It would like nothing more than to shed, pirouette and moonwalk away to its own music, leaving me behind like a deflated pool dragon.
My skeleton’s drumbeat for freedom began years ago. A freckled-faced dare launched me from a squeaking swing, and my jutting shin tasted a bloody sunshine slurpy.
Young and naive, I tried to appease my skeleton with flattery. I wore its likeness Halloweens. When old enough to drive, I dangled tiny skulls like dice from the rear-view mirror. I went to Mexico for Day of the Dead. But despite my good intentions, the rhythm beneath my skin persisted.
Marriage amplified my happiness but gave me more to lose. I sat a life-size plastic bone man at the kitchen table, hung a another from a plant hook in the living room, invited a third to share our bed. I couldn’t convince my wife it was all for us.
When she left, I stared down the barrel of a pill bottle and the oncoming blur of headlights, but realized I’d be playing into my skeleton’s claws. I veered — balanced my nature chewing fruit and vegetable gummies … eschewed red meat and ice cream, paced ten thousand daily. I was determined to remain joined to my rebellious frame.
My efforts calmed my companion of bones for awhile. But the music grows louder, and I know how my skeleton loves to dance.
Sometimes I can hear it tapping its foot.