XXVII. Skeletons

Tuesday

3 Days until Whack-Your-Brain

Dream Recap:

Nightime. Mommy and Daddy are asleep, right? Usually they are at this time. Late night cartoons await! They show more of the adult stuff at night, the things that the older kids watch, and that my parents won't allow me to. Please. Being eight is NOT a baby age! I'm not four!

I step lightly out of bed and walk quietly down the stairs, one baby step at a time. I'm trying to watch Sailor Moon at midnight, which comes on in five minutes, and it's one of those teenage shows, but while I was at Fern's house last weekend, her older sister and us watched it.

I've made it down the stairs without making a sound. Victory is (almost) mine! I creep across the floor of the living room and head for the sofa, only to hear footsteps coming from the kitchen. Oh, no. My parents aren't supposed to be awake! They have to get up early tomorrow and run errands. But it's only Vince that comes out of the kitchen, and he jumps when he sees me.

"Vivian!" he's a sharp whisper in the dark. "What are you doing up?"

"What are YOU doing up?" I fire the question back.

"Stop acting like a baby." He says.

I wish he can see me smiling in the dark. "Okay, okay." I whisper back. "I won't tell if you tell."

"Deal." Vince holds out his hand and I shake it. "Well, I guess I'll tell you why I'm down here to stop this stupid argument. I'm looking for something in the basement."

"Looking for what?" I press.

"Why do you care?" Vince walks over to the wall and dimly lights up the living room space. "You're trying to watch Sailor Moon. Aren't I right?"

"How did you know?" I say. And how is it that he's always one step ahead of me?

"It doesn't matter." Vince replies. "Anyway, you want to come with me?"

"But...Sailor Moon is about to start." I protest.

"Vivian, come on." Vince grabs my arm. "This won't take long. You'll only miss the theme song."

I moan. "Oh, okay."

"Shh!" Vince says. "Did you forget that mom and dad are sleeping?"

Like magic, we're in the basement (there's no scene that shows us actually walking down the stairs: we're just there). In the far corner of the room lies a huge black trunk.

I slide my finger over the lid. "It's so dusty." I complain.

"Well yeah." Vince says. "It's been here forever." he lifts up the latches holding the lid down and lifts it up, sending with it a cloud a dust. "See that?" he points into the trunk.

"I do." I reply although I don't see anything.

"Weird isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"So that's what happened to you." This explains Queenie's new look unknown to the Degrassi population until now. My friend told me everything: how she and Diane are both passionate about high school basketball (something I never knew before now); and how they both gambled on which of the two teams would win (man the stakes were high!). "You were that embarrassed by it that you never mentioned a word of it to me?"

"Hey people think that I'm already strange enough!" She cries. "I couldn't be weird and bald! You would've probably avoided me like the plague!"

"Glad you think I'd be so shallow." I roll my eyes. "You're one of a kind, Queenie. I hope you know that, without being your friend, my experience at Degrassi would have been a lot more depressing." I reach for one of her hands, and she holds on to it.

"You're adorable, Vivian," She replies, "but I'm glad that I've been able to help you out with everything that you're going through...somewhat." She giggles.

We're sitting outside at one of the picnic tables for lunch since today's weather is unusually beautiful. Well...for a Canadian October anyway. We're both eating tuna sandwiches; leftovers from what dad and I had last night (courtesy of moi). As soon as I offered my additional sandwich to Queenie, she rejoiced; anything, she said, was better than the "crap" that we're served for lunch.

"Speaking of friends," Queenie continues, "have you spoken to Rick lately?"

I shrug. "Not really. Apart from a 'hey' every once in a while, we haven't really hung out since last Thursday." I bite into my sandwich awkwardly.

"Sensitive topic?" My friend observes. "I won't mention him again."

"No big deal." I say.

"But...I'm really curious though." She says hesitantly, her voice softer.

I snap my head up as kids at the table in front of us squeal over something in a magazine. "What is it?" I return my focus to Queenie.

"Rick has also been a really good friend to you. Would you have still been more depressed if it were just you and him? And not me?"

"Huh? Yeah sure. I mean, no, I guess not if I had only met Rick—and Ivory for that matter—and not you. It sure would have been a LOT more stressful if I didn't have you to talk to about it though. Being friends with him has been so difficult with everyone around us hating him so badly. I don't think I could have handled all of that pressure on my own. I would have broken a long time ago."

"Huh. I see." She says.

I tilt my head. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." She replies. "So what's the status regarding you two? You seemed like you were going to be a thing."

"Not really." I reply instantly.

"Still because of last week?"

I sigh. "I can't get what happened out of my head."

"He's not Jay, Vivian."

"I know." I snap. "That doesn't make what he did any better."

Now Queenie sighs. "Look, I know this is none of my business, but at least still be his friend."

"I never stopped being friends with him." I argue.

"Okay then." Queenie says. "So...is Vince coming home soon? He usually comes home for the breaks right?"

"Yeah he does." I answer, relieved at the change of subject. "He's actually going to be here Wednesday evening."

"Exciting!" My friend says. "Mind if you invite me over? I'd love to play cards with that guy again."

I smile. "I'd love for you to play with him too."

"Hey, guys." Liberty Van Zandt joins our table. "Vivian, I was actually looking for you. Do you know when the next time that Student Council is accepting applications? I didn't know that they took more than just Niners at the beginning of the year."

I smile at her. "That usually happens at the end of every school year for upperclassmen. I was an exception since I just transferred in."

Liberty sighs. It's just one of those days apparently. "I'll surely be busy before then. Oh well, I'll find another organization that will appreciate my talents."

"I'm sorry." I say. "If it were up to me, I would offer them once a semester."

"Vote Vivian for Student Council President." Liberty says as she stands up. "Farewell." She nods at Queenie before going.

"I second it." Queenie grins at me.

I playfully shove her. "Stoppit." I chuckle. "I don't know how Marco keeps up with arranging everything. I just help him out whenever he needs it, like when we needed to see Raditch about Alex's position as Vice President."

Queenie cringes. "I can only imagine that that didn't go too well."

"It actually went better than expected." I explain the negotiation that I initiated with Raditch about the older girl remaining in her position until the end of Whack-Your-Brain.

"Do you think you'd go for it?" Queenie asks, her face beaming. "That would be so awesome!"

"Ayyy..." I respond. "Not right now...I'm just— "

"Blah, blah, blah with the excuses already. Just go for it, girl. You'd be great. It's so typical for the girl to just be the secretary. Not that it isn't an important job, but still, if I were you..."

"You could have applied for student council too you know!" I say. "Well I guess as a freshman. Why didn't you?"

She looks at me, looking visibly hurt. It's like I slapped her. "I think we had this conversation before. I'm not really into the popularity contest thing." She smiles again, like nothing had happened. "Not that I think you're shallow or anything. You and your awesomeness."

"You alright, Queenie?" I ask just like that.

"Phenomenal." She winks at me. "Seriously. I'm fine." She pats my shoulder.

I smile at her. "Good."

"Love you, girl." She says.

I squint at her although I'm still smiling. "Uh...love you too?" You strange, bubbly girl.

"I should call Queenie and tell her right now that you're here." I say as I walk in the house after Vince. Before I can even reach down in my purse for my key, he opens the door with the goofiest grin on his face. "Why the early arrival? I know you have a class right now."

"Well we don't have any major tests or assignments do, so I thought I'd bail early." My brother explains. "I can make up class later. I'm just ready to be lazy for once."

This is the perfect opportunity to ask him about this dream I've been having. "Vince, are you settled in? I need to talk to you about something."

Vince sighs. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that it's about those crazy dreams you've been having."

I roll my eyes. "Are you gonna take me seriously or what?" Dang he's good.

"I'm gonna go with the 'or what'." My Smart Alec brother replies. "Of course I'm listening to you!"

"Then stop joking about this!" I raise my voice.

"Viv", Vince rests a hand on my shoulder, "I'm on your side, alright? Remember I was there too. Sometimes it just helps to be light-hearted when it comes to talking about it, you know?"

I look down at the carpet. "It's still too soon for me to do that."

"Come on; let's sit down." Vince, his hand still on my shoulder, walks us over to the living room couch. "What's wrong?"

"There's not really anything wrong, but there's this trunk I keep seeing in one of my dreams...you and I, as little kids—eight and twelve—go down to the basement to look for it, then we find it and open it up, but there's nothing inside of it."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I don't know!" I say. "But I keep having dreams about it."

"Therefore you think it's important in some way." Vince concludes.

"Do you remember anything about a trunk that we had once-upon-a-time that would be so relevant it keeps revisiting me in my dreams?" I ask.

Vince stares past me, squinting. "I...don't think so...maybe—oh ! I remember as a little kid, back when you were an infant, I would go touching a black trunk up in the attic, but then dad caught me, and...now I'm scarred for life." He rubs the side of his face with his hand. "Man he hit hard."

My heart jolts out of my chest. He knows something! "What trunk!? Where? You said the attic? Vince, that's so helpful! Why did dad keep you from seeing it?"

He shrugs. "I don't remember why exactly. I just remember him, after he hit me, scolding at the top of his voice, 'Don't EVER touch that trunk again! You hear me?!' After that I was too afraid to even go up in the attic, let alone revisit the trunk." He tilts his head. "Excited much?"

"Uh, yeah!" I elbow my brother. "Finally I'm getting somewhere with this! Sorry that dad hit you for it, but there has to be something inside of it that he wanted to keep away from us."

"How about wants to keep away from us?" Vince argues. "I don't think it's wise to be openin' closed doors, especially after mom's death."

"Since when are you one to follow our parents' rules? Most of the times I got in trouble I was doing something that you instigated in the first place!" I stick my tongue out like the mature fifteen-year-old that I am. "Anyway, me just mourning over mom all the time isn't really doing me any good either. How about we just do some little exploring before dad gets back home?" I glance down at my watch. "We got an hour-and-a-half."

Vince scratches his head, covered in big, black curly hair. "It's bothering you that much?"

"Consciously and unconsciously apparently." I reply.

He stares at me for a few seconds, then he (you guessed it) sighs. "You think he brought it with him after the move?"

"Yes." I say.

"Where at?"

"I have dreams about it in the basement, but you saw it in the attic." I bite my lip. "Wanna flip a coin?"

"No let's just go upstairs first." Vince decides. "I haven't seen the attic in this house."

"Fair enough." I lead the way to the staircase and up the stairs while Vince silently follows.

The door is subtle in the back wall adjacent to the bathroom. It blends in with the white wall, only visible by the faint silhouette of a rectangle. Gently I slide the door over to the right, and it makes the sound of wheels sliding against a train track.

"Fancy." Comments Vince.

"Yep."

"So we just walk up that dark staircase to our doom, right?"

"That's the plan."

Vince, once we get to the top, has to bend his head over a little due to the low hanging doorway. Somehow, by one heck-of-a-miracle, he is the only member in the family who received the tall genes, and by only 5'9'', which still isn't that tall (I always give him grief about this), but he sure out paces midgets like myself. "Holy..." he gawks at the decor around him. "What did you do to the place?"

"This was all dad's doing." I say. "This was all of the furniture that mom liked, and he keeps it up here."

Vince is silent once he sees the photo of our mom sitting on the desk beside the couch. "Let's hurry up and find this trunk. This room is way too nostalgic for me."

"Well let's start looking for it then."

We search the space, both weary of messing anything up; there's too much of mom around us. There are only a few drawers in the entire room, and nothing big enough that would hide a trunk...

"How big was it do you think?"

"What the trunk?" Vince pauses. "Pretty big I guess. Then again everything seems bigger to you as a little kid. Still I think it's too big to hide in this room."

"So are we calling it quits then?" I ask. "Wanna try the basement?"

"Sure."

We leave the sanctuary of an attic and migrate down to the basement—a stark contrast by comparison. There's junk piled up to the ceiling—in just one corner. Dad is working to get renovation done in the basement, so it'll appear to be a mini-apartment once it's finished, but now there's nothing but unfinished painted walls, and certain areas of the floor are left undone; the boards in these areas are loose, so there's a draft coming in from the ground.

"Let's hurry and get out of this place." Vince says.

We move towards the corner where a bunch of boxes are piled on top of each other. After a while of cautiously pulling things out and setting them down, the chill begins to catch up to us.

"No good." Vince breathes into his hands and rubs them together. "Nothing's here but things that have yet to be unpacked. You'd think dad would at least get some heat working down here." He reaches down and rubs my shoulder for warmth. "Guessing that neither of you hang out down here."

"Are you kidding? It's the perfect place to cuddle for a movie." I rub Vince's arm for warmth. "Okay, we can leave now. I don't feel like looking for it anymore. At least for now."

"You always were so nosy as a little kid." My brother smirks down at me. "Come on. We shouldn't leave the door open."

"Touché." I follow my brother up the stairs and into the warmth of the kitchen and quickly shut the door behind me. Each of us take an apple from the center of the small, round four-person table and sit down to eat.

For a while it's just the two of us and the sound of teeth crunching into apples. Usually we're chatty because, naturally, we've been each others' company our entire lives, but when things got weird (a.k.a., mom committed suicide), and after we moved to Toronto, lately there have been lags of silence. At times when we have conversations, they always lead back to our mother and how she died; it'll be with us for the rest of our lives, but we don't like to think about it, and every time there's a mention of our late parent, it can't be helped. She's been with us for most of our lives, and the way she left was...unusual. Blind-siding. Each time we talk about that. The last time we questioned mom's suicide, we got into a heated argument about what could have possibly driven her to shoot herself. We both ended up shouting at each other and crying in the end, so we decided since then that we wouldn't discuss the reasons behind mom's death until we were mature enough to handle it.

Vince breaks the awkward silence. "How's Rick doin'?"

Not the most ideal alternative, but better than nothing. "Better I think. You know the Whack-Your-Brain tournament that he's in is this Friday?"

"Oh yeah. Awesome. He told me about that when we were playing cards the last time I was here." Vince double-bites into his apple. "You know, he opened up to me about a lot of things that night."

I face him. "Really? Like what?"

"I'm pretty sure he told you, but that thing with his ex-girlfriend last year and how he put her in a coma."

I arch an eyebrow. "What else did he tell you about?"

Vince smirks at me. "Wanna guess?"

I squint at him. "No?"

He starts laughing. "You're so stubborn, Vivian! What's that face for? Afraid of the answer?"

"Sort of." I reply.

"Well now you know that I know about the two of you...together together."

"Brilliant." I throw my hands up, dropping the apple on the table. "I don't have any privacy around here."

"C'mon, why are you discouraged? He's not that bad." Vince says.

"Not that bad you say."

"Well obviously he does have a history," Vince acknowledges, "but when I was talking to him, he seemed pretty laid back, and he didn't express any misogynistic opinions about women."

"Were you talking about women by chance?"

"Well, yeah, the thing with his ex-girlfriend, remember? Then he started about a girl at school he was starting to like, and the way he was describing her sounded like you somewhat, even though I was just teasing when I guessed you, but he actually admitted it. That was the biggest surprise of my life. Well," he chuckles, "after mom died, and after realizing that I got accepted into Brown."

"Well the third biggest surprise means you're still really shocked." I say. "And why is that?" I harden my voice.

Vince holds his hands out, laughing again. "Nothing bad, I promise. It's just the thought of you, my little sister, with a boyfriend."

"That's life, though." I shrug. "It's possible for people to find me attractive, you know."

"Don't remind me." Vince sticks his fingers in his ears. "I'm your brother. I don't want to think about you from some stupid teenage boy's point-of-view."

Now I laugh. "Okay, I won't say anything else."

"But now I'm curious..." My brother starts.

"You sound like Queenie."

"Do you feel that way about him?" He ignores my comment.

I pause. It's your brother. The most harmless person you know. "I do...or did...for a while now." I look at Vince who appears attentive.

"Did?" He asks. "Did something happen between you two that made you stop liking him? I won't prod you anymore if you don't want to say anything else."

I don't. "Thanks for understanding." I say. "A lot has happened since your last time here."

"I can imagine." Vince slides a packet of stapled papers towards him that was lying beside the bowl of apples. "Hopefully everything is alright between you then, if you're not a couple." He begins flipping through the papers.

"Yeah they're fine." I say. Don't want to talk about that ordeal.

"I didn't know you were doing Whack-Your-Brain as well." Vince says.

"Huh? I'm not apart of that. I mean student council is helping to put it on, but I'm not a contestant."

"Then what's this study guide of trivia questions doing here?" Vince holds up the packet. "There's a bunch of highlighted stuff in it and everything."

"Oh!" My heart beat accelerates. "That's Rick's! Crap, he must have left it here when he came over last week."

"Oh, okay." Vince says. "He might be tearing his house upside down to look for this. You might want to call him right away to let him know that you have it. Were you helping him study or something?"

I take the packet from my brother. "Something like that."

"And that's all I need to hear." Vince gets up from the table.

I laugh before I take a large bite of my apple. "Come on, dude! I didn't get into details."

"No need. That's what imagination is for." Vince heads towards the kitchen door. "Excuse me while I pretend not to have heard that." He leaves the room.

I roll my eyes. "Baby." I say to myself. He's right, however, on the account that I have to tell Rick that I have his study guide. Oh well. We can't avoid each other forever. I walk out of the kitchen as well and head up the main staircase to my bedroom, leaving Vince alone to watch the flat screen in our living room.

My dad helped me paint the walls of my bedroom a medium shade of purple and hang up the multicolored, lantern-designed lights suspended from the corners of the ceiling. The colors match the colorful polka-dots that appear on my white comforter that's spread out over my queen-sized bed that sits right underneath the large window in my room. Dad spoiled the crap out of me by letting me have the master bedroom that comes with its own bathroom, the lavender color theme matching that of my room. Along the wall to the left of my bed is my white table with a mirror. The wall perpendicular exists my closet, and right along side it is my white dresser with four drawers. On this same wall, and on the other side of the door, sits my homework desk, which contains a computer and an alarm clock. I love dad for being so generous with the housing arrangements; this room is a way for me to get away from everything, and I hardly let anyone else in with the exception of dad and Queenie.

I head towards my dresser mirror where my phone sits and hesitate before picking it up. Here we go. I'm going to talk to Rick after days of avoiding him. He needs his study guide, though, and I can't keep it from him. Wait. Why don't I call him from my cell phone? He'll recognize that number more than the house phone. I change tactics and pick up my small flip phone that's also on my dresser. As I dial his number, I quickly leave my room and make my way towards the attic door. I climb the stairs as I listen to the phone ring a few times, and my heart rate skyrockets. It's only Rick. Just Rick.

"Hello?" He answers after what seems like an eternity.

"Hey, Rick. It's Vivian." I say, my heart in my throat. This is terrifying.

"Oh hey." He says. "What's up?"

"Your study guide for Whack-Your-Brain is here at my place." I turn on the lamp as I reach the top floor. "This looks rather important. There's a bunch of stuff highlighted in it and..."

"Oh I was looking for that!" He exclaims. "Glad to know it's not lost."

"Nope. It's right here." I sit on the couch. "I can hand it back to you at school, or if you need it before then..."

"Yeah I actually need it right now, but I can't go to you at the moment..." Rick falters. "My car is...out of commission."

"That's fine." I say. "I can get Vince to drive over to your place and give it to you that way."

"Vince is there?" Rick's voice pitch is higher. "I mean...that would be great."

I chuckle. "You're really fond of him, aren't you?"

"Well," Rick pauses. "He's one of the few people I can talk to about...almost anything. Kinda like you and I."

Goosebumps cover my skin. "We kinda drifted apart, huh?"

"Yeah, well, I have to study for the Quiz Bowl, and I wanted to give you your space after what happened." Rick says. "It's no big deal really."

No big deal...? "H-how have you been? I mean as far as studying for the quiz bowl?"

"As you can guess, difficult since I didn't have that packet of information with me, but I'm managing."

"Getting help from your teammates?"

"Yeah."

Inwardly I sigh. This is going nowhere. "So...when's a good time for me, or me and Vince, to come over?"

"Anytime before 5:30. After a certain time, my parents don't like to have spontaneous visitors come to the house."

"Oh. Okay then. We'll be right over then." I kick my feet against the couch with the backs of my ankles. "See you then."

"Bye." Rick hangs up.

Now I sigh out loud. That was the most painful conversation I have ever had. Both of us were too chicken to address the giant elephant in the room. Is this how it's going to be like between us from now on?

I plop down on the couch cushion and come down on my head harder than I anticipate. "Ow!" It's like I banged my head against a rock. "What the heck is this couch made of?" I sit up, rubbing my head. I prod the couch cushion and find the same sensation underneath. Is there something here?

I lift up the cushion and discover a black surface. This isn't the bottom of the couch. I knock on the surface. It sounds slightly hollow underneath, like there's an opening somewhere down below. "What is this?" I remove the other cushion and find the same black surface, all one piece.

Then it dawns on me. I'm staring at the top of a trunk. Dad must have put this here. How was he able to hide it underneath the couch? I feel around the trunk to find the latches, which are embedded deep within the cushion since it's pressed up so close against the couch. I'm gonna have to lift this out of here. I move to the side of the couch with the armrest and lift the trunk up from that end. Surprisingly it's pretty light. I'm able to have it standing completely on its side, it's long end sticking up in the air like the Titanic ship right before it sunk (at least in the Leo DiCaprio version).

Now what? For a moment I stare at my work. Now I can see the latches and the handle of the trunk in plain sight. I'll just lift it out of there. Grabbing the handle and wrapping my arms around it, I manage to heave the trunk out of its hiding place and set it back down again. It's the exact same trunk that I've been seeing in my dreams for the past week and-a-half. It was real. Is real.

Now to open it. For a moment I hesitate; this is the moment of truth. What could be in here that my father is keeping hidden from me and Vince? I have to find out, and maybe, just maybe, I won't be having that redundant dream anymore.

Standing on my knees, I undo the latches, but then hesitate as I feel my stomach knotting itself. Something's in here. What is it? "I don't think it's wise to be openin' closed doors, especially after mom's death."

Too late. I'm going for it.

I take a deep breath, and finally, open the trunk. Unlike the movies, a cloud of dust does NOT fly out of the space. I glance inside, however, and find photos of...my mom. Only these are back when she was younger; much younger. Like high school mom, so photographs from the seventies...whoa. I find a bunch of photos of her in a cheerleader uniform, and it's like I'm staring at myself in vintage garb. Do I really resemble my mom that much? How can dad and Vince stand to look at me? I have never seen any of these before. There are photos of her with groups of other girls in the same uniform. I flip each of the photos over and find dates scribbled on the back with blue ink. Each read years like '1971' and '1972'. The latest I see of her at this age is in '73.

But why would these photos be kept hidden from me? Aren't these just more memories of mom? So what's so secretive about them? I look back down into the trunk. There's nothing but the same few pictures duplicated in all different sizes. I move heaps of photos around and stumble across a manilla-colored paper. Hastily I move photos out of the way and lift up a giant envelope out of the trunk. I read the red words stamped diagonally across the envelope, and it's one of the most terrifying things I've seen since I saw my mother dead in her chair.

Expunged.

I can feel a sudden chill in the room. What is this? Who's records are these? And they were bad enough to be expunged? Somehow this has never made its way to the front of dinner conversation. My conscience has never been at more of a contradiction with itself. Don't open it. It's none of your business. There's a reason why it's hidden from you. Open it! There's something important that you need to know about!

Teen angst wins, and I slowly peel open the envelope, cringing as I listen to the sound of the seal peel back easily. As I reach for whatever's inside, my fingers freeze in midair. Brace yourself. This is going to be ugly. I count down from three aloud, then hastily grab all of the papers inside of the envelope and pull them out. With shaky hands I hold them up to my face and underneath the lamp light.

Suddenly the entire attic is spinning around me, and sweat piles on top of my head. Breathing becomes difficult as I stare down at yet another photograph of my mom. Or a photocopy of her, frowning, holding up a black sign.

My mom, way back when, in a mugshot.