Saturday's Storyteller: "The skeletons tap danced until they had completely fallen apart."

by Belinda Roddie

The skeletons tap danced until they had completely fallen apart. Rather than hearing shrieks of alarm or confusion, I listened to the sound of over six dozen audience members' enthusiastic clapping as a janitor swept the bones away.

"What's going to happen to them?" I asked Louis, who was looking through binoculars even though we were only two rows away from the stage.

"Eh, you know," he mumbled sardonically. "Put 'em back together."

I knew who those two skeletons were: Martin and Alex, twin brothers. "Show business must be tough for them."

"Sure, I guess."

We had decided to partake in the recital at the university, where our son Stephen studied dance and music with several creatures of supernatural background. It wasn't like the town we came from: Here, we were the minority. We were humans surrounded by werewolves, ghosts, vampires, and other conventional or non-conventional entities in the theater, one zombie next to us sticking his ear back into his head while perusing the glossy program. We had made some very close friends with Stephen's friends' parents, who all came from different countries as far as Romania and Poland, and they were very kind and tolerant when we were becoming accustomed to their behavior.

Before the performance, Louis and I had traveled to the Von Carmens for coffee and pastries, and I could tell that Louis was still getting used to the way Mister Von Carmen used blood packets in place of cream. At the sight of my husband's fixed gaze, he laughed and gave me an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry we don't really have any creamer," he said. "But my wife can set you up with some skim milk. We do like having dairy in the house for little Yolanda."

The Von Carmens were both lawyers, working very closely with clients who could not afford attorneys. The adjacent city had a very high homeless rate, many of the impoverished being creatures that had very specific needs. Vampires without blood would tend to develop symptoms of schizophrenia and paranoia, while witches without food feasted on baby dragons and pigeons that roosted on the fountains or buildings. It was all very disturbing and depressing, but the Von Carmens were charitable and did all that they could to help.

"We're very excited to see Stephen perform tonight," said Mrs. Von Carmen as she passed out cookies. I saw Louis peruse his sweet as if checking if the sprinkles were actually sugar. "Lawrence mentioned he'll be singing and doing some Irish dance."

"He's very enthusiastic about it."

"Are you Irish, Victoria?" asked Mister Von Carmen.

I sipped my coffee. "Only a little. My grandfather used to say that we came from leprechauns."

While I meant it as a joke, the Von Carmens took it very seriously. "Well, are you?"

"Oh. Uh, no. He wasn't being serious."

"Tsk, tsk." Mrs. Von Carmen clucked her tongue. "That's a pity. We knew a wonderful leprechaun family, when we had a home in Dublin. It got too expensive, so all we've been able to do is send cards. They've given up their gold protection business, but it's for the best."

Lawrence at this point was bounding down the stairs, his tie askew as he dragged over his trombone case. Mister Von Carmen helped him straighten up his suit and he flashed us a metal-framed grin. At twenty-one years old, he still needed to wear braces for a bit. His molars had been crowding around his fangs, making it very difficult for him to eat. He liked chicken and mashed potatoes as much as Stephen did.

We all walked to the school together, passing by a family of centaurs with their blonde-haired daughter carrying a violin case. Lawrence and she looked like they knew each other, because he ran over to talk with her as I flanked Louis.

"How was the cookie, Louis?"

"It was good."

I gave him a look. "Three years later, and you're still antsy?"

"Let's just say there's a reason why I don't visit often, Victoria."

"You haven't been bitten or killed yet, have you?" I asked.

"No, but..."

"Then knock it off."

Which brings us back to the recital. A merman, carted onstage in a tank, sang us a beautiful underwater aria. Even though I could not understand the lyrics, it was touching, and I could see a young werewolf couple tearing up behind us. We sat through very impressive acts until we could hear Stephen's voice getting called, and there he was, dressed from head to toe in reds and blacks, bowing deeply to the crowd before breaking out into a German opera piece.

"Is that your son?" the zombie from earlier whispered into my ear as Stephen's voice resonated in the small space.

"Yes," I beamed.

"He's very good," grunted the zombie. "Does he plan to be an opera singer?"

"A music teacher."

"Wonderful. Very wonderful. He'll do well here."

After the performance, I walked over to Stephen as Lawrence and two more of his friends - a fairy and a minotaur - congratulated him and patted him on the back. Louis was standing by the concession table, holding a styrofoam cup and making very awkward conversation with Lawrence's parents. At least he was trying.

"You did so well, honey," I whispered into my son's ear as I hugged him.

"Aw, thanks, Mom."

"Are you going out with friends for dinner?"

"Yeah," said Stephen. "We're just grabbing burgers."

"That's it?' I raised my eyebrow. "Any greens?"

"Mom..."

"I'm just saying, just because they don't need salad doesn't mean you don't."

Stephen rolled his eyes and rejoined his friends. As I walked to the concessions and grabbed a brownie, I shared a smile with my husband, who had finally started loosening up. There was no moral here, no deep message - it had just been a nice night, and tomorrow would be coffee and bagels with the Finnegans downtown. Now they were actually leprechauns.

This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.