Sunday, 18 October 2009

Waking up in Montreal.

We lock our souls in cages
We hide inside our shells
It's hard to free to the ones you love
Oh when you can't forgive yourself
forgive yourself
Last night I panicked. I didn't want to go from the frying pan into the fire and for as much as I love the thought of seeing Jacob's parents and getting another immersion into him proper as much as I can without venturing into the place where I keep him in my heart, it's not an easy thing to do. Add in Caleb traveling with us and I may as well just implode.

I tried to but it didn't work all that well and so Ben pulled out the music and started playing it and he was focusing on upcoming bands like Switchfoot because hell, if you don't know the story of the words wrapped around my ankle from one of their songs and how I think sometimes music is sent to save people who don't want to acknowledge God just quite yet then there is a way for you, my friend.

Ben is more aware of this than anyone in the entire world and he grabbed the headphones and twisted up the dial and rocked me until I stopped shaking and then he rocked me just a little more.

And then he finished packing for all of us which is why I have two unmatched black stiletto boots in my bag and not a single bra. Which will be interesting and at some point I'll have to rectify that but for now he is my life raft in a sea of trepidation because I suddenly don't want to go on to Newfoundland and it's only because I want to be selfish. I want to sit back and take in as much Jacob as I can take in at my own pace because otherwise he just steamrolls over me and I'm reduced to the tiny Bridget who is rescued without any input at all and do you know what means? That means that you're always holding the bike up and steering that bike and then you proclaim that the rider is riding! Only you can never let go again or the rider will fall. I am the rider and he is always holding the bike. Ben doesn't hold the bike. He points it out. He might even stand it up and dust the seat off. Then he stands back, admiring me on it and suggests I bike down the street. Slowly. He says he will wait right here. With bandaids for my knees.

And then he'll close his eyes.

But that's okay. Maybe that's better than always holding me up. He can't and shouldn't always hold me up. He can't save every day and step in and take over as the replacement hero because there is no hero in my story unless it's me. Only I won't get on the bike because honestly I don't like bicycles. They're too high up and they make me nervous and I had a lot of steep hills in my universe growing up and too many boys egging me on to go faster and I could never pull it off quite like they could and it's so easy for them to forget I'm not as capable as they are.

So the trip is a bicycle, the arrangements are Ben's encouragement and the bandaids are Ben and Caleb for when I fall off and shred my skin like ice on the pavement. The music was Ben's way of reminding me that I might not fall off. That I should just keep listening because oh, in a little over two weeks Hello Hurricane comes out and it must be meant for me to keep because that is a post title from June of 2007 that I made (!) that now rests in the archives of Jacob, long off the internet and maybe they will come and play here another time and into the future stretches song after song that I can sing the words to until I know them by heart which leaves no room for errant short-term memory like phone numbers, times and people's names (sorry, H.) and I have that weird inner peace of mind that I can conjure up from that.

I keep getting waylaid by forever and forget to live in the present. Forever is overwhelming and expectant and pressure. Forever demands results and plans and intentions and forethought. Then now is a rush, a clumsy trip over a discarded idea because what if it's not good enough? What if the results are different from the plan? What if none of it works? How do you balance going and getting a coffee and watching a movie when it doesn't further the future? How do you continue to believe in promises and breathing deeply when every time you slip and get comfortable everything gets ripped away from you?

Constantly living on edge. Neverending fear. I've yet to find a professional or a drug that can take those two things away from me, and yet both disappear in two instances: when I get a hug and when I listen to music.

Now you know.

I'm off to get coffee and go explore Montreal. One of those weird living in the moment moments, I guess.

If you see us, come and say hello. Be prepared to give a hug.