Because in my head there’s a greyhound stationDuncan didn't want to talk to me at all since we found out he sought a sponsor. I called and called, I muscled in on Skype calls where Dalton stood firm, refusing to let me in the frame, fighting me out of the room, talking over me until Loch swooped in and lifted me right off the floor to carry me out.
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here
I yelled at the screen I love you Poet and got simple silence in return.
For fucks sakes.
This will be my fault too. Even though many times I told him to leave the collective, to go and find his way and have a life and he said he did have one, here with his family and that he was fine. Fine, he said. Stop worrying, I'm good. Unless you're offering yourself, and I would blush furiously and change the subject because damn. What a waste.
But still, my fault somehow.
Ben, on the other hand, is all LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS, planning to turn the house into some sort of straight-edge punk band with big black sharpie X's on the backs of our hands and Loch and I are like hell, no. Celts like their whiskey so fuck off kindly, ye.
The difference is we don't need it. It's nice here and there, but definitely not missed and hardly ever necessary. That's where the line is drawn, I am told, between people who can remain obediently on the proper side of the line and those who barge right through it on their way to self-annihilation.
Caleb and Henry are doing better today, just when I was about to hit my limit with panic, just as I was thinking we need to go back to the doctors and tell them the treatment isn't working, Jesus, fix this, Henry's in pain and Caleb is too strong to admit he's hurting plus what a delicate dance with his already strict and barely balanced pills. Both of them just wanted Ruth and I to stay away so we didn't get sick too but so far so good.
So far, so good. Loch said that to me once soon after I wasn't a child anymore but I didn't understand what he meant until words became everything to me and every time I hear it or see it now it makes me smile. A literal use. So far. So Good. You were worth it. So, so worth it.
Bah. You have to hear him say it or it makes no sense. Your fucking knees would cave in, I promise.
Batman calls me in a rush of concern, interrupting lunch, telling me to ask Caleb what in the hell the CP is. I guess he's reading through the papers again. He doesn't trust anyone, the poor soul. I shouldn't either but so far so..uh..good?
Capital planning? I venture. Cross platform? Cash percentage?
Go ask him.
No, he's resting. It can wait until Monday.
He's not working right now, he's sick. Let him be. It's a weird position to be in, protector, defender but I hold it lightly anyway, turning it over, letting it catch the light and then setting it gently down on the floorboards, leaving it behind as I press the button on the phone to end the call when the confusion as to how I can stand on both sides of this line so easily when I wouldn't cross the other ones under threat of death threatens to eat me whole.