Brought a knife to hell and saw
What was left down there and more
Hide and seeked for far too long
Kept my treasures with my bones
Lived for lies, lived for tales
Lived for good and hit the rails
Love you, boy, with what I know
Hid that love up with my bones
Instead of letting me linger in my grief, hanging back in the dark, tripping over my own regrets, failing to keep up, Lochlan ripped out a single page from our history book, folded it neatly, secured it in his back pocket and unceremoniously tossed the rest of the book into the fire. We watched it burn and I wanted to ask which page he kept but I have a feeling I know.
When I woke up drowning he was there, in the dim light of the overnight, still quiet but newly crowded. Each way I turned there were limbs and skin. Everywhere my mind tried to hide there was a form to chase it back into the light. Every time I tried to catch my breath a new set of hands or a mouth would take it away again. The minute I touched earth I'd be pulled back up away into the night by my hair or my neck or my hands. Every time the cold rushed in it was blocked, replaced by warmth and intensity. Each time I tried to pinch myself my fingers were taken into someone else's, each word I tried to speak swallowed by a long lingering kiss. Each attempt to front flip into a hole met with a practiced recovery to keep me out. Each knife I sharpened to protect myself from my own mind wrestled out of my grasp like taking candy from a child.
Each time I tried to wake up I was brought back into dreams. Nightdreams. Different from daydreams in that they come true, eventually.
I woke up with the sun, sitting up abruptly, taking a deep breath into Jacob's birthday, the only one left behind to mark it. Forty-nine. On the cusp of what we thought might be greatness but turned out to be nothing instead.
At least I thought I would be the only one but as I look around at sleeping men, most of whom have at least one hand on me, I realize I'm not alone anymore. It isn't me against the world, me against the dark. My eyes light on one face after another and I can place touches and sounds from the darkness before. It wasn't a dream but it feels like it.
Lochlan climbs to the top of the hill in this new day and drives a stake deeply into the ground. He's claiming this day back from what it once was. The wind unfurls the design on the flag at the top of the post. Freaks, to be sure. Just so everyone knows, in case it wasn't very clear. I watch from the edge of the patio.
Happy birthday, Jacob. I pour out a morning whiskey I'm not going to be allowed to drink anyway and watch as it soaks into the earth. I told you who I was and you never wanted to believe me but here we are. And you're nowhere to be seen.
How many was it? Joel is so curious. He came out first thing to check on me and is taken aback.
Seven. At least. I'm not entirely sure. It never stopped. Not even for a moment.
Jesus, Bridge.
Well, it worked, so that's all that matters, isn't it? I snap at him. I don't mean to. I just didn't get any sleep.
When I woke up drowning he was there, in the dim light of the overnight, still quiet but newly crowded. Each way I turned there were limbs and skin. Everywhere my mind tried to hide there was a form to chase it back into the light. Every time I tried to catch my breath a new set of hands or a mouth would take it away again. The minute I touched earth I'd be pulled back up away into the night by my hair or my neck or my hands. Every time the cold rushed in it was blocked, replaced by warmth and intensity. Each time I tried to pinch myself my fingers were taken into someone else's, each word I tried to speak swallowed by a long lingering kiss. Each attempt to front flip into a hole met with a practiced recovery to keep me out. Each knife I sharpened to protect myself from my own mind wrestled out of my grasp like taking candy from a child.
Each time I tried to wake up I was brought back into dreams. Nightdreams. Different from daydreams in that they come true, eventually.
I woke up with the sun, sitting up abruptly, taking a deep breath into Jacob's birthday, the only one left behind to mark it. Forty-nine. On the cusp of what we thought might be greatness but turned out to be nothing instead.
At least I thought I would be the only one but as I look around at sleeping men, most of whom have at least one hand on me, I realize I'm not alone anymore. It isn't me against the world, me against the dark. My eyes light on one face after another and I can place touches and sounds from the darkness before. It wasn't a dream but it feels like it.
Lochlan climbs to the top of the hill in this new day and drives a stake deeply into the ground. He's claiming this day back from what it once was. The wind unfurls the design on the flag at the top of the post. Freaks, to be sure. Just so everyone knows, in case it wasn't very clear. I watch from the edge of the patio.
Happy birthday, Jacob. I pour out a morning whiskey I'm not going to be allowed to drink anyway and watch as it soaks into the earth. I told you who I was and you never wanted to believe me but here we are. And you're nowhere to be seen.
How many was it? Joel is so curious. He came out first thing to check on me and is taken aback.
Seven. At least. I'm not entirely sure. It never stopped. Not even for a moment.
Jesus, Bridge.
Well, it worked, so that's all that matters, isn't it? I snap at him. I don't mean to. I just didn't get any sleep.