Shook my Bones

It was one of those warm afternoons that made babysitting feel almost easy. My sister’s three boys, were outside in the yard, chasing each other with a rubber ball and squealing in delight. I kept an ear out for trouble as I cleaned up the kitchen, my eyes darting occasionally to the window to check on them.

The moment felt perfect—peaceful, even. Then Fletcher came running through the back door, his face flushed and eyes wide.

“Aunt Sara” he said, panting, his voice tinged with alarm and awe. “I touched that wire, and it shook my bones!”

I froze, the dish towel in my hand forgotten. For a split second, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. And then it hit me. The fence. The electric fence.

“Oh no,” I breathed, rushing to his side.

Fletcher looked up at me, clearly unharmed but clutching his arm. He wasn’t crying—far from it, actually. His expression was part curiosity, part amazement.

That description, “shook my bones,” immediately struck me as perfect. I didn’t need any further clarification. I knew exactly what he meant.

“Fletch,” I said, half-laughing and half-panicked. “You’re not supposed to touch the fence, ok? It’s electric!”

“I didn’t know it would do that!” he said, grinning now. His little laugh was infectious, though I was still mortified.

“Are you okay?” I asked, holding his hands and scanning him for any sign of distress.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said with the nonchalance of a kid who’d just discovered something fascinating. With that he headed back out to play.

“Wait!” I called after him. “Stay away from the fence! And tell your brothers not to touch it!”

“Shook my bones,” I murmured to myself, still smiling despite my nerves. What a great way to put it.