Page 4 of No Bones About It

A laugh tumbles free as I stand there smiling at my long awaited dream come true. I say to him, “You know, I don’t even remember the last time I laughed like this. I’m really happy you’re here, BJ.”

Chapter

Two

Step one completed, I force myself to head inside and eat. I’ll need energy and a ladder to move on to step two. I inhale my food and then swing through the garage, opening the prelabeled “day one” bag. Since he’s new in town, I had made him a giant name tag. I carefully write Mr. Bonejangles on it and smile at seeing his name in black and white.

While I waited for him to come back in stock, I had obsessively planned every detail. Outfits, accessories, songs, and coordinating decorations to count down each day until Halloween, starting today.

I walk over to him and drop the bag, smiling again at just how damn big he is up close. Then I head back to the garage and bring the ladder to the front of the fence. I hang my hand-painted countdown sign and put up the three and the zero. Satisfied that everything is level, I look up at him and say, “The countdown is on.”

And yes, I know he can’t actually smile, but I could swear he looks just as happy as I am.

I drag the ladder back to him and hit the power button, then scurry up the ladder so I can see his eyes turn on for the first time. Holding tight to the very top rung so I’m even with his eyes, I hold my breath as they flicker to life.

Their soft LED glow warms my heart. Smiling, I say, “Hello, Mr. Bonejangles. I’m Tori, and I can’t wait for the world to meet you. Look, I made you a name tag.”

I hold it up for him to see and hold my breath, almost waiting for him to say something back. I know it’s silly, but he’s just starting to feel so real.

My smile falls a little as he remains just a big, quiet skeleton. Then, the corners of my mouth kick back up because he’s not just a big, quiet skeleton. He’s my skeleton.

“Don’t worry,” I say, throwing him a wink. “We don’t need words to understand each other. Plenty of men talk and talk and never say a thing anyway.”

I carefully attach his name tag that now says, “Hello. My name is: Mr. Bonejangles.”

“There, now everyone will know who you are,” I say brightly.

One LED eye flickers at me.

“Why Mr. Bonejangles, you cheeky thing. Did you just wink at me?”

But he only stares back in silence, and I realize I’ve been at this all day. The weather in this part of the state is notoriously unpredictable at this time of year, and today is unseasonably warm, as if summer isn’t quite yet willing to yield to fall.

I reach up and trail a finger along his lower jaw, then boop him on his non-existent nose. “See you later, BJ.”

I’m just getting comfortable in the rocking chair I’ve drug from the porch to the driveway so that I can sit and see both my new love and the neighborhood. The leaves are slowly fading to crimson and gold. I have a six pack beside me, and a Hawaiian pizza is on its way. What a great end to an amazing day.

One of the best things about being divorced is I can get the whole pizza my way. No one to make fun of my toppings, no one to snag my leftovers and callously remove the pineapple. I crack a beer and bask in the perfect moment.

The sun is just setting, bathing the whole world in a golden glow. The early Fall evening is the perfect temperature for jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and the scent of leaves tickles my nose like the bubbles from my pumpkin porterhouse.

As beautiful as the scene is, I’m anxious for twilight to fall so I can turn on BJ’s spotlight and stare up at him some more. I’ll wrap up the night with a slasher movie in bed and maybe the last of this six pack. Because why not?

Right on cue, I hear the yipping of Lois’s dog announcing her arrival to attempt to ruin my night. Seriously? Not even one night of pure, unspoiled Halloween fun?

I refuse to be bullied by this pretentious, self-righteous twatwaffle. I don’t turn around, don’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I’ll make her work for it. I throw my arm over the back of my chair and prop my ankle on my knee, posturing confidence I don’t feel.

The little dog’s nails click-clack on the sidewalk as they come closer. They abruptly stop, and Lois lets out a theatrical gasp that I’m surprised leaves any oxygen in the atmosphere for the rest of us.

I merely take another slug of my porter, the bitter pumpkin thick on my palate, and then let the bottle dangle nonchalantly from my fingertips. My heart races, but I force myself not to fidget. Three, two, one…

“What is this—” She sputters. "—this monstrosity?”

My head whips toward her. I can tolerate a lot, but I’m not going to tolerate her insulting Mr. Bonejangles. He doesn’t deserve that. And, quite frankly, neither do I.

“This, Lois, is the Halloween masterpiece of modern engineering and injection mold plastic. The viral, highly sought after yet almost impossible to obtain, twelve-foot skeleton. Now with LED eyes,” I say, lifting my chin.

“I can see that. What I also see is that this is in clear violation of section three of the Autumn Acres holiday decoration code,” she seethes.