Dirty Little Secrets

“How about books that you guys have already read?”

I pointed to the overflowing bookcase in the front hallway. If I read one book every day for two years, I’d never get through them all. “Nope.”

“How about a snotty-nose tissue that someone who has the worst cold in the world has blown their nose in until it was dripping with boogers?”

I stopped to think for a minute. “Well, she might throw that away,” I said. “But if someone was working on an art project that could incorporate a snotty, boogery nose tissue, then she would keep it in a bag somewhere until she could give it to them.”

“Ewww!” TJ said. Then he started laughing. “That is so gross. What about a whole sculpture made with snotty-nose rags, belly button lint, and earwax?” He started laughing so hard that he bent over double and had to sit down on one of the bins.

As I watched him laugh, I started smiling too. Somewhere in this mess I just might find a bag full of snotty tissue, belly button lint, and earwax. I wouldn’t put it past her. It was weird telling all this to TJ. None of us ever talked about it outside of the house, but for some reason he felt safe. Even if he said anything to his mom, she wouldn’t believe him. Nobody would believe that the stories he was telling about our garbage pit were true. No one would choose to live like this.

“Okay, okay,” I said. I clapped my hands. “Come help me drag this bin over to those. This one is heavy, so be careful.”

He grabbed the front handle and I grabbed the back, and together we picked the bin up just a few inches off the floor and crabwalked it over to the others. “What’s in here?” TJ asked, and before I could stop him, he pulled the lid off. “Oh, cool!”

I peeked over the edge and was relieved to see it was just a pile of old books she must have had a greater plan for.

TJ picked one up and looked at the spine. “What are they? They all look the same.”

I grabbed one and recognized it right away because we had another set buried in a bookcase in the living room. “They’re encyclopedias.”

He looked at me blankly.

“You know, books people used to use if they needed to find out about something. Kind of like Google, only in real life.” I showed him the side of the book I was holding. “See, this one has everything that starts with V. I used to read these when I was little, like they were regular books.”

He picked up another volume and flipped through it. “Can I keep them?” He shuffled through the books in the box and pulled out two. “I’ll take T and J.” He stuck his hand back in and pulled out another one. “And L too. L for Lucy.”

“Okay, but that’s it,” I said. “We’ll ask your mom about the rest later.”

As I lifted a small mountain of shoeboxes and started to step on them so they would fit into the bag better, I spotted the heavy brass corners and battered black leather of the trunk that I hadn’t seen for years. Grandma had died before I was born, and Mom kept Grandma’s special stuff in this trunk. If Mom and I were alone at night, she would sometimes let me sit with her and look at the yellowing bonnets and tiny lace shoes Grandma had saved from when Mom was a baby. I’d always wanted to put the clothes on my dolls, but Mom said they were too old to play with. The trunk opened with a loud creak that got TJ’s attention across the room.

“What is it?” He came and knelt down by the trunk.

“Some of my grandma’s stuff,” I said. The bonnets and booties were still carefully folded on top.

“Are you going to keep it?”

I nodded. “I think I should.”

Stacked in the corner was a set of gold-rimmed plates with pink flowers on them. Mom always said we would use these plates sometime when the occasion was special enough. As far as I knew, there had never been an occasion special enough. I took one finger and ran it through the thick coat of dust that had formed on the small top plate. In three short moves I made two eyes and a frowning mouth. Poor, lonely plates. Once this stuff was cleaned up, maybe I’d keep the plates. Except that when I was in charge, we’d use them every day.

TJ stuck his head in the trunk. “It smells like old people in here,” he said. He reached in and pulled out something from the bottom. “Was your grandma in the Olympics or something?”

I squinted at what he had in his hand. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, here’s a gold medal from somewhere.” He handed me a heavy medal that hung on a faded red, white, and blue ribbon.

I turned it over. On the back was engraved: First Place, Central Conservatory Piano Competition. I shrugged. “I never met my grandma. She must have been a good piano player.”

TJ was digging in the trunk again, and I was afraid he was going to wreck something. I wanted to put the whole thing aside until I had time to go through it piece by piece. Mom never talked very much about growing up— her stories never started with “When I was a kid” like a lot of other parents.

“Let’s leave this alone,” I said. “I’ll go through it later.” I reached for the baby clothes to put them back in the top of the trunk.

“What’s a ‘prodigy’?” TJ asked.

I looked over his shoulder at the yellowed newspaper he was reading. “It’s a little kid who is really smart or really good at something.”

“Well, this little kid is really good at the piano,” he said, pointing to a photo of a small girl seated on a piano bench, her shiny patent leather shoes dangling above the floor. “Is that your grandma?”

“Let me see.” I took the paper and looked more closely. The caption under the photo read: “Local piano prodigy little Joanna Coles can barely reach the keys, but she performed like a professional at the Central Conservatory of