Hover & Sound (VJ)

The following fictitious events take place in the Pink Universe

About 10 years ago

On weekdays, when the house was quiet and his mor was working in the gardens, Viggo Jr. (VJ) met the ghost of his far’s boyfriend — Edvard. Some days they played piano. Edvard had taught VJ, and he was improving, maybe even enough to someday play in one of Eddie’s concerts. Other days, like today, they threw paper airplanes back and forth and talked about life and death and everything in between.

Since Edvard had died they met like this. VJ knew someday he would have to go to school and Far Edvard wouldn’t be able to follow him, but he didn’t want to. He never wanted to leave Falkhus and the comfort of the ghosts that haunted his family’s castle.

He liked to call Edvard Far (father), but he didn’t like to call Eddie his brother. Eddie would never be his brother, even though VJ loved him, because when VJ looked at Eddie he couldn’t look away.

VJ spent a lot of time watching Eddie play the piano and pluck the strings of Niels’ guitar. Eddie would be gone to school soon. It was only in Copenhagen — four to five hours away — but it was too far for a casual trip.

For VJ’s brother, Niels, it wasn’t far enough. He wanted to escape Falkhus and start anew somewhere else.

Still, VJ hoped being gone would make things better for Eddie, would make it so VJ wouldn’t have to pretend they were brothers because, with distance, they could become brothers. Then, when Eddie visited for Jul, they would be the brothers they were supposed to be, like he and Niels were, and Eddie wouldn’t be as sad anymore.

For now, VJ focused on working his angst out. He chucked the paper airplane too hard at Far Edvard. If he could stop seeing Eddie as something more, maybe he could see him as a brother. Maybe Eddie would want to stay, feel like he belonged, if VJ could show he belonged.

Edvard sighed as he caught the plane. “Is something wrong?”

VJ shook his head and caught the plane on its return flight.

How could he explain his feelings about Eddie to Edvard?

He wanted to talk to his far. To see his far. It was one of the few things he wanted his far for. Plus, death seemed like a fun place. If he could visit they would go on adventures. They could spend a day swimming in a sea of pudding with glittering sea horses or fly with kite-wings on their back higher and higher into the endless abyss. Up high, they would never hit the sun like Icarus had. There was no sun in Death.

But, of course VJ couldn’t visit, and he didn’t want to die. Not now, maybe not ever. For one, he would miss the sun. He wouldn’t miss burning, though. He had a big bandage on his leg because he’d fallen onto some ashes during a summer campfire. Niels had somehow managed to take all the blame, like always, even though it wasn’t his fault.

VJ tried to ignore the itching as it healed. If he was dead, he could roll in fire and never get hurt. Never smell his burning flesh. Never let Niels take the blame for something that wasn’t his responsibility.

He launched the paper airplane toward Edvard again. “What’s your favorite thing about being dead?”

“How much easier it is to create what I imagine in my head.” He launched it back. “What’s your favorite thing about being alive?”

Sometimes, VJ wondered if their airplane skills could be a magic act, or if he could win a competition for how good he had gotten at folding the paper in just the right ways, at creating a perfect toss that landed in Edvard’s hand each time. If he could get a job as a paper-airplane maker he would be rich. He didn’t know what he would do after school. Playing piano at church and for Jul would never make enough money, even if he liked to perform.

Technically, VJ was already rich, but that was the estate’s richness, not Viggo’s. He wanted to be rich on his own. Probably not for paper airplanes, though. He loved what Niels loved most — music — and he hated that they both loved it. He hated that Niels and Eddie shared it.

“Discovering new music,” VJ answered. He brushed aside his shaggy hair. “So practice doesn’t make perfect, Death does?” VJ asked.

Edvard laughed at his comment. “Practice makes skill, which is an important part of life. Consider Death…a bonus level.”

VJ laughed under his breath. Edvard looked the same as the day he had died, as their first airplane toss. His hair was still perfect black-brown with slightly gelled curls, his eyes still piercing blue, his facial hair was the exact same amount every time. Nothing ever changed with him. Just like Falkhus, he was frozen in a moment.

What if VJ died and his hair had to be shaggy for all of ever-after?

He didn’t want that. He would have to cut it, just in case. He had to be prepared for a good death. Especially because he deserved it, for hurting Eddie, for not letting him be his brother.

“What happens to bad people when they die?” VJ asked.

“They go to Death jail,” Edvard said.

VJ deserved Death jail sometimes. Like for the time he put plastic wrap on the toilet seat for Niels but Cille used the toilet first, or the time Niels was supposed to do dishes but he got sick so Mor did them and VJ had put a rubberband on the sprayer nozzle…

But what if it Death jail hurt?

“Does anything ever hurt there?” VJ asked.

“Never.” Edvard smiled. He threw the airplane again and VJ caught it. “Favorite thing about being alive?”

I’m not trying to die, you know. “I already said it was music. What about your feelings? Do they ever hurt?”

Edvard laughed, a soft chuckle laugh that made the whole room feel brighter, even though Edvard made it cold whenever he was there. “Feelings can still hurt. For instance…I miss my son.”

VJ didn’t understand why he got to see Edvard, or two other boy ghosts for that matter. It had always been that way — no one else could see them. But VJ didn’t need Edvard’s ghost; he only asked him dumb questions like about Death jail. Eddie had the hardest time. He needed a ghost far. He had lost his mor and his sister, and then his far. He’d lost everyone he loved and now he was an orphan, but also their adopted brother.

The only problem was VJ: He was ruining Eddie’s life. He would look into Eddie’s room sometimes and find him alone, crying into his pillow. Sometimes he would scream. Sometimes he would sing lullabies no one else sang to him anymore. He held his special airplane that he had gotten — he and Niels had each gotten one before their fars died. VJ didn’t have an airplane. All he had were old fossils inside rocks. They weren’t even Far’s.

VJ refocused on Edvard. “He cries a lot. When no one can see him.”

“Does he?” Edvard asked.

VJ nodded. He threw the plane again, but Edvard vanished.

Behind where he had been, Eddie ascended the stairs. The airplane landed near his feet and he looked down at it.

“Hej,” VJ greeted Eddie. He got up and went to get the plane, like he had been throwing it for himself and not to a ghost no one believed in.

“Who were you talking to?” Eddie asked.

The last thing VJ had said was that Eddie cried. If he had heard anything, it was that.

“The portraits,” VJ lied.

“Did they say anything interesting?”

“Your shoes are untied.” VJ pointed toward Eddie’s feet, where one of his loops had come undone and lay on the floor next to his foot. “Did you finish packing for school?”

“Not yet.” He looked at VJ, pointedly. “Sometimes, especially when I’m downstairs, I imagine I’m talking to ghosts.”

“Ja?” VJ looked around the hall. It was just them, plus Edvard in a doorway. “Me too…”

“Ja.” Eddie started to walk down the hall, past VJ.

He didn’t want Eddie to go. What if he knew the secret too?

“Sometimes I imagine talking to my far,” VJ said.

“Yours?” Eddie asked.

“Ja. Far Edvard.” But that doesn’t make you my bror.

“Who do you talk to?” VJ asked, hopeful. “Cide? Her bones are down there.”

“Far Viggo.”

VJ looked at Edvard. He’d never said anything. Maybe Niels and Eddie shared airplanes, but VJ shared seeing their fars after death. It was huge. They could help each other talk to their fars, even.

“If you don’t want to be alone when you are sad, I can come to your room until you leave,” VJ offered.

“Does Far Edvard visit you in your room?” Eddie asked.

“Ja. But usually we play with these airplanes.” VJ held one up.

“Is that why you’re always making them?” Eddie asked.

VJ threw it toward Edvard in the doorway. To his relief, Edvard caught it.

“Viggo teaches me music,” Eddie confessed.

Eddie was amazing with music. The best of anyone ever. When his far was alive, the piano was most of what VJ could remember. Niels liked guitars, and wanted Eddie to play guitars or drums to make loud music that Mor pretended she could tolerate (but her face would turn red and she would always burn food when they practiced), but when it was quiet and alone Eddie always played piano.

“Is that why you’re always playing piano?” VJ asked.

Eddie smiled. “It is.”

“Why can you see my far and I can see your far?” VJ asked, part to Edddie and part to Edvard, and maybe Viggo — his own far — if he was there.

“I don’t know,” Eddie told him. He stepped closer to VJ. “But if you ever don’t want to cry alone, just tell me. I know how it is.”

Hey, I offered that to you!

Mor had taught VJ that people didn’t always ask for what they needed, and sometimes they flipped it. Like when Niels asked VJ if he wanted biscuits, what he wanted was VJ to ask Mor, so she might say yes to her youngest child, and then he could share with everyone.

“Can I stay in your room?” VJ asked.

“Yes. Can you tell my far I miss him? No! Don’t. He’ll feel bad. Tell him I’m happy.”

VJ burst into stupid tears. I already told him you’re unhappy. I don’t want to go to Death jail. “Ja,” VJ agreed. He could say it over the truth. But then was the lie wrong?

“Can you tell my far I miss him?” VJ said, without any contingencies so Eddie wouldn’t have to lie.

Eddie wrapped his arms around VJ. “Ja.”

VJ hugged him back and it wasn’t so bad, it was warm and it might have been brorly.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, his own tears mixing into the sounds of VJ sobbing. It was good that everyone else was outside — Cille with horses, Mor with the gardens, Niels with Li.

“Me too,” VJ said. “Can I play music with you?” With Far Viggo?

“Ja.”

Edvard passed the plane, and Eddie caught it. His eyes welled with more tears, but this time a smile. “He threw that?” he asked VJ.

“Ja. He misses you most.”

“Come here.” Eddie led VJ down the stairs, and then down the other stairs into the scary place where dead bodies were. VJ liked ghosts because they were nice, but he did not like the tombs of their home. If the soul had left the body, what was inside the long stone containers?

It made him shiver. Even if it was just rotted flesh, it was terrible.

Still, for Eddie and for his far he went. Eddie sat at the small piano Mor had put in the basement. The grand piano was still upstairs, where all could enjoy the music no one played on it. Eddie started to play a few notes, and then other keys moved without anyone appearing to touch them, and the sounds blended together to form a song.

“It could have taken so much longer,” Edvard said to maybe Viggo, not to VJ.

“Long for what?” VJ asked. He watched the keys, tears in his eyes. Even if he could not see his far, Viggo was there playing music. He was in the same space, sharing the same song.

“Viggo is happy you’re talking,” Edvard said.

VJ sat beside them. He started to play keys lightly. He wasn’t as good at music as Viggo or Eddie, but he knew some.

“Hi, Far,” VJ said.

Edvard sat beside them, and started to play too. It wasn’t as much a perfect song, but it was good with the four of them.

  “Same,” Edvard said. He looked at VJ. “He misses you.”

Eddie leaned against VJ. He must have gotten the same message, at the same time.

“I don’t want to go back to school,” Eddie complained.

VJ leaned back. “Don’t go. I miss you when you go.”

Eddie laughed.

It wasn’t much of a choice — it was expected. Eddie was lucky to go to school in Copenhagen. It was a good school, a good education.

“Does Far Viggo make you ask what you want to live for everyday?” VJ asked.

Eddie laughed. “Yes.” His fingers moved across the piano in their own fervor. Viggo’s magic keys kept up, but VJ and Edvard both sat back. As the keys danced, the extra set slower and slower, Eddie’s set faster and faster, VJ realized an intense conversation was happening.

“What is it?” VJ asked Edvard.

“We’ve discovered Alma and Riley are alive.”

Riley and Alma had died, a suicide-murder, right before Eddie’s far got sick. If they were alive…How? Whose bodies did they bury? Why did they do it? Were they in danger?

Eddie’s hands skittered across the keys into a cacophony of surprise. “What?”

VJ looked at Eddie. “Your sister and your mor are alive.”

Eddie’s face was pale. He studied his hands. VJ knew better than to talk to him — Eddie talked when he was ready.

“They don’t know where,” Eddie mumbled. “But they’re not in Death.”

VJ wanted to hug Eddie.

It was another thing that made him bad: He couldn’t do it. He was frozen.

Eddie curled in on himself, his eyes on the keys. VJ didn’t ask him what else he knew, and Far Edvard didn’t say anything else either. Eddie needed the quiet. If he wanted to talk, he would.

But Eddie didn’t talk today. He played, the music deeper and softer and full of heartache.