Friday, 31 July 2015

I'll break for you as I open up the sky.

Follow the sunlight down
Cry clear and loud
Heaven won't help us now
But it's better this way
Warm light wash me away
Piglet, I have ways of getting the information I need.

He grabs my ankles and pulls me up, holding me upside down over the bed. I squeal as the hem of my chemise falls toward the ground, over my head. I must look like a dog with a cone collar. Nice. He licks the back of my knee as I simultaneously try and hold my nightgown up around my hips with one hand and clutch at the denim of his jeans-covered leg with the other.

Jake! Put me down!

Not until you tell me. 

I can't explain it. We're kindred spirits in a way. 

You too fight constantly. You act as if each other is the worst thing you could encounter walking into a room. 

That's because he is immature. 

And you are?


I see. So you and Ben just magically get along. 


I really don't understand this. 

We don't either but we have a very strong concern-bond for each other. 

How does that work?

He's been trying to get into my pants for a decade any way he can and I mostly worry that maybe he has a little escapism problem. 



Well, I could offer to help him but I'm not getting any good information here. Can you be a little more specific?

He uses on the road. 

Toilet paper? A seeing-eye dog? What?

Drugs, Jake. Drugs, okay? 

Why is it hard for you to tell me these things?

Because I'm protective of him.

Mmm. Beauty and the Beast. 

Mostly. He's wounded. Don't push him.

I could help him. 

Ask him if he wants help. If he doesn't, drop it. 

Wow, I can't believe you enable him. 

I didn't say that. 

How about this? You have indicated that he may need a little more support. I will take that information and see that he gets it. Is that better?

Yes. But if you push him he'll shut you down so fast. 

Is this why you argue? You're trying to help him?

He needs me. He needs friends. He looks so huge but he's made of paper. Of glass. He's more fragile than...than anyone.

Than you?

No, we're the same now. 

From death?

Death. Yes. Death does this. It makes you clear and cracked and easily destroyed over dumb things like sunshine or pressure or frustration. Toilet paper even.

I could help you too. 

Then put me down!

He swings me once, sliding his arm under my back on the upswing, and gently deposits me back, albeit with my feet on my pillow and my head at the bottom of the bed.

Why do I get this feeling that Ben is far more complicated than everyone gives him credit for?

Because that's the way he wants it, but Ben is Ben. No one questions him, we just really really love him. 

Even though he's a giant toddler most of the time? 

It's part of his charm.