It's supposed to snow tonight.
I went running last night. Stupidly. Alone. Recklessly. In the dark in the city, only I didn't head toward Chinatown and I didn't head down through the financial district to the river trails on the other side, no, instead I headed all the way down the boulevard to the bridge and flew across it and up the other side until I hit Cole's park bench and I couldn't run anymore.
Jacob found me there an hour later. It got so cold. Perfect. I could indulge in a little release, a little pain to help ease the homesickness. He put his jacket on me and his arms around me and took me back to the truck without a word, short of the relief-swearing I heard when he saw me.
He took me down to the church for a little while. One of the few places where he feels as if he is on sure footing. He prayed. He asked me to, and I could not. He shook his head. We ended up talking for an hour in circles once again.
Jacob is an enigma.
He's so simple in all aspects of his life. His needs and likes and wants are basic and prolific. He doesn't make time for frivolous things. He's cut and dried, black and white, he doesn't want to exist in shades of grey, and yet he grows into a man who chooses faith as his path, along the way he picks up odd talents like telekinesis and hypnosis and illusionist tricks, like Lochlan has. And that's not all.
He jumped into my life with both feet. He tells me he'll never leave, he has my name permanently marked onto his skin. He adopts the kids, he swears up and down on his bible, on my head, on my life and his too that he won't leave, that he's never letting go and then we go to therapy and he tells them he's not sure how much more he can take. That he wants to run but he knows he can't and the only thing keeping him here are promises and glimpses of what things could be like.
If only he could have me deprogrammed fast enough.
He firmly believes Cole and Caleb brainwashed me and the only thing missing is a word or a memory and Jacob could undo all of it. That I'm locked in a mental prison and as soon as he can find the key I'll be out and we'll be happy and I'll be just fine. It doesn't matter how far we go or what he is told about what is wrong with me, he likes his version better and oh fuck, he digs with both hands and he's covered with dirt and he's exhausted and where is that goddamned key?
It's beautiful, really. It's almost as if you can visibly watch as his wings come down to rest against his shoulders in defeat. My angel, who has used up every last ounce of energy he could muster and he's not able to do this and maybe now that he's figuring that out we can get somewhere, because he is what's holding me back right now.
At least that's what Cole tells me in my sleep.
So lie to me once again
and tell me everything will be alright
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Why?
It's an excuse to indulge. That's why.
Why?
There's no responsibility to be had. Everyone knows where they stand. Everyone knows the rules.
Why?
Because I could.
Why?
Because I don't think I'm worth more than this.
Why?
Because and only because he grew tired of the game.
Because it's time to grow up now. I think I went one game too far. I'm afraid I can't go back.
His summer girl was gone a long time ago but he refuses to accept that. And so he thinks he can reinvent her.
Why can't anyone tell me why I'm getting worse instead of getting better?
It's an excuse to indulge. That's why.
Why?
There's no responsibility to be had. Everyone knows where they stand. Everyone knows the rules.
Why?
Because I could.
Why?
Because I don't think I'm worth more than this.
Why?
Because and only because he grew tired of the game.
Because it's time to grow up now. I think I went one game too far. I'm afraid I can't go back.
His summer girl was gone a long time ago but he refuses to accept that. And so he thinks he can reinvent her.
Why can't anyone tell me why I'm getting worse instead of getting better?
Read twice, cut once.
Here's the thing. It isn't the way it appears to be. Jacob is not Cole, and Ben has not become Jacob. Tell that to my head. It's successful this time because I spend no time with Ben anymore. Because I don't have to get away from Jacob, I'm not afraid of him, he's not systematically destroying me and Ben is not rescue. No one gets this. I'm not an idiot, but...
but...
But.
What kind of love is this? Ben and I have destroyed each other. We've broken each other down and used each other up and he is not someone I could have or would have made a life with. The day I met Ben he was singing. He smiled and complimented me and I complimented him right back and then I introduced myself and discovered he and Cole were already friends. I liked everything about Ben but namely I liked how shamelessly perverted he was. And it has stuck and we were twins in how sick and twisted we could be together. Verbally. How well we got on together.
Verbally.
And I knew when he fell and I knew the moment I became his muse, too and not just Cole's. A different sort of muse that now takes the brunt of the truth for what he felt for me.
Unaware but so so aware.
I held no shame, I let it roll, and on it has rolled for a million years and I really thought it was a surface thing. A flighty, crushy, lowkey, softcore kind of love. And he slapped me in the face with truth and it changed everything and it changed nothing and it took me away from him and then I realized that I loved him like a brother and he loved me like a wife. He wouldn't have cared if it was incestuous, I'm not even ever sure if Ben cared if I were male or female, there's something that he needs from me.
And I need something from him, only I can't figure out what. And don't be sarcastic with me because you think you know what that is. You don't know a thing about me.
For scorekeeping purposes, whatever I had with Loch I'm hopefully getting out of my system, we haven't talked nor have we felt the need to. But with Ben, I'm having a really hard time letting go.
And he has fallen apart.
Jacob will tell you I am vulnerable and it doesn't matter what I feel. Maybe he doesn't know me either.
but...
But.
What kind of love is this? Ben and I have destroyed each other. We've broken each other down and used each other up and he is not someone I could have or would have made a life with. The day I met Ben he was singing. He smiled and complimented me and I complimented him right back and then I introduced myself and discovered he and Cole were already friends. I liked everything about Ben but namely I liked how shamelessly perverted he was. And it has stuck and we were twins in how sick and twisted we could be together. Verbally. How well we got on together.
Verbally.
And I knew when he fell and I knew the moment I became his muse, too and not just Cole's. A different sort of muse that now takes the brunt of the truth for what he felt for me.
Unaware but so so aware.
I held no shame, I let it roll, and on it has rolled for a million years and I really thought it was a surface thing. A flighty, crushy, lowkey, softcore kind of love. And he slapped me in the face with truth and it changed everything and it changed nothing and it took me away from him and then I realized that I loved him like a brother and he loved me like a wife. He wouldn't have cared if it was incestuous, I'm not even ever sure if Ben cared if I were male or female, there's something that he needs from me.
And I need something from him, only I can't figure out what. And don't be sarcastic with me because you think you know what that is. You don't know a thing about me.
For scorekeeping purposes, whatever I had with Loch I'm hopefully getting out of my system, we haven't talked nor have we felt the need to. But with Ben, I'm having a really hard time letting go.
And he has fallen apart.
Jacob will tell you I am vulnerable and it doesn't matter what I feel. Maybe he doesn't know me either.
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Wearing the inside out.
There's something so romantic and chillingly sentimental about candlelight on a dark night in the city, the quiet din of glasses clinking and couples sharing secrets while the rain slides down the glass outside in rivers. It's inviting.
I waited for him under the restaurant canopy, my umbrella dripping water around me in a circle as the rain poured down upon the midnight city lights, leaving them to exude a steam laden with dust and grit from a long hot summer, now turned to icy fall days. My red raincoat was the color of blood in the darkness, the rich hue contrasting with my pale wet skin. My hair was damp, pressed against my head like golden parchment. My shoes were flimsy in this weather, my feet soaked. I heard the distant rumbling beyond the traffic noise, beyond the ebb and flow of the crowds. I checked my watch for the fifteenth time, the hands illuminated in the dim glow of the window. His meeting ran over. He was late.
Just then a yellow taxicab pulled up to the curb and he emerged from the back, unfolding into his recognizable form. His hair was tousled, his face relieved. He called out and quickly crossed the sidewalk to where I stood. He picked me up in his arms, umbrella and all, causing the water to arc out all around us in the air. He kissed me as if we hadn't just parted that morning, his damp beard brushing against my lips.
Did you wait long?
Of course not. You're right on time.
He smiled seductively, honestly.
Are you ready?
Yes, let's go inside.
We retreated in through the wide glass and mahogany doors. He put his hand on the small of my back and we stopped at the lobby to leave our wet things, and then he replaced his hand as we were led to a quiet table in a private corner of the restaurant. He pulled my chair out and waited for me to be seated and then he took a chair across from me and ordered a bottle of Masi soave, a favorite, to be brought while we perused the menu. And bread, he always likes bread with wine.
The wine was delivered, tasted and approved of, and then he took over pouring duties and smiled as I covered my glass with my hand. He chuckled and asked for water to be brought as well.
As we talked and enjoyed our dinner the rain traveled in sheets down the glass, the navy blue sky divided every now and then by a fork of white lightning. The rain made caustics dance on my skin and his too, shadows of nature at play. He reached for me once our dishes had been discreetly removed. He turned my hand over in his larger one, running the tips of his fingers around my wedding band and over the face of my watch, as if he could sense time and intent.
His eyes met mine across the table.
Hey, beautiful.
Hi, handsome.
Would you like cake tonight?
No, I think I can do without.
What next? Jazz club? Dancing? Brandy in a smoky bar?
Home.
He smiled. You sure?
I'm sure.
He gestured for the bill and we paid and left quickly. He hailed a cab easily and we bundled into the back and gave our address. The ride home was quiet and close, the smell of wet pavement and dried leaves all around us coupled with the aura of smoky air and fresh rain. His arm around me, keeping me warm, keeping me close.
By the time we pulled up to the house, the rain had stopped. The lights were burning in the front windows and we hurried inside, anxious to get out of our wet clothes and into each other's skin. We tore our coats off and and met in a blur of warm lips and frantic hands.
He smiled and blocked me into the corner. I returned his smile and put my arms around his neck. His hands traveled from my waist up to my shoulders and then to my ears, holding my face as he kissed me gently, breathing lightly, hesitantly, as if he was waiting for my response.
I tightened my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, forcing his head back, making him laugh. He wasn't going to let me control the events, and so he kissed back and I was pinned against the wall, in his arms, in his heart. His hands dropped to my hips as he gathered the hem of my dress up in his fists, raising it high, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up and carried me upstairs to our bedroom, where the curtains billowed violently, the windows open as the remnants of the night's storm slid off the edge of the wind in the early morning sky.
The lights flickered and he smashed his hand on the switch to kill the interruption and the room plunged into blackness punctuated by the lightning strikes. He fell onto the bed with me underneath him, safe from his weight, supported by his muscled arms.
He ripped his shirt off with one hand, his tattoos visible in the electric dimness. He slid his hand up my thigh, raising my dress once more, bending his head to kiss my thigh, trailing his lips up to my hip. I sighed softly, he frowned and flipped me over onto my belly. He slid the dress up and over my head, kissing up my spine and then turned me back around to face him. We made our own stars to match the ones already beginning to show their hiding places in the sky as the clouds cleared away. We made millions of stars, our gifts to each other to remember this moment in time.
We passed the rest of the clear cold night in a warm flush of arms and legs and hair in our eyes and breath caught in our throats, need bringing out a lust that canceled everything else out. The sun rose on our bodies, now spent, exhausted, renewed and refreshed all at once. He smiled sleepily and wrapped his arms around me once more, wanting me to stay in bed longer, willing the night to return for one last round of lovemaking, for one last touch before the distractions of a new day crowded around us.
He said he was beginning to love the rain.
I waited for him under the restaurant canopy, my umbrella dripping water around me in a circle as the rain poured down upon the midnight city lights, leaving them to exude a steam laden with dust and grit from a long hot summer, now turned to icy fall days. My red raincoat was the color of blood in the darkness, the rich hue contrasting with my pale wet skin. My hair was damp, pressed against my head like golden parchment. My shoes were flimsy in this weather, my feet soaked. I heard the distant rumbling beyond the traffic noise, beyond the ebb and flow of the crowds. I checked my watch for the fifteenth time, the hands illuminated in the dim glow of the window. His meeting ran over. He was late.
Just then a yellow taxicab pulled up to the curb and he emerged from the back, unfolding into his recognizable form. His hair was tousled, his face relieved. He called out and quickly crossed the sidewalk to where I stood. He picked me up in his arms, umbrella and all, causing the water to arc out all around us in the air. He kissed me as if we hadn't just parted that morning, his damp beard brushing against my lips.
Did you wait long?
Of course not. You're right on time.
He smiled seductively, honestly.
Are you ready?
Yes, let's go inside.
We retreated in through the wide glass and mahogany doors. He put his hand on the small of my back and we stopped at the lobby to leave our wet things, and then he replaced his hand as we were led to a quiet table in a private corner of the restaurant. He pulled my chair out and waited for me to be seated and then he took a chair across from me and ordered a bottle of Masi soave, a favorite, to be brought while we perused the menu. And bread, he always likes bread with wine.
The wine was delivered, tasted and approved of, and then he took over pouring duties and smiled as I covered my glass with my hand. He chuckled and asked for water to be brought as well.
As we talked and enjoyed our dinner the rain traveled in sheets down the glass, the navy blue sky divided every now and then by a fork of white lightning. The rain made caustics dance on my skin and his too, shadows of nature at play. He reached for me once our dishes had been discreetly removed. He turned my hand over in his larger one, running the tips of his fingers around my wedding band and over the face of my watch, as if he could sense time and intent.
His eyes met mine across the table.
Hey, beautiful.
Hi, handsome.
Would you like cake tonight?
No, I think I can do without.
What next? Jazz club? Dancing? Brandy in a smoky bar?
Home.
He smiled. You sure?
I'm sure.
He gestured for the bill and we paid and left quickly. He hailed a cab easily and we bundled into the back and gave our address. The ride home was quiet and close, the smell of wet pavement and dried leaves all around us coupled with the aura of smoky air and fresh rain. His arm around me, keeping me warm, keeping me close.
By the time we pulled up to the house, the rain had stopped. The lights were burning in the front windows and we hurried inside, anxious to get out of our wet clothes and into each other's skin. We tore our coats off and and met in a blur of warm lips and frantic hands.
He smiled and blocked me into the corner. I returned his smile and put my arms around his neck. His hands traveled from my waist up to my shoulders and then to my ears, holding my face as he kissed me gently, breathing lightly, hesitantly, as if he was waiting for my response.
I tightened my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, forcing his head back, making him laugh. He wasn't going to let me control the events, and so he kissed back and I was pinned against the wall, in his arms, in his heart. His hands dropped to my hips as he gathered the hem of my dress up in his fists, raising it high, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up and carried me upstairs to our bedroom, where the curtains billowed violently, the windows open as the remnants of the night's storm slid off the edge of the wind in the early morning sky.
The lights flickered and he smashed his hand on the switch to kill the interruption and the room plunged into blackness punctuated by the lightning strikes. He fell onto the bed with me underneath him, safe from his weight, supported by his muscled arms.
He ripped his shirt off with one hand, his tattoos visible in the electric dimness. He slid his hand up my thigh, raising my dress once more, bending his head to kiss my thigh, trailing his lips up to my hip. I sighed softly, he frowned and flipped me over onto my belly. He slid the dress up and over my head, kissing up my spine and then turned me back around to face him. We made our own stars to match the ones already beginning to show their hiding places in the sky as the clouds cleared away. We made millions of stars, our gifts to each other to remember this moment in time.
We passed the rest of the clear cold night in a warm flush of arms and legs and hair in our eyes and breath caught in our throats, need bringing out a lust that canceled everything else out. The sun rose on our bodies, now spent, exhausted, renewed and refreshed all at once. He smiled sleepily and wrapped his arms around me once more, wanting me to stay in bed longer, willing the night to return for one last round of lovemaking, for one last touch before the distractions of a new day crowded around us.
He said he was beginning to love the rain.
Literal.
Some days being small and quick is a blessing. It means I can put on my trainers fast, grab my keys and my zen and hit the ground running, soaring across the pavement and down the sidewalk so that I can't hear him calling after me. Sometimes the best place to be is six kilometers away from everything that reminds me of who I'm supposed to be.
And then, as always, I am required to turn and come back.
Some days that part is so very very hard.
And then, as always, I am required to turn and come back.
Some days that part is so very very hard.
Monday, 10 September 2007
Free radical.
Don't act like an angel
You're falling again
You're no superhero
I found in the end
So lie to me once again
and tell me everything will be alright
lie to me once again
and ask yourself before we say goodbye
Well goodbye
Was it worth it in the end?
Cold mornings bring steaming cups of coffee and warm Lopi sweaters to my world as we greet this new day with vigor and promise. Jacob has pulled out his newsboy cap, his ears are cold. I sat outside this morning and kept him company as he split wood and stacked it beside the garage for winter. It's almost impossible to believe we're heading for another long cold prairie winter, another five month stretch of endless nights, relentless cold and neverending white snow. It's a backhanded gift as well, a full season ahead of me spending cozy nights by the fire, and passing the darkest hours snuggled deep into Jacob's strong arms for warmth. For security on so many levels. We exist in a perpetual winter, perpetual darkness from which I must defend my thoughts.
This morning as Jacob swung the ax he spoke of his plans for work and home. Sam made him an eleventh-hour offer, a generous shifting of roles and a lessening of obligations that makes for a fine balance between the politics of the church and Jacob's long love of preaching. This would fulfill everything he wants, keep him busy when he needs to be busy and free him up when he needs or wants to be free to support me, or simply spend his days with his arms around me.
Sam somehow convinced the board that a second, part-time minister is required and Jacob would be perfect to fulfill a role that he fought to have added for years already. It's ironic that they approve it now, but he had a long history of butting heads with his committees, who could never see far enough past Jacob's radical tendencies, even by Unitarian standards, to give him free reign. Sam is quiet and conservative, and it took him echoing Jacob's reasonings for them to finally cave.
And Jacob is thrilled by it.
This lets him preach a once or twice a month, it gives him a little bit of everything, but namely it gives him the perfect balance of time at home and yet he won't go insane being home twenty-four hours a day.
He jumped at the chance to go back to what he loves most without the politics (Sam gets the politics, let's see how long that lasts before Jake wades right back in) and without the time commitment. He got the call, confirmed the details and then struck a match and burned his very first bridge down and doesn't regret it for a moment.
Oddly enough, the university calmly put out the fire and wished him luck, telling him they'd love to have him contribute in a guest capacity, writing and perhaps a lecture or two if time permits in the future. A very generous reaction under the circumstances.
This means I still get to be the minister's wife. He did ask if he could keep his Viking nickname, however. I said I'd let him know.
It also means he's going to be home to run with me, which we're going to begin again every morning after we take the kids to school.
You're falling again
You're no superhero
I found in the end
So lie to me once again
and tell me everything will be alright
lie to me once again
and ask yourself before we say goodbye
Well goodbye
Was it worth it in the end?
Cold mornings bring steaming cups of coffee and warm Lopi sweaters to my world as we greet this new day with vigor and promise. Jacob has pulled out his newsboy cap, his ears are cold. I sat outside this morning and kept him company as he split wood and stacked it beside the garage for winter. It's almost impossible to believe we're heading for another long cold prairie winter, another five month stretch of endless nights, relentless cold and neverending white snow. It's a backhanded gift as well, a full season ahead of me spending cozy nights by the fire, and passing the darkest hours snuggled deep into Jacob's strong arms for warmth. For security on so many levels. We exist in a perpetual winter, perpetual darkness from which I must defend my thoughts.
This morning as Jacob swung the ax he spoke of his plans for work and home. Sam made him an eleventh-hour offer, a generous shifting of roles and a lessening of obligations that makes for a fine balance between the politics of the church and Jacob's long love of preaching. This would fulfill everything he wants, keep him busy when he needs to be busy and free him up when he needs or wants to be free to support me, or simply spend his days with his arms around me.
Sam somehow convinced the board that a second, part-time minister is required and Jacob would be perfect to fulfill a role that he fought to have added for years already. It's ironic that they approve it now, but he had a long history of butting heads with his committees, who could never see far enough past Jacob's radical tendencies, even by Unitarian standards, to give him free reign. Sam is quiet and conservative, and it took him echoing Jacob's reasonings for them to finally cave.
And Jacob is thrilled by it.
This lets him preach a once or twice a month, it gives him a little bit of everything, but namely it gives him the perfect balance of time at home and yet he won't go insane being home twenty-four hours a day.
He jumped at the chance to go back to what he loves most without the politics (Sam gets the politics, let's see how long that lasts before Jake wades right back in) and without the time commitment. He got the call, confirmed the details and then struck a match and burned his very first bridge down and doesn't regret it for a moment.
Oddly enough, the university calmly put out the fire and wished him luck, telling him they'd love to have him contribute in a guest capacity, writing and perhaps a lecture or two if time permits in the future. A very generous reaction under the circumstances.
This means I still get to be the minister's wife. He did ask if he could keep his Viking nickname, however. I said I'd let him know.
It also means he's going to be home to run with me, which we're going to begin again every morning after we take the kids to school.
Human Jukebox.
What a cheeseball. He came home from our run with his endorphins on fire and he's singing Back for Good to me. So loudly and with feeling. Leave it to Jacob to remember the cheesiest songs I've ever loved and keep them for moments like this. You can listen to it too, but who can forget Take That? Man, they were hot.
I can admit that. Few will, you know.
I can admit that. Few will, you know.
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Sunday breakfast, standing up.
The good news is that Ben didn't come after all. He told PJ he was coming, he asked Christian for a crashing space, he got all fired up and then PJ talked him into not doing anything stupid, reminding him that the last thing I need is him coming home. Possibly threats were involved. For some reason he got that message when he doesn't seem to get the others. Weird. I know I can't worry about him but I do. He's drinking heavily, he's not doing much better than I am. I'm a hypocrite. I love him to death and yet I'm supposed to turn my back on him? Where would I be if everyone had turned their backs on me? He needs as much support as I do.
The rest of my updates and and oh, boy, stories from the past week will have to wait a day or so, today we've got a family day planned here and we're about to be appallingly late for church.
The rest of my updates and and oh, boy, stories from the past week will have to wait a day or so, today we've got a family day planned here and we're about to be appallingly late for church.
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