A rare calmness envelops the group home, as though time itself pauses within its walls, holding its breath. Every corner of the children's bedroom embodies pristine cleanliness, showcasing meticulous attention to detail. The carpet displays fresh vacuum marks, the neatly folded garments grace the perfectly made bunk beds, and the items adorning the bedside cabinets find themselves meticulously arranged. Yet, a small matter begs for attention — a solitary brick lies askew on the floor, resting near Christina's feet.
With delicate precision, Christina carefully lifts the displaced brick and returns it to its rightful place within the brick wall. Her nimble hands then reach for a bottle of slow-dry Elmer’s glue, its cap patiently awaiting its turn. She twists the cap back into position, sealing the adhesive off from the elements. With the weight of clandestine intentions burdening her every move, Christina adeptly conceals the bottle within the folds of a sock, her movements careful and calculated. She envelops the precious contraband into a second sock, ensuring an extra layer of security. Quickly and discreetly, she tucks it away into a concealed crevice at the rear of her bunkbed's base, shrouding her actions from prying eyes. Her demeanor remains composed as she steps out of the room.
The living room carries an eclectic ambiance akin to a thrift store, where each object holds a distinct narrative waiting to unfold. The walls are paneled in vinyl and laminated imitation "knotty pine" paneling, attempting to provide the room with a rich and traditional appearance. The brown shag carpet is worn down from constant tread and is badly in need of replacement. On a dusty curio cabinet, delicate porcelain figurines delicately painted in pastel hues command attention. A wall-mounted telephone with a well-worn cord hangs loosely, extending to the floor due to numerous years of frequent use. A captivating Patrick Nagel "Rio" poster takes center stage, depicting a stylized, angular representation of a woman with vibrant red lips and distinctive black hair, her grin captivating as she seems to stare down at Christina, who absentmindedly picks at a small hole in the worn oversized couch’s cushion, its velvety maroon upholstery slightly faded from years of use. Simultaneously, her gaze remains fixed on a bulky entertainment center, its expanse housing a cathode-ray tube television adorned with faux-wood paneling, as Jerry Springer interviews a transgender teen and their mother.
Bored she looks to the coffee table in front of her, and rummages through issues of Vogue, the cover features the stunning Christie Brinkley, her radiant smile captivating readers with its charm. An Elle magazine underneath it showcases the ethereal beauty of Cindy Crawford, with her iconic mole and entrancing eyes. The last magazine is Harper's Bazaar, its cover graced with the striking image of Iman, her regal presence and impeccable style making her an undeniable force. Her eyes fall upon a Rubik's Cube that lies in a state of perpetual challenge, prompting her to shake her head as she stands. She walks to the entertainment center, and reaches atop the television, where an aged VCR sits under a cherished assortment of Blockbuster rentals; Back to the Future, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, and The Goonies. Next to them, titles like The Toxic Avenger, Repo Man, The A-Team, Knight Rider, and ALF are scribbled across white labels affixed to the sides of VHS tapes, which she looks through, but doesn’t find any interest in watching.
An intricate web of cables connects the television to a sturdy multitiered stereo system, which boasts a dual cassette deck and a turntable. Stacked on top of it is an assortment of cassette tapes, housing the musical prowess of Madonna, Michael Jackson, L.L. Cool J, and Nirvana. Christina grabs a cassette, the words “Christina’s hot mix” scribbled across its label. She pops it into the stereo’s tape player, then presses play. The melodic beats of Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon” fill the air, emanating from the bulky speakers, their wooden cabinets made of lustrous faux-walnut finish, adorned with a fabric grille cloth.
Her head bobs subtly in sync with the music, a gentle sway that hints at the enjoyment it brings her, as she sits down on the couch and points the remote at the television. The channel changes to an episode of Family Ties, its colorful characters and whimsical family life captivating Christina's attention. Her eyes follow the characters' exploits with a sense of enchantment as if she were transported into their fantastical world, even without the accompaniment of sound.
The front door swings open, and Miss Cunningham stumbles into the room, clumsily regaining her balance against the entryway wall. Locking eyes with Christina, she is met with a warm smile that radiates affection. "What do you want?" Miss Cunningham asks, a slur to her words, her tone exuding irritation. Christina rolls her eyes, returning her attention to the television screen. "Little twerp," Miss Cunningham mutters under her breath before she inquires, "Shouldn't you be at school?" From the corner of her eye, Christina watches as Miss Cunningham tries to place her purse on a nearby table, only to see it fail and fall to the ground. As Miss Cunningham stabilizes herself, she glares at the television and protests, "Why the hell are you listening to music and watching TV at the same damn time? Pick one!" Christina walks to the stereo and turns off the music, then glances at Miss Cunningham, who sneers in response. Miss Cunningham pushes past Christina and heads towards the back rooms, stumbling momentarily before regaining her footing and emitting a hiccup.
"Now, don't you come back here. I need my space!" Miss Cunningham's voice reverberates through the house as she disappears down the hallway, "My space!" She briefly returns, her gaze fixed on Christina. "This is your side of the house," she declares, waving her hands sloppily around, gesturing vaguely to the living room before resuming her path and stumbling down the hall. "And this is mine," her voice echoes faintly from a distance. Christina settles back into her seat, her gaze fixed on the television screen, unperturbed by the unfolding tension. "Have fun back there," she quips softly.
Alone in the girl's bedroom, Miss Cunningham stands at the brick wall, as she struggles with the deceptive brick, her fingers fumbling against its surface. Under her breath, she slurs, "Wedged in there, aren't you?" With determined effort, she manages to coax the brick out, but its viscous resistance halts its progress. Undeterred, she channels her strength, pulling with all her might until the loose brick yields to her efforts. Her arm plunges deep into the cavity, her face contorting with a mix of anguish and irritation as she searches within the wall.
Meanwhile, the television screen casts a luminous glow across the living room, its phosphorescent tendrils reaching out to ensnare Christina's attention. "Family Ties" unfolds before her, its meticulously crafted narratives and endearing characters luring her into a world of suburban charm and familial entanglements.
Miss Cunningham has her shoulder against the brick wall, her arm buried deep within. Suddenly, a pause interrupts her frustration, a smile gradually forming on her lips. "Gotcha," she declares. Yet, her triumph is short-lived as she attempts to retract her arm, only to find herself trapped in the clutches of the stubborn wall, glued into the hole, “What the... what is this shit?”
Christina is settled deep into the couch, as she finds herself entwined in the lives of the Keaton family, each scene imbued with a potent mixture of sentimentality and authenticity. Alex's drive, Mallory's unique charisma, and the parental sagacity of Elyse and Steven combine, weaving a fabric of human encounters that Christina deeply desires.
A piercing cry from the hallway shatters the illusion, reminding Christina of the chaos that exists beyond the realm of the small screen. Miss Cunningham's voice resonates, laden with distress and urgency, "Dammit! What the fuck?" Christina's smile widens, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes as she turns the stereo back on. The nostalgic melody of Simple Minds’ “Don't You (Forget About Me)” fills the room, its upbeat rhythm intertwining with Miss Cunningham's cries for “help”. Christina cranks up the volume, relishing in the ironic soundtrack of the chaotic moment.