Microaggressions.

Edgar, holy FUCK. How did you go from the Point Break remake to The Last Days of American Crime? Did you read the script or...TL;DR.

 How is it even possible for a film to be this badly written?

A whole fifteen seconds here or there had the potential for greatness but really this treatment was written by someone who watched a couple of seventies crime movies and figured it looked easy.

Gosh. Not even one star. 

***

It's fucking FREEZING out. I turned the heat on. I think I'll bring the tomatoes in to ripen. Fuck it. Though it is supposed to swing back to hot at the end of the week. I think whenever I bake birthday cakes I summon intense heat waves and have to fret about condensation and melting icing constantly as we have a disproportionate amount of summer birthdays here on the point. I suppose I could buy cakes that are a little more hardy but no one likes the taste of those unless they're ice cream cakes but we are all old now and those are too rich and stupidly expensive and again, not as good as homemade.

Then again, I've never made an ice cream cake, specifically. 

I actually saw a cookbook online the other day that was all about 'reinventing' cake.

I was so offended.

***

I'm about to spend an hour with a youtube video featuring a little old man and an oil can and service my own sewing machine. Lochlan figures I can do it. Gosh. He's brave. I might be brave too, as it doesn't look overly complicated. 

Kind of like writing an action script.

HA. 

I know, shut up cranky Bridget.

A princess perched in her electric chair

It's four o'clock in the morning
Damn it listen to me good
I'm sleeping with myself tonight
Saved in time, thank God my music's still alive

Ben couldn't hit the notes, citing a headache coming on and I refused to help him. 

Just do it, Bee. Please.

Not that song. That song is a catalyst for misery and I can't, Ben.

Misery is your blood.

We're not going to do this right now. 

This is a pointed, sharp conversation because Ben lost some time during/after his accident and he's angry because I didn't save him, Caleb did. He would have died had Caleb not been there. The irony is that he wouldn't have landed on his head on concrete had Caleb not been there.

(AND BUTTERFLIES ARE FREE TO FLY-)

We'll do it later. I cut him off even as the notes are now swirling in my head but I'm just trying to outrun/hurry through the notes in Tiny Dancer, the song that comes next on my Elton John smart playlist because I organized it to tell a story and Elton knows how to bring the feels. 

My life is a fucking musical, and it's two weeks today since Caleb hurt Ben so badly it's permanently changed not only Ben's life but all of our lives as we try to 'navigate our new normal' as Ben's doctors keep telling us, causing me to swear out loud and yell something about nothing ever being normal in our lives, that where I come from 'normal' is a dirty word but hurting each other is absolutely not allowed and that resulted in a dramatic moment where Lochlan physically carried me out of the conference room in a bear hug while I pointed out Ben could hurt every last one of the boys but the difference is he WOULDN'T and he's absolutely untouchable and the 'new normal' is that maybe Caleb should leave. 

Sorry, I have moments like that. Moments where I hate everyone, moments where everything is scary and wrong and a lump comes up in my throat and it hurts so fucking bad. 

They wanted me to talk to one of their crisis counsellors thinking this was all reactionary for what's happened but over the course of Ben's stay the nurses have gotten our whole life story but not the doctors and they get the high-level emotional wave we ride in and out on, they somehow understand that nothing about any of this is normal, nor will it ever be.

But today I can't see Jesus, just vengeance. Today I'm a superhero with no power, I'm a livewire and they've already cut the breaker, I'm a mess and no one has a mop.

Jesus Christ, Sam says as I unload all of this on the table when Caleb arrives at the hospital to help Ben sing and I leave so fast I break a nail on the door going out.

I told you! He's not even here today! I yell it at Sam. I don't mean to but like they said, it's probably reactionary. 

Right.

Virgo season.

Another beautiful day and I'm getting the house ready for Ben's return, though the boys didn't leave a lot for me to do. They took over the chore chart, picked up the slack and then went above and beyond, pulling it until it sang, stretched tight over our little point like a line, ready for a funambulist (meeeeeee) to show off on. I'll have help doing the formal dinners this week, and in baking the cakes.

Life is a tightrope. If ever there was a metaphor, it would be this.

They've scrubbed every trace of construction away. Emmett also went above and beyond. I gave him a blank slate and zero plans, told him what I need and asked that it all blend in so it was virtually unnoticeable. He did exactly that and I requested that Caleb tip him handsomely and then doubled that. That's how you keep someone good. You make it rain. 

Didn't work for Caleb though. He thought money would make me come running. I did, but I ran away from him instead of towards him.

He's going to spend the fall working on figuring out how to blow off steam, how to keep his explosive temper in check and how to coexist peacefully with the rest of us. They were working so hard to incorporate him into the house but it seems as if he still falls back on his old flaws, still pretends he is above us, still separates himself from the group. Sam has some names and I get to pick one for Caleb and he can go and lay his heart bare a couple of times a week to someone with threadbare cuffs in a worn scrubbed office and not complain even once because I have asked for that and that would mean more to me than another stupid payout. No settlement can save him from this. I forgave him quickly but as always I won't forget.

In the meantime, I acquiesced and sent Ben's new/favourite guitar in with Sam and Matt this morning so he could serenade his nurses and reassure himself that he can still play. It's a Gretsch baritone and it's cherry. He found it practically for free and only had to replace the coils and strings and it became number one pretty quickly. They'll probably bring it back tonight but he'll have that peace of mind. We keep finding strange things that he can't do that his team says will return in time. Nothing major, just little things like concentration if several people are talking at once or really super quick reactions to something falling, for example (mostly things some people struggle with in life anyway). It's hard to watch Ben get so frustrated so I think this will help and since it's actually electric, it makes less noise unplugged than his favourite Martin acoustic.

I may just take the guitar out of the case and hide myself in it so I can curl up in Ben's arms, come to think of it. I think his touch is what I miss most about the past few weeks. There's not nearly enough of it.

Ben is hopefully coming home early next week!

Lochlan was sad this morning so I sang to him. Specifically I sang Hard For Me (which is a fucking BEAUTIFUL song from 365 Days, sung by the actor himself in real life, Michele Morrone.) but I did it with Michele's heavy Italian accent and by the end Lochlan was doubled over, shoulders shaking, face beet red from laughing but I hit every note, fuckers and cheering him up was well worth it.

Because he returned the favour and now I keep breaking into fits and giggles even thinking about it. Lochlan has a great and terrible habit of taking on accents that don't belong to him and he sounds very strange without his clipped staccato consonants. And he mimicked the great shuddering breath before the final line and I think I'm done for the day. 

Also, the playlist this is on (on my phone) rolls right into Lana Del Rey's The Greatest and it's just gorgeous. 

So he's not sad anymore but he was only sad in that way you're sad when you momentarily realize that summer is almost over and it's dark earlier in the evenings, or that your children are both going to graduate in the next year's time frame (365 days, again) and that life keeps going. But at least he isn't sad anymore.

Happy Friday. At last. Next week is birthday week and I have a lot of things to do.

This is nothing and everything and weirdly full of spoilers but if you haven't read this book that's been out for a hundred and forty years then I'm not really worried.

Okay so many times here I have extolled the virtues of Heidi, one of my favourite books as a child purely because the description of mealtime with the fresh goat milk and crusty bread with toasted cheese sent me over a carbohydrate edge that is sharp as fuck. It's stuck with me my whole life and I love to have cheese bread for breakfast, despite being ridiculously lactose intolerant.

I threw the book in my bag on one of my quick visits home to grab stuff. I've had so much time to sit in a hard chair and do nothing. Play games on my phone. Draw on my ipad. I watched two whole really good series on Netflix (Outer Banks and Unsolved Mysteries) and I prayed. I facetimed with Daniel so many times I have PTSD just looking at his face and I texted with Lock and with PJ by the minute. 

But sometimes I would make tea and read. They let me use this little kitchenette and tea was the only thing that kept me from cracking like a brittle ice shelf from how cold they keep the floors. 

And I picked up Heidi, thinking it might be comfort-reading. An old favourite book I haven't read since childhood. I look at the author's name and wonder if she wrote anything else. Johanna Spyri. I didn't realize the book was so old (1880) or that she wrote so much, but that's neither here nor there.

This book is fucking insane. Not only is Heidi passed around like an unwanted puppy but no one actually cares for her safety and she's five years old. There's a long human-trafficking segment where she is taken from the mountain and sent to Frankfort to be held prisoner in a city home as a companion for a disabled girl before the girl's father takes pity on her and has her sent back to the Alm Uncle on the side of the mountain, in care of his butler, who abandons her halfway there to a random guy with a cart who promises to take her the rest of the way.

She is taught about God while in the city too and decides that God is her personal wish-genie. No one ever questions this simplified, bizarre new life-plan of hers. 

Oh, and dinner rolls are worth more than gold in this story. 

Magically she learned to read in the year and a half she was there because Heidi is all about self-preservation. 

I have one chapter left and I'm gobsmacked by how bad this is in comparison to how vivid and delicious the descriptions are of her first few days on the mountain. I'm so embarrassed now. And stunned at how poorly this has aged compared books of fifty years later, like the Little House on the Prairie series but wow, now I know.

Pride, prejudice and zomb-Ben.

I brought Ben his phone today, let him make a couple of quick calls and send a couple emails off and then he passed it back. It hurts his eyes, he said. 

You're probably just allergic to work now, I pointed out and he laughed. 

He asked for his favourite guitar but we vetoed that, as not only is it not appropriate in a quiet hospital wing, private room or not, but he can look forward to playing when he gets home. 

He agreed. He's been very agreeable. He goes with whatever we say, whatever is decided and he just motors through milestones and progress markers and keeps stable and steady and he sleeps a fair bit and while he's not high now from pain meds he was a few days ago and I worry about what that means for his recovery but he said we'll take it one step at a time and I laughed because the irony and he didn't but he smiled.

We're all just thrilled that his brain is no longer leaking out of his nose. 

***

Masks are now my new all-time favourite accessory (don't worry, I've been wearing them for months), as I have one of those faces that not only can't make a poker face but I perpetually look as if I'm about to burst into tears when I'm not actively smiling. I always said my superpowers, if I could have them would be hiding my true feelings instead of broadcasting them with my eyes, and writing my name with pee in the snow, but that's not really relevant right here, it's just something I would like to be able to do. If I can refrain from raising my eyebrows I look completely normal and like I believe what you're telling me.

***

 Caleb has sought redemption quietly. He's hung back. He's facilitated the contractors coming in and doing a general sizing up and adding all sorts of accessibility to the house that brings a physical ease where before the house was accessible only in terms of hearing. The lights flicker when the doorbell rings or the gate intercom buzzes, plus there is a small light attached to the inside of each door which lights up really bright if you knock on the outside. Our smoke alarms are these super piercing rave/strobe lights and I have a flashing-light alarm clock that wakes me up. They lowered the ceiling heights on the main floor to nine feet from vaulted to help with the echoing and there are lots of other tiny touches like water alarms in case water is left on from a tap and I don't hear it and we have hard wood on all floors downstairs so that I can hear you coming.

They're putting in an elevator from the studio to the main level. As I said the other day we're adding railings and grab bars wherever we can. They've opted to put in higher toilets because it's easier to sit on them when you're tall and the tall people in this house outnumber the short (uh, me. Even Ruth is tall and willowy). They're adding non-slip tiles in the kitchen, foyer, garage and bathrooms, the front steps are being retrofitted to be nonslip. We're just going to bubblewrap everything we never did before, ironic again because when we moved in with a nine year old and an eleven year old we didn't have this much safety in mind, choosing instead to teach the kids to watch out for hazards than to assume they would be safe. 

Ben will not need most of these additions but they're never a bad thing, and with Emmett doing the work I know it will blend in seamlessly with the design of the house. And I made sure it's going to cost Caleb a blooming fortune. He may not even be living here once Ben comes home, though he has played advocate to himself and has pointed out that if Lochlan had hauled off and punched someone who then suffered a TBI I would not make him leave. 

He's not wrong but they really have to stop using their fists to try and fix their bruised egos (and brains).

Love is the most selfish of all the passions.

 It's a beautiful day. I took a deep breath and it didn't hurt. The sun is shining, but it didn't burn. Our tomatoes are ripening but not splitting. I brought one in for Ben, salt shaker wrapped in a napkin in my purse because he likes them with a little salt and he said it was the best thing he's ever eaten. Then he winked at me and laughed gently. He can't laugh too hard or his head hurts. 

He's in a private room and let me tell you being able to have a good long conversation with him and not being told that he needs to sleep or I need to leave so they can change tubes and bags and test him and feed him and listen to the noises of the machines while I wonder exactly how hard his brain hit the inside of his skull and what the fallout from this might mean for the future of the biggest, strongest man I know.

The doctors have gone from cautious to practically packing his bags for him.

(Just kidding. He has no bags. Only the clothes he came in wearing. No phone. No watch. No nothing. Not even his reading glasses.)

And Lochlan is with me today so we can spend time with Ben together. Three musketeers.

Futures.

 I slept for nine hours straight and then the phone rang but it was Schuyler and his soothing voice telling me Ben is doing great and everything is fine, so don't rush, take some time to be at home and rest a little more. I'm more glad that I was at the hospital for the first more frightening days so that I didn't have to wait for the boys to tell me news in their roundabout, slowed-down way. That's too hard. This works better. Either way, our cautious but hopeful approach is working and today instead of church Sam is going to go in with Matt to pray with Ben. Ben has been asking for Sam.

I called Ben's old manager to put him in the loop and ask him to try to reach out to some of the people Ben was working with. Not like I know how to get a hold of them. He said not to worry about a thing. Ben's projects will be heavily delayed or delivered in fragments and they'll have to make do though he is not a procrastinator when it comes to work and is probably ready to send everything out if he hadn't already. 

I saw Caleb and I would not stop long enough to see him dissolve into his own sorrow nor listen to his lament, I only asked him to contact Emmett (NOT RANSOM) and see about arranging to put in some better accessibility points on the property, especially around the main house. We need stair railings indoors, rails in the bathroom, a second ladder and rails at the other end of the pool and I'm putting a auxiliary driveway that comes around and isn't such a bottleneck way on the other side where our property hooks around (surprise, the waterfront is all mine), about forty feet past where Batman's property ends, in order to facilitate both deliveries and emergencies. 

Caleb nodded, absolutely hobbled by my refusal to hear his confession. 

He's not a stupid man, though.

Maybe we won't need any of that stuff but if we do, it will be there. 

When can I see him?

When he asks for you.

 Ben's improvements are coming by the hour now and they say if it continues he'll be out of ICU perhaps early next week. They're so cautious but optimistic, it makes me crazy but at the same time I crave more and more, hanging off every word. 

I'm home for the night. Daniel and Schuyler are trading off tonight. I need to not be there right this second. I got physically sick this morning and Lochlan came back to collect me, sending me out to the truck while he took a few minutes to talk to Ben. Ben is mostly drifting between commands, playing trained seal, hitting his tests with an ease he didn't have even two days ago so I'm excited. 

Still sick though, not too sure why but I've also been sitting in a hard chair in the cold wearing a mask for a week in a terrible environment for getting sick, eating like crap, sleeping five minutes every three or four hours and I need a break, though my argument this week is that Ben doesn't get a break. 

But I am more at ease now with being able to leave him for a little bit, and a little more heartened that he might be okay, or at least better in short order and when I go back I'll be slept and fresh and ready to take on next week.

I'm home for a moment to have a hot shower and wolf down some dinner and then I'm going back to the hospital. Ben has stabilized finally. The nurses said he is full of surprises and doing really well. He's had three surgeries, two frightening setbacks and a lot of really really good care over the past six days (it happened Sunday morning) and God bless the staff, they've been looking after me too.They're already talking about all the things he's going to do when he comes home but I can see on their faces that they say that as a thing to keep our spirits up. Half the time Ben is sleeping and not listening anyway. The other half I am too despondent to pretend that I am cheered from their effort but I get it. It's part of the job. 

May not be posting a lot but people wanted to know that he's alive. It's kind of all I want to know too. They said it's too soon to tell the future but I just need to know he's in it. That's all I care about right now.

Not going to ask for prayers, I'm just going to take them. Thank you in advance.

Sitting in an ice cold waiting room right now. Caleb and Ben had a shoving match by the pool, Ben was off-balance and when Caleb suckerpunched him Ben fell and cracked his head on the concrete and didn't respond didn't get up for so long I went completely numb and didn't even scream. I froze. I probably wasted so much time but Caleb did not and called 911 the second he could get to his phone.

Ben has not woken up yet. 

Update: he's awake.

I'll find a way home.

Watching my life on a detuned TV,

The pictures I see are just shapes on a screen,

Come shake me out of my slow motion dream

https://lyricstranslate.com

Watching my life on a detuned TV,

The pictures I see are just shapes on a screen,

Come shake me out of my slow motion dream

https://lyricstranslate.com

Watching my life on a detuned TV,

The pictures I see are just shapes on a screen,

Come shake me out of my slow motion dream

Ha. I broke my heart learning the opening notes for Wish I Was Here. Falling for a song so hard I break bones and my own heart on the way down is truly the way I want to die. 

Fuck off, Bridge. Sam isn't playing this morning and I am stubborn, a pile of dust and ragged pieces of myself on the floor. The curtains are thrown wide to highlight the dust motes floating in the morning sun. We're supposed to have thunderstorms later today, first for God to smite me with and second for my bones to fuse back together in the light. Then and only then will I be able to move again. 

Sam reaches down into the dust, picks up a pinch between his fingers and draws the sign of the cross on my forehead.

He doesn't have room for me, Sam. That's why I live here in the dark. 

It isn't dark right now, is it?

Sure it is. You just need to look behind my eyes. 

What will it take, Bridget?

If I knew I would buy it. 

Faith doesn't come for sale. 

None of the virtues do, Sam. Or we would have some. 

You're too hard on yourself. He whispers it. He makes me sad. He came over to see if I wanted to tag along to exceedingly-hot church (NO) and then he said I didn't actually have a choice. He's concerned because yesterday I had Saturday kayak with Matt and maybe made some casual statements that scared the fuck out of Matt because he knows me very well but apparently not enough.

I'm fine. As always. Some days are harder than others. Most of them follow tough nights.

Came back from the void (with the void still in me).

 You can't just hand me a new album and a good pair of headphones and leave me to drift, floating on a bed suspended by heavy ropes for fifty four minutes (which stretched into a hundred and eight so I could listen to it again) and blow me away with an easy breath for the profundity some men can reach with a piano and a pen. 

I am so readily in love with those men. Sort of like men who speak Gaelic fluently. This is my kryptonite, it's my biggest flaw because those are the men who navigate their own charms, wielding a power immeasurable, a stunning display of emotional peacock feathers by which we are levelled flat. 

Hello, Mick Moss. Welcome to the inside of my brain.

He's what I wished Pearl Jam would have been but isn't. Like a hotter, deeper version. Tighter instruments, but he's just...let the fuck go with his words, something I wish more people would do. That's something I require, it's a dealbreaker, in fact. If you want to talk to me you have to drop your walls. You have to tell me of your deepest darkest thoughts, fears and wants. You have to go one step further, opening yourself, being vulnerable, being unabashed, shameless and pure. I don't care if it makes you look bad. I don't care if you're embarrassed, just give me what I crave. 

 Like this. This is fucking awesome. Antimatter's Black Market Enlightenment is now safely ensconced in my top ten Most Perfect Albums of all time. 

(If you want to check him out listen to Wish I was Here. GodDAMN.)

(Happy Saturday. Our virus cases here in the southern half of the province have tripled every day over the past week and I'm never leaving the house again but as long as I have some amazing music and my deepest boys around I'm good for the rest of my life, thanks. Deliver Vietnamese food and I'll not complain with a single word. August laughs when I tell him this. I was so drunk when I explained exactly how I work, to his amused face as he nodded. I know all this, he reminded me, but I told him again anyway.)

Judas summer.

Henry and Lochlan were outside until around midnight last night, as Henry continues to learn to handle fire. It looks cool, he says. He's enjoying the process of learning and trying and getting it, finally after dozens of attempts. Then it's on to the next level, as practice is everything. Henry's not a perfectionist and doesn't worry if he can't do something, but he is also exceedingly quiet and contemplative. He feels things twice as deep as your average human, which is a hindrance and a help. Henry is exactly like Jake but with my stubbornness and pragmatism, and so Lochlan has no trouble at all crafting a plan to teach him in a way that will work both for Lochlan's capacity for risk and patience and for Henry's confidence in himself and desire to expand his decidedly too-safe horizons.

As this week wraps up we've really settled into a new sort of dynamic here on the point. It's all good, all positive, all healthy which is the most you can ask for, right Joel? Joel came by last evening but we were busy hanging out with the kids and didn't want to break away to go and talk. I don't want to talk to him right now anyway. He is not for the good times. He is for the hard times (or as I call them, the heart times). He is for emergencies. He is just a textbook we can flip open if we need a reference but otherwise he can wait. 

Sometimes I just stand and watch and I can't believe the way things turned out. Jacob, you baptized your own son and you didn't know he was yours. And now he's learning to throw fireballs into the night because of Lochlan's encouragement, and because mom was so disappointed in the lack of meteor showers, so let's make one for her and she can enjoy a personalized experience and God bless them both it was the greatest round of shooting stars I think I've ever seen and not only does Lochlan not see Jake in Henry (he lies but he insists: Only you, Peanut. Only you) he doesn't even hesitate to be his father. Never has, never will and I love him for that, even when Jake was still alive and had no idea, Lochlan would talk about his kids which drove them all batshit. This is the life we wanted, only the camper's a tad bigger than we expected but the kids are too. Pinch me, I'm dreaming. 

No, you know the rules. Get away from me and just leave me like this. Please.

We're not talking about the invisible meteors today.

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Overcast achillean paradises and stars that won't light up the whole way.

 PJ took the entire beer cooler to his wing, Duncan and Dalton helped bring the food back to the house and we left the blankets in the pool house to bring back out tonight, as last night the only thing I saw was muddied shooting clouds, I guess and after a fifteen-minute insistence on me adjusting my eyes properly to the dark after pulling the switch on all of the exterior lights, Lochlan very gently suggested we try tomorrow. 

But wouldn't you know, I'm stubborn and I made him wait a further thirty minutes just in case, you know, it cleared up or something.

I double-checked this morning and yes, it's supposed to be clear tonight and yes, PJ is punch-drunk this morning, having worked his way through a bunch of beers (there weren't that many in there, I just call it a cooler full of beers because it's easier to describe than saying 'an assorted galvanized tub full of ice and assorted beverages' or something. Most of the point doesn't drink or is in recovery. We're technically happier dry but then I like to get shitfaced and...be cute and PJ likes to drown his loneliness and Caleb measures his worth by how much his whiskey costs but THAT isn't even in the bucket and Lochlan isn't even picky if you hand him whatever and then there is ginger-ale for Benjamin and canned pellegrino with orange for Dalton who is a lot snootier than one might suspect. I don't even aspire to the sparkling water and I'm the queen of your very best dry champagne) and you should probably too now, after reading that huge parentheses section, I bet.

What was I going to say? Oh yeah! The meteor shower that never was. I planned my whole week around being gobsmacked by it and I've yet to lay eyes on a single star. 

Lochlan thinks I am funny and yet it's also his fault. 

(The legendary story of how he made me fall in love with him (he didn't, I already had) by showing me a path straight from the sky to his heart, stopping at all of the constellations along the way. GOSH. Such a romantic to my little elementary-school heart, I never had a chance, I don't think and this is why today my glaring lack of maturity causes so many problems. He promised me a fairytale but he didn't know there would be such a price to pay to get it and we're just now debt-free and realizing this gift after years of hard work, years of adversity and miles between us, both literally and figuratively.)

He is the north star, and anyone who says different can fuck off.

How many beers have you had today, Bumblebutt?

Two. No, three. I don't know. Maybe three. I have to pee, did you need something?

And the moon brought her the stars and she gave one to each of them.

Lochlan laughed at me when I struggled past him dragging a lawn chair. Where you going, Peanut?

I'm setting up for the Perseids, I remind him. 

Duncan jogs past. Hey Bee, what's for dinner?

Pop-tarts, I call back and he stops in his tracks.

Seriously?

The meteor shower is tonight!

So why didn't you trade nights? (my turn to cook)

I tried and no one would trade. Can one of you help me with these?

Sure, why didn't you ask?

I've been asking for a week now. 

They look suitably chagrined. Guilty. But it's true. And now I'm left with five hours to spare having to do it all myself. 

Here, Bee. Give it over.

Got it. 

Grab that end? 

I watch them whip into action to set up a viewing station that will see us through a twelve-degree night with wind but clear as a bell and the telescope is ready, the pile of blankets is folded and sitting on the rock wall and my plan is to bring the firepit down but put it back behind us so those who want to can have have hot dogs and s'smores but those who want to watch for shooting stars won't be bothered by the light. There's a cooler full of beer and one of the heaters down there too. I'm kind of ready. Surprise. 

It works and they get excited. 

Got the good buns? 

I'll go bring out the mustard and chips. 

 Is this enough blankets?

We can be pirates.

It's Monday. Always a fresh start. August went back across the drive early this morning, after waking up and pulling me in against him for the slowest, hottest fuck I've had so far this week. He kissed Lochlan's cheek and got up, getting dressed in the dark, telling us he'll see us later, and then he closed the door so quietly on the way out I fell asleep waiting for the sound. 

When I woke again it was late, Lochlan had scooped me in against his chest and I woke up in a cage of his arms, his breath on my eyebrows, his curls in my mouth as I tried to hold him right back, only he's bigger than me and his arms were blocking mine.

The fresh start is reacquainting ourselves with each other as individuals. It's learning to live in the fire again. It's getting so wound up with each other that we forget to breathe at all, forget that others have feelings or needs, forget that we need things like vitamins, vegetables or virtue. 

I'm trying to do all this while still embracing summer's offerings, while learning boundaries with Caleb, while learning how to navigate my crippling grief and crushing immaturity, my wild fear, while learning how to let my children go and at the same time being there for them, while going through early menopause and trying to lose myself in the dirt of the garden or the sand of the beach every chance I get. My two favorite non-human places are in the sun, which is ironic, as I can't be. 

 I'm trying to heal my skin from Caleb's teeth marks after covering almost every square inch with tattoos to protect myself from the outside world after he taught me singlehandedly how dangerous it was. How I keep the devil close to my heart, how I opened my door to him, learning that my own needs were far more dangerous than living on the road with the shows, than strangers all around me, than my own thoughts in the dark, discounted for how they were formed. I get credibility for nothing in life because of this man and yet I love him so and some nights it feels as if all of Lochlan's work is for nothing. All of his efforts to shape me into a good person destroyed in that first night and for the rest of my life. 

But it's Monday and like I said, it's a fresh start.

Peak star.

My favorite part of summer is this week. The Perseids paint the sky in streaks of white, the nights are slightly colder and autumn begins peeking around the corner flashing us glimpses of russet and pumpkin, ochre and smoky blue. Fall is always my favorite season by far, you wouldn't think it, but I always loved it when the tourists and vacationers went home and I had the beach all to myself again. 

At night I can turn off all of the exterior lights on the property and lay down blankets on the grass or on the sand, though the grass on the lawn is closer to the sky and so that's what I usually choose. I put on a sweater and grab another blanket to cover my legs and inveriably someone (usually Lochlan or sometimes John) will bring me out a cup of blueberry tea. Boys come and go, kids come and go, not interested in the long wait for such a brief, stunning reward, but I'll spend hours shivering out on the lawn wishing on stars, worried that if I miss even one my luck could get worse. 

Lochlan calls it quaint and thinks it's sweet, a throwback to our early years, soaked in more nostalgia than I can actually handle. Ben says it's too long and will only stay out for ten minutes, tops, once a year. Caleb calls it an unhealthy compulsion and won't come out at all. 

But I'll be there. Tuesday night at ten pm. And I'll stay there far into Wednesday, too because it's not just a one and done. The stars give me more perspective than any words could ever and I need them like you need air.

A Newfie, a Scotsman and a princess walk into a-

 I'm pretending to be confident, steady on my feet, courageous. Self-assured to a tee. I found all of these qualities in a spanking shiny fresh bottle of armagnac and I'm not about to pass them up so I marinated in them and now I'm ten feet tall and words bounce off like rubber bullets. 

Except for the ones August speaks. Those ones are sharpened barbs and I'm porcupine-confident now, covered in quills and backed into a corner. My defense is to pull out the barbs, snap off their sharp, cutting points and throw them at his feet, looking up at him in tears, tears that are at least 53% proof, maybe more. 

Bridge, did you ever think maybe if you were sober more often you would have a better handle on your emotions?

 I don't carry those, Augie. They're too heavy for me so I think...um...Ben probably is holding the handle so who better than that? I wouldn't have a better hold on the handle-

I think I'll take you over. 

 Sounds good. I don't think they can manage-

 I mean across the driveway, home. 

 Oh, I thought you meant you'll take over looking after me. 

 Is that what you want?

I don't want you to avoid me. 

Bridget, you're breaking my heart.

You're the one who tells me to get out every time I'm here. 

Because after I let go of you I'm reminded that I'm trying to stand in to make the widow of my best friend happy and I'm a poor substitute. You feel bad, I feel bad. Everyone feels bad and yet I can't stop. You come over here and stand in front of me and blink back those huge tears and I can't deny you or myself. 

I think that's the most words you've said in years, Augie. 

Maybe. I don't tell you to leave because I want you to leave. 

 So then come over and stay with us. Have a sleepover. 

 I thought Caleb had taken up residence in your bed. 

That was days ago. 

He laughs. Things going good with your devil, then? I don't want to fuck that up. 

Fed the beast. Beast went home. You aren't responsible for his jealousy or my arrangements. 

Let me speak to Loch. 

I'll wait. I lean back against the counter while he picks up his phone and hits a button. His arm snakes around my neck, pulling me in to his chest, planting a kiss on the top of my head. 

Hey, I hear him say. Bridge is here. We're coming back over. Okay with you?...Good. See you in a minute, Brother. He puts the phone down.  

He knew I was here, Augie-

I don't think he likes it when you come over alone. 

Then I'll bring him every time. 

If that's what you want. He bends his head down and gives me a long kiss. That isn't something that happens often. He uses his thumb to wipe my tears, ending with running it along my bottom lip. I don't know if he knows what that does, but it was his best friend's signature move, and it makes me fall in love in the space of a single heartbeat. Some of the boys do it for effect, or perhaps feigning ignorance but August isn't one for dirty tricks. 

Let's go. Got everything?

Yes, I whisper. It's going to be a long night, and I can't wait.

The girl with the doubled heart.

You're thinking it over
But you just can't sort it out
Do you want someone to tell you
What they think it's all about
Are you the one and only
Who's sad and lonely
You're reaching for the top
Well, the music keeps you going
And it's never gonna stop
It's never gonna stop

 I sent the devil back into the night and brought the thief of hearts with me down to the water this morning to start fresh, to start over. To baptize ourselves in the rain and the sea as blessed, precious beings and not dark evil creatures unable to meet your eyes. I refuse to be that, for him or for anyone. 

I put on eighties power ballads and brought us back around, leaving the devil in our dreams. That isn't us. It isn't anything like us. It isn't what we wanted or who we are. 

 But in the dark things change. 

 This isn't the dark anymore, I tell the tides, stretching my body out over the surf, balancing on my arms, up to the bracelets as always, as far as I'm allowed to go on mornings where it's too cold to go in all the way. 

Sure is, she giggles, turning away, trying to pull me out with her as she retreats from my assertions of innocence, my demand for all eyes to look away. She'll be right back. Jake leans forward and picks me up by the elbows, standing me back on drier sand, asking me in my head why I tempt fate, as if fate is a thing, so much softer and more compelling than evil, so much warmer and cozier. 

 Because he's there and you're gone now, I tell him, just to keep his heart broken so he knows what I feel like. 

Jacob's expression collapses and I can't look so I look at Lochlan, who's never more than ten feet away down here. He's crouched down picking up tiny treasures for me from the shore. Frosted glass teardrops, frozen in time from Jacob's eyes. He brings me a handful and I put them in my pocket for safekeeping. If I collect them all then I can control Jacob's regret. Eventually I can get in front of it and head off the future by changing the past. 

No, you can't, Lochlan reminds me confidently and I know he's right. The sea rushes in to grab me by the knees as if to pound home his point and Jacob dissolves in the saltwater like he always does, leaving only the red of my favourite fire behind. Lochlan grabs my hand to keep me on shore and his skin is so warm. So warm he melts the glass in my pocket into one solid chunk. Just like my heart.

Crafty.

For anyone who said they tried a waterfall incense burner and it didn't work, you need to use cones with a hole in the bottom or buy what's called backflow incense. Lochlan drilled out my incense cones with a dremel. Not all the way through, just 2/3 of the way up from the bottom, then they work well. So try that and thank me later.

And never assume that the only people who burn incense are weed smokers? I don't know where that came from but it isn't true. Some of us love the smell of nag champa because it reminds me of the fortune teller's booth (camper/room/tent, depending on venue) on the circuit.

***

It's raining!

I feel like I want to celebrate even though it's damn COLD and super-heavy but it's so nice after such a long break from it. My plants are happy. My tomatoes probably pretty happy. My vehicles are happy. I think even the dog was happy and Henry was happy to walk him up the road (only to the mailbox. My dog is twelve years old now and can't walk for shit but he loves his walkies anyway so we try). I was going to have a quick swim this morning but Ben talked me out of it (No, Bee. I'm not going out in that so you'll have to try and talk someone else into it) and then Caleb was still sleeping and Lochlan was too so that was it for my chances before the day got busy and now I'm sewing more cloth masks because I spend more time hunting them down as they disappear from the basket by the front door and I think if I had more on hand this wouldn't be a problem.

So that's my day.

Very exciting, I know.

The incense matches are actually cool and very portable. Unlike my burner which is a tiny fairytale castle that burns the smoke in reverse, down a waterfall in front which is also some sort of magic of a different kind.

I'm out in the gazebo this morning. The tiny lights and gossamer sheets are still draped everywhere, hems filthly from billowing out over the grass in ribbons and back. I stole Ben's giant headphones and I'm bouncing back and forth between The Folklore Album (they said they knew I'd be a fan of Taylor Swift eventually and they were right) and new Gojira. It's a quiet-jar, a juxtaposition and I like it. I've got a book of incense matches, a hot fresh cup of coffee and a rosemary rocksalt bagel (my absolute favorite and I make a stupid number of trips up to Commercial drive to get them) and I'm drawing, mostly.

I'm feeling the exquisite burn of the light bite marks all up and down my legs, covered with a halter maxidress to prove he didn't because my shoulders are clean, no marks. The dress drags behind me on the ground like a train. Its hard to find them in petite sizing (impossible, I mean) and so I buy them regular and just lift up my skirts when I'm going up and down the stairs like a princess would, if I were one, which I'm not. I turn and confirm that with the line of dirt along the hem, just like these billowing sheets on the gazebo.

It's a beautiful day. It's supposed to rain tomorrow. It's not supposed to be so hot today. I already had a swim in the shivery-cold water with Lochlan, and now he's having a shower while I get half an hour to myself. It's all I am allowed, on his watch. We left the Devil in our bed to sleep late. He likes to do that on Wednesdays. Hang out in our bed, I mean. Not sleep late. They were generous and patient last night and mischievous too. They were a team, somehow, in a serendipitous moment under a full moon that stretched right through until the blue hour of the morning.

And I'm tired.

But happy.

I can't see past the end of my nose. I can't tell the future (though I could fake it pretty good, I've been taught by the greatest in the world), I don't know what lunchtime is going to bring, let alone five years from now. Maybe it's time to live in the moment, instead of the past. Maybe we don't have to worry about the future. We did a lot of work to make it that way and now maybe I can finally enjoy this.

Big Feels.

Caleb settles back on the chaise and holds out my drink.

Thank you.

Happy, Neamhchiontach?

Yes. Thank you, I repeat. He could have (he actually did, at first) put up a fight against my changes but in the end I usually get my way as long as there's no glaring reason I shouldn't.

Cheers, then. That's everything I want, and it obviously could not be bought.

I told you that.

Yes, you did. He raised you well. He clinks his glass against mine as I nod.

I tried. Don't know if I spent enough time on the part about not talking to strangers but I'll work on that. Lochlan is in the doorway, glass of his own in hand. Are we celebrating finally?

Still.

He walks over and clinks both of our glasses before sitting on the edge of the chaise. I slide over to make room and he leans back against the cushions. A different dynamic of musketeers, this. A dangerous dynamic but holding for the moment or I would see flames everywhere and all there is now is the dim afterlight of a long hot day.

Happy, Peanut?

I nod. Very. Everyone keeps asking me.

You've been working hard.

We all do. Are you happy?

He nods. I thought he would hesitate but he didn't. Now we just need to keep this peace.

Caleb leans forward and clinks his glass again. To new beginnings for old familiars.

Sláinte. Lochlan returns it. Here's to everyone holding their own and everyone else's too.

Yes, even Caleb.

You have questions. That's fine. Doesn't mean I'll answer them. Well, not all of them.

No, this has nothing to do with sex.

No, Gage is not part of our commune. Well, he is but for now he continues to rent a room in the house and continues to be my tenant though he transfers the money directly to Lochlan and Lochlan uses it to supplement the grocery bill, as ever and so in and out and I don't see it. Gage will forever be the fairweather guy who stays for a while and then takes off so a lot less permanent than the others.

Of course August is part of this, as are Matt and Sam. I wanted everyone permanent, legally protected. I wanted us to feel like a family. While I trust everyone implicitly I still don't fuck with money and have no risk tolerance and that's why we are using a team of trustees to oversee the entire project.

It works. I've addressed absolutely every contingency. Have you met me? I don't move fast. Too busy being thorough. Caleb even said he couldn't think of any other holes in my plan and he's a goddamned finance attorney so if he can't no one can. It's very detailed and incredibly complicated and everyone seems happy. Two years ago I gave them all a year to think about my final plan to see if it was workable. We've added things and taken away others and everyone is satisfied, I hope. I let it go way over so that everyone had tons of time to sort through it. We held a thousand family meetings and it went into place yesterday, at last.

Or so I thought. Until this morning  PJ texted me after leaving the house and asked if it was okay if he bought a coffee.

Sigh.

When he came home he said he was kidding. He said the happy face on his text proved it.

Right.

We're official. No going back now.

Duncan is in fine form this morning. He did about five backflips off the cliff while I watched and sipped my coffee, venturing close to the edge every time to make sure he made it back to the surface (as did Dalton. And PJ. And Loch). Each time he came up we had a routine to enact and he finally got tired. He's sometimes like a toddler on sugar in that you need to wear him out and then he'll finally stop.

And promptly take a nap on you.

You finished?

I don't think so, not yet, Bridgie.

I would stick my tongue out at him, he would wink and then take a run at the cliff again.

This is enough adrenaline for them all. Somehow it works and now suddenly ten years have gone by here and the commune that was a strange experiment in the beginning is now a well-established system and we have made some rather significant changes to herald that milestone.

It's time to celebrate.

These aren't sudden changes, mind you, they have been things we have been working towards all along. Ten years is a very long time and these boys have worked hard and asked for absolutely nothing. They pitch in, they soothe each other, they help with everything and they've gone all-in. They've proved themselves a thousand times over and it's finally time they get their due.

We did away with a few major obstacles to the true success of this collective. We did away with the implied hierarchy, in that a core group were responsible for making all of the decisions. Now it's by a group vote.The children also have a vote as they are no longer children but full-fledged adults.

We did away with the financial system we used thus far. No one's not going to pull their weight, there is no class divide. We don't lend and borrow, we give freely and take if necessary. This was a long time in the making because legally I want everyone to be protected and I also wanted a system whereby we could live off interest and not need to touch principal but also allow for capital purchases without needing to apply to a committee, or defend whims or even second-guess each other but still protect the interests and worth of the group proper. And allow for change, if necessary. What if someone wants to leave? What is someone wants to join? After years of working through everything, from the little details to the big we've finally got it all sorted out.

(Note: At this time Batman and (new) Jake are not included and most likely never will be. Not for any reason other than it isn't necessary and Batman is a ridiculous loner over there at his Wayne mansion with his manservant Alfred (I mean Jake). This is not a bad thing, it's just the way it is and that's fine.)

Caleb even approved of the work I've done. He knows all the lawyers but we used an impartial group. We have no leaders here anymore. We're all equal. I am no longer the landlady or the center of atten-

Well, I am still the centre of attention. No amount of legislation within the Collective will ever change that.

Dinner tonight will be individual apple pies with cinnamon and nutmeg, made from apples from our own tiny orchard, that we've somehow brought back to life over the past ten years here, and this is the first year it bears fruit for us to eat. They're early apples only because I'm afraid they'll become bitter if I wait too long to use them which goes against everything I know as a gardener but I'm also completely unwilling to see the apples stolen by the raccoon family that visits us every night seeing what's ready to take and what they should wait for.

Dessert and iced tea only because the heat wave continues and no one wants to eat, we just want to float in the pool until we fall asleep, which turned out to be a surprisingly bad idea for me and today I am pinkish and sore from the sun. I had fifty sunblock on but it wasn't enough so Lochlan said if I'm going to float I'll be doing it in my wetsuit from now on.

It's also pink. I know! Surprise! You thought it would be black, didn't you?