Wednesday 21 December 2016

Solstice.

It's difficult to celebrate the rebirth of the sun, the travel from darkness back into the light, on the shortest day of the year.

Who decides these things?

We marked the sunrise with a toast to the horizon and then a chilly rush back up to the house where fires are lit as well as the Christmas trees and boys sleep on. Some of them have started Christmas vacation already. Some of them now have to change out of warm sweaters, pajamas and boots into business attire and go to work (dammit, Lochlan). Still others will stoke the fires of hell in case the warmth of a different sort invites wayward lost folk in to soothe their cold achey bones.

I am not wayward. I am not lost. I know exactly where I am. 

No, you don't. 

You don't want to do this today. This is my third least favorite day of the year. 

Oh, if only I could keep up with you, Neamhchiontach. Caleb kisses the top of my head and I wait to see if there's a hug chaser or if he smartly retreats. Ah. Brains today. Don't push the wolf's buttons. Not today. Today is going his way and if you change that he's going to eat you alive.

I have something for you. A subject change within the narrow focus of things the Devil actually likes to talk about. Procurement. Investment. Victory. Death. He isn't all that well-versed in idle talk. Not like all the rest. He is the heavy boot crushing the abject creativity of the rest of this Utopia and all it does is force us to work that much harder. Not a bad thing, truly.

Christmas is on Sunday. Today we are dealing with the dark. I am morning-drunk and I hate the solstice and everyone knows it. I watch the length of the days like other people watch television, rapt and eager to see how it turns out.

Right. I thought I could make that better by treating you to brunch and presents. For a minute there I thought he meant presence and I was pleasantly surprised before I remembered who I'm talking to.

I thaw, but just a little. He brings out the shallow waters in my otherwise bottomless depths. Baubles, shiny magpie things. Curiosity. And like I said, death.

I have to ask. 

Who in the fuck must you ask if Pyro has already left for work? 

I smile. Ben. 

Ben is home? (Ben was in Los Angeles for two days (too long). I hate it there so I didn't go but Daniel went to be his straight and narrow and he did well and they got the hell out as soon as they could.)

Yes. Another smile. Ben is my favorite thing in the whole world and he isn't even a thing, he's a person. I don't objectify my boys, I worship them. He got in late last night. I'm fucking WRECKED. I smile really big for effect. You know when you've been on a horse for a whole afternoon and you can't-

Bridget. 

Yes? What? 

Are you free for lunch? 

Ben isn't awake yet. 

You're an adult. You decide. 

Yes, I'm free. 

Meet me at the car at eleven. I'll make reservations. 

Where? 

Not fast food. 

Well, duh. I don't think you can get a table held at those-

Bridget. A withering stare.

I'm just curious. (The permanent disclaimer.)

You always are. I count on that. I'll choose some place bright so you can feel better about the solstice and be in the sun. Maybe you'll grow. 

Oh well, if the digs are coming along they can take my chair and I'll stay home. 

But then you won't get your present. 

What is it? 

Join me for lunch and you'll find out.