He (I think) was standing opposite me and staring at me. I was in a little waiting room where I was told the doctor would be with me “in just a minute.” I knew I would be waiting for at least a half hour, so I concentrated on the skeleton and his lack of skin.
I shouldn’t say he was staring because he had no eyes, just holes where the eyes should have been. That was creepy, but the longer I looked, the more I wondered about bones and skin. Were those eye holes really looking at me? It seemed like something out of Star Trek, Disneyland, or a horror movie. I needed some popcorn.
His right forearm had one of the bones, either the radius or the ulna, sticking out, straight at me like a gun. “What is he doing,” I thought, as I remembered how some Australian Aborigines “pointed the bone,” uttering curses to destroy or cripple some enemy with the bone’s magical powers. Was this a “medicine man,” all bones, gazing at me? Would I suddenly fall over in a stupor and be airlifted to Dallas?
Then I saw there was no need for alarm because he could not really approach me. There was a steel rod fastened to a base on the floor, and it went straight up his backbone to keep him upright. He probably couldn’t really walk anyway—he had no shoes on. That was a relief, but for a moment.
As I kept thinking about the poor skeleton, I wondered what had happened to his skin. “I think I know. I’ll bet he used some potent skin cream, and it blistered and withered up the skin.” I go to a dermatologist regularly, and, if they see a blemish on my body, they have various creams they recommend. They usually prefer to burn, cut, and scrape, but they will use creams. If the first one doesn’t work, they try a second and more expensive variety, then a third, and so on, until you run out of money.
“I’ll bet the longer that poor fellow used skin cream, the more his skin peeled off until he was just a skeleton.” Make no bones about it, the dermo-doctors even try skin grafts, where excess skin from the arm or leg is layered on the hapless skin, and if what is left of the skin below is happy with the new skin above, they will grow together and live a good life.
The longer I looked at that skeleton, the more I was thankful for skin. I am old now, and my skin is shrinking, but it is still there. I’m not skinny yet and not like another friend of mine who was putting on considerable weight and complained, “I’m running out of skin.”
But what about my bones? Are they shrinking? Will I be like the poor fellas in Ezekiel? Just a heap of bones, crying out in song, “Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones….”
The skeleton had no hair, of course, and will never need a haircut or be called a “skin head.” He might be called “baldy,” like Elisha was when some boys made fun of him (2 Kings 2.23). This poor skeleton wasn’t even dressed in rags.
Several years ago, I had my knees examined. I had to quit running and jogging because of the pain, and X-rays showed the problem was “bone upon bone.” I thought a close look at my skeleton’s knees might help and, sure enough, it had “bone upon bone.” Obviously way too much running!
I was once warned that a certain uncle of mine has some “skeletons in his closet.” I didn’t like the sound of that and when I had a chance, I peeked in his closet. Nothing there but old shirts and pants. I learned that his skeletons were mythical secretive stories about his past. Later I heard that skeletons could be in “the cupboard,” but I didn’t find any there either.
It bothers me now when I hear someone say that they have “a bone to pick” with someone. It is not only demeaning to our skin, but it is somewhat revolting to take something to the absolute minimum, to the “bare bones.”
I guess I could say that my skeleton friend (I believe) is a “bag of bones,” because he really is thin, but not skinny because there is not skin on him. I think he got so frightened or surprised at something that he “jumped out of his skin.”
In some English dialects if someone is a “good skin” it means he is a good guy or “dude.” He is “happy in his own skin,” which is preferable to being “thin-skinned.” But being “thick-skinned” is not a compliment either. It doesn’t matter because “beauty is only skin deep.” This guy is obviously happy with his bones.
The doctor has called for me, so I am going to leave my skeleton friend now. He seems happy enough, even without skin.
However, it is a little cold in here, so I might try to get him some skinny jeans.
Karl Franklin
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