You turn me onWhen I leaned way out over the railing to peek at the starfish, Jacob's head came into the picture and he kissed my cheek and my reflection bumped into a ripple and disappeared.
you lift me up
And like the sweetest cup
I'd share with you
You lift me up,
don't you ever stop
I'm here with you
Now it's all or nothing
Because you say you'll follow through
You follow me and I follow you
You like it, princess. It was a statement, not a question. I nodded and watched his words dissolve against the wooden pilings. I let go of the railing and stood on the dock facing him and there was empty space but it was space I knew as filled because he is this big invisible shadow that walks behind me always, keeping my hair out of my lipgloss and keeping Ben focused on this heart of mine that he carries in the little sterling cage, still shattered into bits and pieces. Jacob watches that, you know. He is my guard.
Ben asked me what I was thinking and I just gave him that half-bitter smile that means I don't actually have an answer. He asks me to make decisions and plans and I still can't seem to here because it's nice to be led again. It's nice to not think. It's nice to load the dishwasher and then walk for a while and breathe in salt and rain and trees and relief, sweet epic relief that I remain surprised by.
I need to sleep tonight. The strange part about this place is that it's never dark and the rain drips a steady beat against the windows and it's loud. So loud I can hear it and it wakes me up and so in two nights in my new city I haven't actually slept yet. It will come. When it comes it will be so sweet. Maybe tonight. Maybe eventually I will come down. Easter means new. Maybe then.
I am plotting a long walk by the ocean for the puppy and a dinner of dumplings and authentic Chinese instead of Prairie-Chinese and maybe some fun this weekend. Maybe planning a date. Maybe planning a little more shopping, but for all of us, not just me because one of the downsides of efficiency is instant boredom with the outfit choices and the inadequacy of all of our things for this beautiful place. Patches and almost-holes have no place in this life.
I can fix it in time. Like everything else.
Henry had his meltdown today. I decided to take the children shopping. We all need things and I figured I could polish off a good list after lunch but instead he just unglued himself in the middle of not one but three different stores and eventually it reached the point where I just put the things down that I had collected to purchase and we left the store to walk outside in the sun and listen to road musicians hawk their tunes for spare change. We made our way back to our sky-house and we sacked out with cookies and juice and video games because it is so incredibly rare that Henry voices any complaints at all that I wasn't about to choose that particular moment to instruct. No way no how. Ruth is slightly older and knows a little better and she lit into Henry for making my day tougher but really there isn't anything we need that cannot wait another day, week or month and some moments I really wish someone would just tell me that it's okay, flake out and we'll deal with the hard parts another time.
The difference is then they loom over you, they shadow you and you don't forget they are present, just like I don't forget about the big Jacob-space that stands behind me with his beautiful white blonde hair and gigantic teeth smiling all the time. Light in person-form. The remainder of my sanity locked into a man that isn't here but he isn't dead because I will not allow it so everyone tiptoes around the harder, rougher patches of Bridget until they reach the smooth, soft parts they much prefer.
Ben is happy. More content than I have seen him in a long time. Maybe almost even at a point where he also yearns to do a little more and can't. Build something, play something. Tinker and change and improve and enjoy. It's inevitable that we would quickly outgrow these walls even though they are glass. Even though Coach and Louis Vuitton are down the street, and even though with the kind of luck I carry and the mindset I end up in every damn time, this dishwasher will be the first and last one I ever see because I seem to be hellbent on making life harder for myself in spite of incredibly obnoxious verbal efforts to ensure that everyone around me is aware that I Intend To Be Spoiled.
Right.
My hand doesn't contain those cards and neither does the deck. I hold no illusions and I have no faith. What I do know is that we will work doggedly to make a good life here because it's a good place. Because it's mild and I am warm and my fingertips are healing nicely now and my hair, oh Jesus you should see it, it's so curly from the damp air and I can live without shoes or socks just like you know who likes to and I can give up my non-faith to him and maybe he can look after it and maybe Sam can file and lock away those memories from that place and just maybe I will be surprised once again, like I always am.
The older I get the more I come to realize that I can't control a damned thing. And I'm no longer sure I want to anyways.