It’s been a couple of years now, since they made skeletons illegal. It happened on a Saturday. In the morning. And mine was taken whilst I was sleeping. Other people lost theirs at work. Whilst they were out shopping. Or on the dilapidated trams into town. There were raids at breakfast tables. In the strip malls. The bagel stores. The ocean dog-walking trails. Where everybody's skeletons were confiscated.
Finger clicking. Star jumps. Piggy backs. And cycling. Are a few things I miss about skeletons.
And I can’t help but dwell on those earlier times. When we all had skeletons. And it’s so recent but it feels almost mythological. So distant and so unreal. And I am pining for those days. And I remember them as contented and perfect and endless. And filled with a sort of sturdy love. Because everything is so much harder, for all of us now. But also softer. Without our skeletons.
I miss gloves. Rings. Sock puppets. And shoes. Now we no longer have skeletons.
And I think we all feared that it might happen eventually. Losing our skeletons. As there were signs and rumours and those people who tried to warn us. But none of us really believed it. So it was quite a shock. When the interventions started. And our skeletons were plucked out like feathers. Bad teeth. Or like eyebrow hairs. Reappropriated, was the term that was used.
And I miss calligraphy. Playing marbles. And shaky hands. And I miss stairs. Escalators. And step ladders.
And nowadays the main difference between humans and animals, is that animals still have skeletons. And my favourite animals are snakes. As they have the most bones, in their skeletons. But they look like they have the least. And I used to feel disdain for slugs and worms. But now I respect them. Because they do so well. Without skeletons.
Propping up the bar. Sitting on deck chairs. And queuing for the bus. Are some more things I miss about skeletons.
And I worry about the animal kingdom, and its precious skeletons. Birds have the lightest skeletons, so they need to take the most care. And rhinos have the sturdiest, so they should be fine. And I like to look at fossilised animals in the museum. At their old skeletons. Turned to stone. They make me sad. Reminiscent of things lost in the past. The ancient animals. And times long ago. But mostly I miss skeletons.
I miss using cutlery. And opening mail. And I miss finding the end of the sticky tape. And I miss pulling champagne corks. And looking through binoculars.
And if I’m honest, I hardly thought about my skeleton until it was gone. I took it for granted, in fact. And I hate to admit it, but there were times I doubted I even had one. And in the old world, they used to say grow a backbone, to mean, be courageous! And they’d wish one another luck by saying break a leg! But none of that means anything anymore. And it’s hard to have courage or humour or good fortune without a skeleton.
Posture. Body language. And careless swagger. Are some more things I miss about skeletons.
And at least graveyards are better now. They’re no longer spooky. Or strange. Or sad. They’re happy places. After all, it’s only in graveyards that we can be close to skeletons. So people congregate there. Sliding along on the spongy grass. Above all the buried skeletons. Remembering how it used to be.
A few more things I miss about skeletons are sprinkling salt. Turning steering wheels. And putting on sunglasses.
And nowadays people really like to rent those old films. About graveyards. Where the skeletons rise out the earth. And everybody does it, not to be frightened, but to rejoice. And to wish that it was reality. Because those films seem like a beautiful fantasy now. Like our skeletons are returning to us. Clawing themselves out of the ground. In a creaky and clambering and loving reunion.
I miss taking off sandals and I miss touching smartphones and I miss putting in earplugs. I miss chopsticks and bicycle chains. Typewriters and trousers.
And I’d like to own a skeleton key. Just for old times sakes. I’d like to look at it. And I’d like to lock the front doors for my neighbours. When they’ve forgot. I think that would be soothing. Because it seems so unfair. That we’re not allowed skeletons. The way I see it, buildings have girders and buttresses and foundations. Computers have circuit boards. Machines have pipes and springs. Even books have spines. Why can’t we have skeletons?
Some more things I miss about skeletons: Shuffling playing cards and pressing buttons. I miss band aids. Arm slings. And leg casts.
And I look forward to a time when we no longer miss our skeletons. When we are satisfied. But that time seems a long way in the future. I don’t know. And I suppose I can imagine, after very many years, a kind of collective dementia. Where we are content, as we have forgotten. That we ever had skeletons. But it would be a confused contentedness. A panicky and drunken time.
And I miss ring pulls and rollercoasters and reclining chairs. I miss fist fights. Handshakes. And opening jars.
And often when I first wake up, I think I still have a skeleton. It is a beautiful moment. And then it dissolves. But it is worth sleeping for. Just to have that instant. It is worth living for. And sometimes I dream that I have some sort of super skeleton. Made out of crystals, or future metals. And other times, I dream that there is just one skeleton in the entire world. But that’s OK, because we all share it. And in the dream I am happy. Because it is my turn. And I am stepping into the skeleton. And it feels like putting on clean, warm clothes.
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