The Black Book of Skeletons

We looked nothing alike, but he was my brother. My oldest brother. We share the same father. The same no good, low life father. Joseph looked just like our dad. He was named after him, too.He was a tall lanky, dark skin, young man.

His mother was our dad's high school sweetheart. She made our dad look like a stand up individual. When our father joined the Marines to stay out of prison, his mother dropped him off with our grandmother when he was four years old. She was never heard from, again.

"You're taller," he said, looking me dead in the eyes. We stood at the entrance to my grandmother's home. The smell of cigarettes and whatever grandma was cooking would hit you first before you could even see who was opening the door.

"You look more like dad," I responded as I walked in. I noticed him grimace at my response. The living room looked exactly the same from when I last saw it. Ugly figurines, wallpaper that was as old as my grandmother and had yellowed from all the smoking it had to endure. The carpet was a strange shade of brown. The home was filled with photos of all of us through the years, but was covered in dust.

A loud cackle came from the left of me and I turned to see my father sprawled out on my grandmother's floral couch that was covered in plastic. A cigarette in hand and a beer in the other. He did not look up from the television to acknowledge my presence.

"Can I get some help?" I heard my mom cry out. My dad looked up from the sound of my mother's voice. His eyes latched on to me.

"Boy go help her with those bags!" My dad said to Joseph, not taking his eyes off of me. Slurring his words, "Come over here girl! Let me look at ya!" I took a deep breath and walked over. His body odor hit me before his arms could when he went to hug me. I tried to keep my composure and hold my breath. My father was extremely tall, his arms and legs looked like twigs, but he had a beer belly. That belly was the result of Colt 45's, cigarettes and God only knows what else. "My, you look just like your...mama."

My mother, Cecilia J. Combs was the one that got away for my dad and had just stepped into the room. They divorced when I was small after PTSD had stolen what was left of my dad's sanity. I heard the kitchen door swing open. I turned to see my grandmother rushing towards me to hug me and my stepmother, Denise, standing at the entrance with the same nasty scowl she has always had.

With her arms around me and a big smile on her face,"Oh, y'all got he'e just in time fo dinna!"

We all sat around my grandmother's old dining room table. It was older than her and belonged to her parents. My brother had helped my mother and me settle into his bedroom. We would be sleeping in his room, while he slept on the couch. I had offered to share the massive blow up bed we bought, but he declined. We did it all the time when we were children, but he was now an adult and I was fifteen years old.

"The drive he’e was good?" My grandmother asked us. We nodded our heads yes. The table was awkward. Joseph was practically a mute and I didn't understand why. He was so talkative when we were younger. Our stepmother was glaring at my mom and dad because she could see the twinkle in my dad's eye.

"Thought traffic would be lighter, but people are still ignoring that we are living through a pandemic," my mom finally said. We all got tested before joining them. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mama Lynn, y'know nothing was gonna keep me from you guys the moment you said Auntie Lizzy was gone."

Auntie Lizzy was my grandmother's big sister. She contracted Covid and died from complications. It was a shock to the whole family because she was so fit and healthy. She was over the age of sixty-five. She was also filthy rich. She had been Ms. Louisiana when she was young which allowed her so many opportunities, like marrying a business tycoon. I never knew why, but my grandmother refused any money from her except buying their old family home.

"My Lizzy was the best big sister a girl could have. She made sure to pay off the mortgage after I lost everything during Katrina. This house and our Amelia was the best two things I got out of that damn hurricane."I have had to hear about my birth during a historic hurricane all my life. My dad was deployed and my mom was living with my grandmother and brother, who was six years old at the time. They were staying at a shelter in Baton Rouge when my mom's water broke. While giving birth to me, they watched in horror the devastation to New Orleans. They lost everything. Now we sit at the table together during another historic time and it's affected our family again.

Joseph acted like he was not at the table. He was in his own little world, writing in his little black notebook. I noticed he carried it everywhere with him. He's always had a black notebook to write in, but I've never seen him so lost in it.

"Can you glare at your chicken!" I heard my mother yell, pulling me out of my head.

"Trust me! My chic'en is a lot better to look at, you white bitch!" Denise yelled back. My mother is not fully white. She's of mixed race and has red hair. She hated being called white, because she grew up in black neighborhoods and was mistreated by her white family. "You come up in he'e wit yo Redbone chile like you own the place." Denise was just as fair as I was, only difference was her hair was coilier than mines.

"Oh no! I ain't having none of this when I gotta bury my sister tomorrow. Denise you been giving her the evil eye since she walked in here. Take your dinner and yo green ass to yo room!" My grandmother yelled. "When the lawyer get he'e, I'll let you know."

"Why I gotta leave the table, she yelled at me first?" Denise asked her.

"Cause she tired of your bullshit, as am I!" Denise huffed off leaving her dinner on the table. My dad sat there not knowing whether to run after his wife or continue to eat, while Joseph acted like nothing was going on.

Maybe he was taking Aunt Lizzy's death harder than I would expect. When I lived here, Joseph and I would spend summers at Aunt Lizzy's mansion. Our parents and grandmother would be working and she was the best childcare. When my mother remarried three years ago, we moved to Dallas. I have not been back to Aunt Lizzy's mansion since our move. I remember Joseph being so attached to her. However, I knew my dad couldn't stand her. I never knew why.

"Wow, twenty grand!" I excitedly whispered to Joseph. He got his head out of his notebook after the lawyer came and told us how much each of us was inheriting. I moved my bed to the living room to catch up with him. "I don't even know what to do with all that money. Save it for school? What do you plan on doing?"

He shrugged his shoulders. He was willing to talk, but was still melancholy. He looked down at his notebook.

"What do you write in there?" I asked him. He shook his head and it was if I could see steam coming from his ears.

"I really don't want to talk about what's in this book. I've just been trying to figure out what I'm going to say tomorrow, since she chose me to speak at her funeral."

"She didn't have any kids, and I know you were her favorite. Besides, you can write and speak so well."

He grunted. "Right. I know you wanna catch up, but I'm tired and tomorrow is gonna be a long day."

Tomorrow was a long day. My Aunt Lizzy was a prominent member of Baton Rouge. Majority of the people had to call in the watch the funeral, while others came for the viewing that took longer than normal. My grandmother was a blubbering mess the entire time. Our distant family members blew her kisses and offered air hugs.

This was not my first Covid funeral. We lost so many, and many times we couldn't be around our growing relatives. It was hard. This was the most normal of a funeral I had seen so far. We all had masks on the entire time.

I had to sing It Is Well and it was the only time I had no mask on. We had people come up and speak about her. It was a touching funeral, and sobering. The time came for Joseph to get up and speak. He went up to the podium with his black notebook. He stared out at us and I swore I could see his hairs stand up from fear. He looked pale.

"I...uh, was asked last night to give a few words about Aunt Lizzy, which was her request. I brought my little black book with me, because she was the one who had me start writing in these. I don't know why she asked me, because I don't have much to say besides I hated the old evil bitch!" Loud gasps could be heard and we were all speechless. "I inherited twenty grand last night, and all I can say is I don't want her blood money, her hush money for the years of sexual abuse she put me through!"

My grandmother jumped out of her seat screaming at the top of her lungs for Joseph to shut up.

"You're a lying, no good lazy but! How dare---," I watched as my dad grabbed my grandmother who was close to attacking my brother.

"He's not lying mama! She did it to me, too," my father confessed. My grandmother stared blankly at him.

"Like father! Like son! I gave birth to a piece of shit, who fathered another lying piece of shit. Stop lying on my sister!"

"They aren't lying!" We turn to see one of our cousins standing up. Two more stand up and confess this heinous family secret. Anger turns to confusion for my grandmother. She starts shaking her head no, as she begins to crumble to the floor and my dad begins to console her. Joseph stared out at us with a look of vindication.

Joseph later told me he had detailed every encounter in his notebook for years, along with short stories and poems she would make him read to her. In solidarity with my brother, I chose to donate the money to an organization that helped teenage boys who had been sexually abused. I did not want any of her money.