. There is nothing that would stop Stan from his walk home.
Until today.
Stan Marsh squeezes himself past the fence of South Park Elementary. There, he walks the length of the peewee football field he started his sport career on. Instead of his usual nostalgic state of mind, Stan's curiosity invited itself to his thoughts.
Stan's usual line of vision with fresh cut grass and white chalk outlines is obstructed by a box.
A cardboard box.
A cardboard box big enough for someone his size to stand in. It looks like a box that a vending machine would have came from. Strong cardboard, thick enough to bend. Suitable for a bum's home.
Stan sees the box from the visitor's field goal. It sits at the 40-yard line, the middle of the field for peewees. Once he gains yards, he sees the box is a lot nicer than he originally thought. Suitable for a bum's vacation home.
Stan stops at what he deems is the front of the box and reads the note scribbled on the box:
"Do Not Enter."
Stan reads the three words aloud. This peaks Stan's interest. Why would he want to enter the stupid cardboard box?
Stan snorts, "Why would I want to enter a stupid box?"
"Because you don't know what you're missing." The box snorts back.
Stan recognizes the hardened voice. "Craig?"
Why would Craig Tucker be sitting in a cardboard box in the middle of a football field at 6:15pm on a school night?
Stan gently pushes against the small opening to reveal the darkness inside Craig's box. The right flap indents from Stan's push and holds. Before Stan could push any further he feels Craig's light push back.
"Read the box, Marsh."
"What are you doing in there?"
"I thought you said, 'Why would I want to enter a cardboard box?'" Craig mimics.
Stan pauses for a moment. He feels silly for talking indirectly to Craig and even more silly for talking directly to a cardboard box. He thinks about leaving, silently. Letting Craig think Stan is still outside of the box, wanting in.
"I know you're still out there. I knew you'd want to know what's in here." Craig doesn't say much, but his voice is so solid, so sure, it is easy for Stan to pick out his voice.
Stan gives in, "Well what's in there?"
Stan hears rustling within the box.
"I don't know if I should tell you, it's something you really gotta see."
"Cut the shit Tucker."
"Testy, Marsh. You're just jealous you can't enter."
"Who says I can't?"
"Why, the box, of course." Stan thinks he hears actual shock in Craig's voice.
Stan is stumped. He gives his original thought of walking away another chance.
"Oh man, you're missing out. You would love this!" Craig's voice sounds so happy. Er, sooooo happy.
"What's in there." Stan felt his voice deadpan.
"You really want to see what's in here?"
"Yes." Stan answers a little quicker than he wants to. For all he knows Craig could have a gun pointed at him this whole time. Wouldn't put it past him.
"Are you sure? I'm not sure you could handle what's in here."
Stan snorts. "I can handle anything, Tucker. Just tell me what's in the fucking box."
"What if it's a wild lion?"
"You would be dead by now." Stan shifts his weight to his other foot. He feels like he is trying to coerce a toddler to take a nap.
"What if it's my pet lion? Only trained to kill fuck-heads like you?"
"You don't have a pet lion."
"You don't know that."
There's a breeze, almost like a breeze of realization. Stan watches Craig's cardboard box sway with the wind and it hits him. He can just knock over the box and out Craig and whatever bullshit it in there.
Stan backs away from the box a little. He wants to surprise Craig. Enough to make him jump, but not enough for Craig to want to punch him in the face.
As he reaches the box he hears Craig's sharp voice.
"Okay."
Stan is already rethinking his ambush plan, so his stop was anything but abrupt.
"Okay? You'll let me see what's in the box?"
"So you admit you wanna know what's in here?"
Stan knows he's just going to have to let Craig win this one, "Yes. I want to know."
"You admit you're interested in what I have in this box."
Stan breathes a heavy sigh. "Yes, I am interested."
Craig's left arm slinks out from the crack with the same permanent marker Stan assumes he wrote "Do Not Enter" with and scribbles out the words.
"Come in."
Stan quickly ducks into the cracked flap Craig left open for him to slip into.
Stan takes a moment to make sure he hasn't knocked the balance of the box off with his weight and extra width from his duffel bag. His eyes scan all angles of the box; he doesn't need to move his head to search for what Craig is so captivated by in such a small space.
There is nothing in the box.
Only Craig.
And now Stan.
"What the Fuck, Craig!?" Stan is mad at Craig, but mostly at himself for getting so caught up in whatever little game of Craig's this was.
Craig is sitting Indian style. He stands a pulls Stan close. So close, their lips are touching. Stan feels Craig's tongue gently run the length of his bottom lip, like he's sealing an envelope.
Craig pulls back, still no smile on his lips, but there is a small smile in his eyes. Stan thinks Craig knows his eyes speak better than his mouth, so he allows his eyes to speak to him. Whatever language Craig's eyes speak, Stan's must speak the same.
Before Stan can say something Craig slips out the back flap of the box. Stan isn't sure what to say or do. Should he run after Craig?
Stan slips out of the back flap and sees Craig walking towards the Home team's field goal.
"I told you you'd like what was in there, Marsh." Craig throws his middle finger in more of a wave than a profanity. "You should take a seat back in that box, looks like the wind is getting to you. Your cheeks look a little red."
Stan felt his check. He knows his flush isn't from the wind.
I have been on this website for a year now! Happy birthday to me! Here is a silly little scene I thought of. 12 stories in 12 months… not so bad. Now just to finish the ones I've started!
You know how cartoons always have that "imagination box" story? That's what this is based off of.
Thanks for reading!