Among the Bones
A continuation of Revolution, by Jennifer Donnelly
She was a nihilist rock star, borderline schitizophrenic, and a total micromini version of her mother. Her name was Trudy. She was short with dark black hair like her mom’s and had a tan complexion like her father. She wore an old band tee shirt and ripped up blue jeans. Sure she could afford more, she was the sixteen year old daughter of the incredibly famous rapper Virgil and had amazing guitarist for a mom. But they have been gone for the past six months on a worldwide tour so she doesn’t get to see them much. She missed them too much sometimes, sure it would be any other sixteen year old's dream to live six months on her own, but Trudy hated it. She hated the solitude of their small Parisian apartment more than she hated school. She picked up the old acoustic guitar and strummed a couple of notes then put it down in anger. She loved playing the guitar but for some reason every time she picked up the instrument is sick feeling would rise in her stomach. She would think about her mother and how much she missed her. Suddenly as Trudy started to pace her bright red bedroom the phone rang.
“Hello.” Trudy said in French as she wrapped the cord around her fingers.
“Trudy its mom.”
“Mom!” Trudy said in disbelief. She hasn’t called in what it seemed like forever, she assumed something must have been wrong. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s happened, the tour’s been canceled.” Trudy’s mother said practically crying. “I guess kids these days don’t like the kind of music we’re playing. God I wish that it would have lasted longer. We’re on the plane we should be home in a couple of hours.”
“Okay, see you soon.” Trudy mumbled into the phone and practically cut off her mother. She slid on to the ground. She was sad, not because her parent’s dreams were turning into ash, but because of how upset her mother sounded. Trudy thought that after six months of being away from her daughter her mother would be happy. They made enough money, more than enough actually. Trudy thought that it was the fact that her mother never really wanted her. She was an “accident”, never planned, a mistake. That she practically ruined her mother’s young life when she was created. Trudy picked up a copy of her mother’s demo Plaster Castle and slammed it into the wall.
Trudy slipped into her mother’s room to put away the guitar that she borrowed. She had been trying to learn how to play it. She was actually pretty good; it must have run in the family. As she slipped in to her parents empty bedroom Trudy searched for the light switch that was hiding on the wall and practically tripped over the guitar case that she left lying in the middle of the floor. She picked it up and placed the guitar in it so carefully as if it was made of gold and carried it to the closet. As she opened up the massive double doors to the closet Trudy pushed all of her mother’s black clothing out of the way and put the guitar back where she found it; behind every box on the face of the earth that dwelled in the closet. She pushed boxes of painted still life’s, old jewelry, and sheet music that could have belonged from another century. Trudy never understood why her mother saved any of these old things. They were of no use any more; she never hung up the paintings or used any of the sheet music. Trudy came to the conclusion that her mother was a hoarder. Or that she had a passion for history, which Trudy doubted. As she slid the guitar case back into the corner Trudy, being the klutz that she is, tripped over an old shoe box and fell into the wall. Her shoulder pushed into the wall so hard that it crumbled away from under her. A feeling of panic arose in her chest. She just punched a hole in the wall the size of a soccer ball. Her parents were going to slaughter her. As quickly as she could ignoring the pain in her arm Trudy began to pile the boxes in front of the gaping hole. But suddenly she saw something that caught her eye on the bottom of the hole. It was something that glimmered when the light hit it. It shined with iridescence as Trudy reached her fingers down the pick it up. It was a small sliver key attached to a red ribbon. And that wasn’t the only thing that dwelled in the cramped space. There was an old guitar case that was scratched and dirty. Trudy slipped the key over her head and wore it like a necklace while pulling out the guitar case.
