Page 13 of No Bones About It

Almost every hand in the room shoots up and my heart sinks. We are never going to get to all of these comments, and I’m sure she will save mine for last, when we’re already out of time.

The first ten people are all clear allies of Lois’s. They each give a similar rehearsed statement about neighborhood values, property values, blah blah blah. But then I notice all the remaining hands in the air belong to the people we marched with.

The first one to be called on goes to the podium, states their name and address, followed by, “I yield my time to Tori Graves.”

As they walk back to their seat, Lois bellows, “You can’t do that.”

A quiet man at the end of the association table pushes his round glasses up his nose and says, “Actually, they can. It’s in the charter.”

Dawn gives me a smile and a nod. “Lois wrote the charter to favor herself. I’m just using it against her. She knew her friends would always make enough time for her to get her opinions out. Now we’re turning it against her.”

Several more people give the same statement until finally it's clear that Lois has no choice but to call on me.

I approach the podium at the front of the room, gripping the edges with sweaty palms. I had been so nervous to come up that I forgot my notes in my purse. No help for it now. I clear my throat and say, “Uh, hi. I’m Tori Graves.”

The microphone squeals, and everyone winces.

I adjust it and keep speaking. “So, I’m the one with the twelve-foot skeleton on Harvest Drive. I know to all of you, he’s just a big plastic skeleton. And when October is over and all the Halloween decorations are put away, you’re going to forget about all of this. You’re going to forget about Mr. Bonejangles, and you’re going to forget about me.”

“But to me,” I turn and spin in a circle, arm outstretched pointing out the crowd around me.

“To all of us,” I correct, “Mr. Bonejangles represents the true meaning of Halloween. Fun. It’s the one day a year you can be anything. Be anyone. And if candy and jack-o’-lanterns and witches and goblins, and hell, even twelve-foot skeletons bring a person or a community joy, then why is that wrong? Because the joy is too big? The fun is too much? Cause I’m going to be real honest right now. Y’all look like you could use some fun up there.”

The crowd laughs along with me while the board looks increasingly uncomfortable.

My voice is stronger now. Emotion and truth fuel my words, and the crowd is hanging on every one. I feel the energy in the air shift to favoring me.

“And if you can’t recognize that, then honestly? I’m sad for you. The world is crazy. Life is hard enough. Can’t we just make it a little bit better for all of us? A little more fun?”

I look each of them in the eyes, saving Lois for last. “Thanks for your time.”

I retreat to my seat to a standing ovation and the crowd outside chanting, “We love Tori. We love BJ.”

Lois raps her gavel to call the room to order as her eyes blaze with derision at the double entendre. “All those in favor of the new height limit?”

Seven hands shoot into the air. Every board member except the man with the round glasses who had dared to speak up earlier.

Lois glares daggers at him and says, “Those opposed?”

He meekly gives a little half salute.

An evil smile stretches her thin lips making her face appear more skeletal than BJ’s. She declares with glee, “We have an amendment.”

The crowd erupts into chaos, Lois bangs her stupid gavel repeatedly, but I stand, waving both arms in the air.

“Wait!” I cry, but no one can hear me. “Wait!”

Dawn gives a shrill whistle beside me and the chaos ceases.

I dig a paper out of my purse and wave it in the air. “This is my mixed occupancy permit for the photography studio I have at my home. I hereby declare that Mr. Bonejangles is not a decoration. He is a business asset that I use for my photos. I already advertised it, and as we speak, there are people waiting for their sessions. Therefore he doesn’t fall under holiday decorations as he will be up year round.”

The silence in the room is deafening as I repeat, “Year. Round.”

It’s all I can do to hold back from dropping an invisible mic. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to play this card. It's my hail Mary, a desperate last ditch attempt to save Mr. Bonejangles. And I’m not sure if it will work or not.

Lois’s face drains of all color, and her eyes roll back in her head as she faints. The board members scramble to their feet and rush to her aid.

I take that as a sign it does indeed work.