I don't think I'm the feral one after all, though some will say they found me in the corner of a boxcar, lifting the corner of a crate to find me crouched underneath, filthy, unable to speak English and clutching a cone of blue cotton candy. That I grunted something, screamed and tried to run but Lochlan caught me and taught me the words I needed and I fell in love with him and grew up. But when pushed I revert back, so the story goes and this morning, well, I've got the caged look and monosyllable responses down cold.
Both Caleb and Cole were raised to act out their negative emotions physically and I don't understand how that happens. How do you raise a child to lash out in anger and then soften in tender moments to the point where the violence from a moment ago melts away?
I asked him this but he told me he didn't know. He isn't saying much either today, except sorry a lot. No excuses, just that fucking word. Four different letters that don't mean much. He's been saying it since I was eleven and he first cornered me in the camper.
Sorry.
I didn't mean to.
I didn't know it would change you.
I was drunk.
It's your fault I'm like this.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Keep the gun, you'll need it out here. There are people like me everywhere and that's one of the reasons I didn't want him to bring you.
I don't hear the sorrys the way normal people do, I guess. Not anymore. Maybe it's just a part of life. Maybe Boxcar Bridget didn't have such an easy life and maybe the fact that I do now in so many ways is a beautiful ending to a terrible tragedy. Maybe it's something I can't get used to and that's why I went screaming back to blue collars and campers so fast, so easily. Maybe it's why I'm more comfortable around old guys with weathered visages and plaid shirts. Farmers. Carnies. Working folk. People who don't have much, if anything. People who aren't so spoiled they can't see the reason for things, they can't control things, they don't understand things and are offended by that.
Maybe people raised with nothing are less demanding. Less judging. Less of everything, sure but better in so many ways.
Caleb's fine though. Lochlan dragged him out of the boathouse, down the steps, across the driveway and the grass too. PJ watched and did nothing which he probably lives for. I think Dalton filmed it to show Duncan. Ben followed them to make sure they wouldn't actually finish each other off, as Caleb is bigger than Lochlan and so Ben was standing close by as Lochlan pushed Caleb right to the edge of the cliff, finger in his face, words flying. Thick red Scottish rage making him unintelligible. To his credit Caleb seemed deflated, unable to push back, unable to defend his undefendable position. He got rough, he has to pay for that. Violence against me is unacceptable. To them. It feels normal to me. It's just the way he is.
(Sorry, Bridget. You just look so pretty when you cry.)
(What a liar.)
Lochlan leaned him way out over the cliff until they were finished the discussion and then started to pull him back and Ben, still pissed off, reached over Loch and shoved Caleb off the edge.
Caleb landed headfirst on a wayward log that was in the water.
Ben then had to go in after him to save his life. Caleb took in a lot of water, has a nasty concussion and was short of breath so we went to the hospital for many, many hours then we brought him home.
Then the sorrys began. but no excuses because he has nothing left.
Caleb is just a monster. One I've spent my life trying to stop being afraid of. One I'll never outrun. That was worse so I've tried to embrace him instead and it's been very hard on me. You don't get it. You'll never get it and that's okay. And Lochlan's grace just shut off like a fucking tap.
But not for me.
Do you want to keep the job? Lochlan asked me in the hallway outside as Caleb was getting ready to leave the hospital.
I nodded.
Why?
I can practice my English, I said and he laughed. It was a strained donkey-bray kind of laugh, more an exclamation of disbelief than anything but I'll take it.
Caleb opens the door. Ready, he said, and the laughter stopped.
Both Caleb and Cole were raised to act out their negative emotions physically and I don't understand how that happens. How do you raise a child to lash out in anger and then soften in tender moments to the point where the violence from a moment ago melts away?
I asked him this but he told me he didn't know. He isn't saying much either today, except sorry a lot. No excuses, just that fucking word. Four different letters that don't mean much. He's been saying it since I was eleven and he first cornered me in the camper.
Sorry.
I didn't mean to.
I didn't know it would change you.
I was drunk.
It's your fault I'm like this.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Keep the gun, you'll need it out here. There are people like me everywhere and that's one of the reasons I didn't want him to bring you.
I don't hear the sorrys the way normal people do, I guess. Not anymore. Maybe it's just a part of life. Maybe Boxcar Bridget didn't have such an easy life and maybe the fact that I do now in so many ways is a beautiful ending to a terrible tragedy. Maybe it's something I can't get used to and that's why I went screaming back to blue collars and campers so fast, so easily. Maybe it's why I'm more comfortable around old guys with weathered visages and plaid shirts. Farmers. Carnies. Working folk. People who don't have much, if anything. People who aren't so spoiled they can't see the reason for things, they can't control things, they don't understand things and are offended by that.
Maybe people raised with nothing are less demanding. Less judging. Less of everything, sure but better in so many ways.
Caleb's fine though. Lochlan dragged him out of the boathouse, down the steps, across the driveway and the grass too. PJ watched and did nothing which he probably lives for. I think Dalton filmed it to show Duncan. Ben followed them to make sure they wouldn't actually finish each other off, as Caleb is bigger than Lochlan and so Ben was standing close by as Lochlan pushed Caleb right to the edge of the cliff, finger in his face, words flying. Thick red Scottish rage making him unintelligible. To his credit Caleb seemed deflated, unable to push back, unable to defend his undefendable position. He got rough, he has to pay for that. Violence against me is unacceptable. To them. It feels normal to me. It's just the way he is.
(Sorry, Bridget. You just look so pretty when you cry.)
(What a liar.)
Lochlan leaned him way out over the cliff until they were finished the discussion and then started to pull him back and Ben, still pissed off, reached over Loch and shoved Caleb off the edge.
Caleb landed headfirst on a wayward log that was in the water.
Ben then had to go in after him to save his life. Caleb took in a lot of water, has a nasty concussion and was short of breath so we went to the hospital for many, many hours then we brought him home.
Then the sorrys began. but no excuses because he has nothing left.
Caleb is just a monster. One I've spent my life trying to stop being afraid of. One I'll never outrun. That was worse so I've tried to embrace him instead and it's been very hard on me. You don't get it. You'll never get it and that's okay. And Lochlan's grace just shut off like a fucking tap.
But not for me.
Do you want to keep the job? Lochlan asked me in the hallway outside as Caleb was getting ready to leave the hospital.
I nodded.
Why?
I can practice my English, I said and he laughed. It was a strained donkey-bray kind of laugh, more an exclamation of disbelief than anything but I'll take it.
Caleb opens the door. Ready, he said, and the laughter stopped.