The Path
The Skeleton would kneel down on one knee–I’d be seated looking at its white skull, gaping eyes and a gap for a nose. “See all these bones?” it would add, stroking one side of its rib cage, strumming down each of the bones like a xylophone. I’d cringe at hearing a scale of discordant notes, among them some pure, whole sounds, a cacophony bringing to mind all my painful memories: like when I’d been betrayed, felt powerless, humiliated—but this is where it hurts most, it would then say, pointing to the area above the heart on its rib cage. ” Meanwhile, I’d still be gasping on the track, unable to rise.
“Sounds have a way of drawing feelings out of a person–so these discordant notes represent your unhealed emotions. “like this represents a time you had felt unloved, fear, abandoned” it goes up and down the scale of its ribs, chiming unpleasant sounds, as I remain cringing, feeling a surge of emotions; my cheeks burning and my stomach tying, lurching into those knots.
“You don’t look too good there, buddy.” It would say…”let me play something that will pick you up–not all of my sounds are miserable, ya know…”And get this–not all sounds are unhealed, some can even be really happy. Ya ready to hear this ?” It strums its ribs, bringing to mind the happiest of all my memories—the birth of my nieces and nephew–which for someone like me having no desire to be a parent—the pride and joy at their birth was vicarious.
“And not all of my sad sounds are discordant either…Some can be pure… It says, playing a sad violin sound”, bringing to mind my grandfather’s death..
“I’ve got some real, beautiful sounds among the ugly”, it would proceed, “countless, infinite sounds… as wide as the universe itself…” it raises its arms towards a sky.
The Skeleton goes in between playing sounds –my mind cycles between memories on the Race Track of Life; their recall jolting from one thought to the next, all choppy, with no harmonic transition or thoughtful pause in between them, feeling as though they were separate, isolated events.
“But I can’t seem to find the sound that holds your life together.. like glue.” It sighs, “However much any of these memories might mean to ya in themselves, even if they feel like everything, they don’t hold the beat to arrange or tie your memories together into a whole, like a thread. It then digs its white finger in the dirt, twirling its finger, pulling out a bit of thread from around a worm.
“Thanks, pal. How’d ya get out of your padded cell? Did you come up through the vortex too?” The skeleton cackles.
The worm scurries back down underneath the Race Track—which I suppose is a wormhole in this place within my mind. The Skeleton then fastens a loop on the grass.
“It’s part of my first aid kit, what docs use to stitch up wounds and tissues in the body. I think word for it is…” it taps its chin, as if trying to recall, “suture”–that’s what this thing here is, it helps tie things up.”
The Skeleton now sits further beside me, crossing its legs. I hear musical notes cracking from its joints, “Say, you don’t want to share why you’ve been running, do you? “It might be the keys to start the engine and help us find our way outta here..”
“The keys?” I ask.
“Right–in music, musical notes are referred to as keys. And your heart is like an engine that has the rest of your body moving. Vroom.. vroom..” . It rolls its hands, as if revving up the handles of a motorcycle, “since the notes I play are the sounds representing’ your memories, and I have countless sounds on here as I’ve said– it would take forever to guess which one would be the key that could start the engine to get us to skedaddle outta here, it would help if you told me the reason why you were running, cuz that could be the keys to unlock my chest.”
Off in the distance, I sense a dragon circling around the track, fiercely, serving as a prison guard. I can’t see the dragon but I hear it breathing fire which appears to from the fog clouding everywhere.
I continue looking at my Skeleton in silence.
“A Prisoner choosing to plead the fifth, huh? You might think you had me locked me up, but it’s really your heart you’ve locked up in there, kid.” It pokes my chest with the other finger. I feel chill on flesh–. my bones against my bones.” As long you keep your heart stuck, you and I remain prisoners here, stuck in this loop, unable to start up that engine.” There’s a pause before it says, “sheesh, you’ve been running ’round and ’round your entire life”, it does a waving motion with bony finger in the air. “Even I got dizzy in there–me and my notes locked up behind bars.” It just made a musical reference—or so I think.
There’s a silence between us as we sit below a cast of stars. The skeleton holds up its arms, then stretches, reclining. “Ahh… I haven’t seen the light of day in ages… ahh..”. Despite the moon being visible—the last flecks of sunlight are setting. The skeleton now tosses one ankle over the other, “this feels nice–even though I sound lousy. I got used to life in the shadows–an’ beside the fire”. The Skeleton shivers amid the evening chill, “getting vitamin D with no need for sun lotion–the few joys of having no skin, when you’re stripped to bones..but you–you’re the one with skin in the game so ya better tell me the truth.”
“Game? Isn’t this a track and not a sports game?”
“Same difference..” the Skeleton says coolly.
“Same difference? Then you’re not much of an athlete., then again, neither am I, I think to myself while I’m thinking to myself.., ” so how’d you end up being my referee coach… musician or whatever you are…and what do you mean by being prisoners?
It shrugs, “Then let me correct myself… *ahem*, clears its throat, skin in the race, the Skeleton says, sarcastically. As for sports– I don’t know much”, it picks its knees up from the ground. “But I do know something….say, have ya ever heard of something called sports medicine? That’s my area of expertise… well.. ok—I’m skilled in Story Medicine—though ain’t in Sports medicine, how’s that pun there for ya?” It twirls and tips its hat at me.
“Huh?”
“Still gonna be the one who asks the questions and not answer mine?…hmm…Ok…Too bad..I see how it is..” it says pacing in circles, so you don’t care about yourself..Fine… but you don’t care about me either? “Now…I’d think you’d have enough Guilt…” It strums. “You’ve left me no choice..” it says menacingly, lunging toward me like a wild animal. “Keeping your Skeleton locked up AND sounding bad.. now that’s just too much–you’re crossing the line. Get it? Crossin’ the line, like the finish line in a race?” it cackles.
“Stop playing!” I shout, “Stop manipulating me!” remembering all the times I felt that dreaded feeling: guilt.
“I’m not manipulating you,” it says sweetly, “Just trying to find the keys for our grand escape.” The Skeleton pulls out a stethoscope from underneath its whistle, which jingles like a jailer’s keys, using one hand, while continuing to bring the stethoscope to my chest, roving it over my heart.
“Do re mi fa so la ti dooooooooooooo”, it sings operatically.
“What are you doing? and what does my heartbeat have anything to do with this?”
“Told ya, I’m trying to find the keys for our grand escape to get the engine to start. Remember what I had said–that in music, a key is a note, like all these sounds I play?”
“Yes, and I’m right now feeling plenty of guilt, or a jerk, thanks to you”
“Well, what I’m doing is, checking your heartbeat now and guilt doesn’t seem to be a key, –or keyword, to unlocking the engine. Anyway, enough yappin’– look at the ground and refer to it as my monitor screen, then take a deep breath for me–or a whiff of inspiration…” It again cackles… “Another doctor’s joke, in case ya didn’t know. Inspiration is the same thing as takin’ a deep breath, jus’ in doc speak.”
I abide, pulling in a deeper breath. The skeleton presses the stethoscope against my chest and says, “good, hmm, it tunes in closely… the sounds that it plucks continue… and when I get a closeup of its face and see those dark eyes, I further feel its chill and avert my glance, focusing on my own breathing, feeling pressure in my chest and constriction tighten around the heart. I hear the rattle of air move along with the sounds all these sounds whistling through the skeleton’s empty ribs—while the dragon’s raspy breathing sounds off in the distance.
The Skeleton waves the needle in hand like a conductor’s baton that leads an orchestra, eying back and forth in between the stethoscope, the ground and up at the sky.
“I’m takin ya on a treasure hunt across time here, kid, while good ol’ wormy works its magic..…watch the path on the ground…”