Home again, still in the air, trying to come down from this but my sweater is hooked on a star and I'm swinging through the night like the best damn trapeze artist you ever saw (if you saw me, and I wasn't that good, truth be told, but then again, Lochlan couldn't tell the truth so he always settled for telling me what was obvious, that maybe I wasn't the best, but I was something, and people noticed that something).
Caleb tried to rescue me from the night (boy did he) and had no luck. Ben reached up and unhooked my sweater at last and I fell down through the clouds, down through the dark, back into the light. Lochlan slept like a stone.
But we are back.
Back to reality where I never like to spend all that much time in case it sticks. You know, like dirt. Or fly paper. Or the awful feeling you have all morning after a bad nightmare.
I accepted Caleb's invitation for a swim this morning, to (symbolically, yes I had a shower) wash off the night, wash off the big city, the sand, the inevitable grit and glamour of the midway, thinking it was harmless, kind, even.
Once in the deep end he swam over and put his arms around me, holding me close. I missed you.
I put my arms around his shoulders. My eyes burn from the reintroduction to chlorine after being dry from the flight. I close them and put my head down against his shoulder. He locks his arms and leans back, floating semi-vertically. I could fall asleep like this but then I would drown and I wouldn't get to finish my story and I need to see how it ends.
No you won't. He reads my mind, as he is wont to do. I won't let you.
You should.
I am also curious.
Give me your theories.
This is like giving your hand away in poker. Absolutely not, Bridget.
Why not? Embarrassed?
No. You can go first if it's such a normal, everyday conversation to have.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
I'm waiting.
You all eventually drift away and Lochlan and I remain. We live in a drafty cottage by the sea and pick wildflowers and go for long walks on the beach for the remainder of our days. Oh, and we eat pizza like three times a week when we walk into the village for a slice. But it's far better pizza than the kind we get now. Okay, your turn.
What if it isn't like that at all?
What do you mean?
What if it isn't Lochlan?
I can't picture anyone else.
The look on his face said he wanted to drown me but he faked a swift recovery. Maybe it will be me. Only the cottage won't be drafty, it will be custom-built for us and we can still go for long walks and eat pizza. You don't ask for much but I will give you whatever you do ask for when the time comes, or before it.
I resume resting my cheek against his wet shoulder as we drift aimlessly in the deep end.
I promise you that, Bridget. Cross my heart.
The three of us?
If that's what you want, yes.
Caleb tried to rescue me from the night (boy did he) and had no luck. Ben reached up and unhooked my sweater at last and I fell down through the clouds, down through the dark, back into the light. Lochlan slept like a stone.
But we are back.
Back to reality where I never like to spend all that much time in case it sticks. You know, like dirt. Or fly paper. Or the awful feeling you have all morning after a bad nightmare.
I accepted Caleb's invitation for a swim this morning, to (symbolically, yes I had a shower) wash off the night, wash off the big city, the sand, the inevitable grit and glamour of the midway, thinking it was harmless, kind, even.
Once in the deep end he swam over and put his arms around me, holding me close. I missed you.
I put my arms around his shoulders. My eyes burn from the reintroduction to chlorine after being dry from the flight. I close them and put my head down against his shoulder. He locks his arms and leans back, floating semi-vertically. I could fall asleep like this but then I would drown and I wouldn't get to finish my story and I need to see how it ends.
No you won't. He reads my mind, as he is wont to do. I won't let you.
You should.
I am also curious.
Give me your theories.
This is like giving your hand away in poker. Absolutely not, Bridget.
Why not? Embarrassed?
No. You can go first if it's such a normal, everyday conversation to have.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
I'm waiting.
You all eventually drift away and Lochlan and I remain. We live in a drafty cottage by the sea and pick wildflowers and go for long walks on the beach for the remainder of our days. Oh, and we eat pizza like three times a week when we walk into the village for a slice. But it's far better pizza than the kind we get now. Okay, your turn.
What if it isn't like that at all?
What do you mean?
What if it isn't Lochlan?
I can't picture anyone else.
The look on his face said he wanted to drown me but he faked a swift recovery. Maybe it will be me. Only the cottage won't be drafty, it will be custom-built for us and we can still go for long walks and eat pizza. You don't ask for much but I will give you whatever you do ask for when the time comes, or before it.
I resume resting my cheek against his wet shoulder as we drift aimlessly in the deep end.
I promise you that, Bridget. Cross my heart.
The three of us?
If that's what you want, yes.