Not so different than the show (Part 1).

The amazing label from last night's wine, in glorious compressed Blogger/panoramic form for your perusement. The wine was good. The label better. I found my own depiction in the middle of the crowd and my soul floating at the bottom on the inside.

The money I gave Caleb was my own from my emergency stash, my attitude I brought myself, hauling it along with me, a monkey on my back. Drunk but disorderly, belligerent and still sweet somehow. Hesitant but smart-assed. I was sent back to get Lochlan in my deplorable state and there was no way on earth he wasn't going to come with me, because I was going back to the boathouse no matter what.

I was making snacks while they talked and then I brought out a tray and had to go back for my wine. Then I lost my nerve and I stood in the hall, one eye visible. The rest of me hiding against the doorframe.

Come here, Bridget. Caleb's voice is soft and kind. I shake my head and stay right where I am. Ben has smoothed everything over. He wants to counter last week with some soothing of frazzled nerves and quieting of all the miscommunications. Things should get back to normal. Lochlan is ours, our business, we cover his expenditures here. He should try to look the other way when the bigger deals go down and I am reduced to sanctioned payment because Ben really likes to see it. Likes to see me crawl away on my hands and knees, likes the tears, likes the harshness and the binding, likes the shadow and the sound. And I'm going to do it anyway, may as well do it for the greater good. Or maybe that's for the lesser evil. 

But Loch refuses to leave me here. If she stays I stay. But if I stay by the door maybe the sun will come up soon and the light will kill off whatever depravity grows in the darkness. The filth of this. The needlessness of it. Ben pushes as hard as the Devil sometimes and I wish they would just fuck each other and leave me out of it. I want to make Ben happy but sometimes I hate how easy it is for him to lead us down this road. A road I was already on before he came along with a map and an ironclad itinerary.

And tonight my luck ran out with the rest of the Freakshow wine. I take one step onto the wire and Loch shakes his head. Doesn't feel right, not a good time to go, he tells me with his eyes but I take another step.

He closes his eyes and he's quiet. I wonder who he prays to, because he doesn't believe in God.

HA.

Took some eight hundred dollars and went down to the boathouse with Ben and I made it rain all over Caleb's lap so it was covered in twenty dollar bills and then Ben looked at me and said Go home, drunk, you're Bridget or something like that. He says he might work on fixing some things. Hopes o.

The velvet underground.

(I swear to God sometimes I get these visions in my head of the movie they'll make of my life. The Sound of Silence will play loudly in the background while Caleb and Lochlan dive to the floor in slow-motion, locked together in a struggle to the death. Dishes will shatter, curtains will be yanked off their rods and the looks of horror will cycle through the expressions on everyone else. I'll close my eyes in a shower of feathers and plaster in the center of it all but otherwise, you'll get no reaction from me.)

Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

Caleb is having a second (and third) set made (or remade, I suppose) for me. The third one will be that beautiful pale mint green. He said he was touched that I loved it so much I wanted to wear it always (which isn't quite right but makes life easier for me if that's what he thinks), but disappointed that Lochlan chose to destroy something that clearly meant so much to me, that if he is frustrated with his financial health, Caleb could help him but Lochlan refuses to help himself and so Caleb's hands are tied and he has no choice but to stand and watch Lochlan destroy himself over a matter of pride and petty jealousy and for such a freewheeling fucking homeless gypsy, his standards seem pretty rigid, don't they, Princess?

Shots fired.

Man down.

We're in this together. I stood ground on our behalf. Me and Loch. My chest hurts so bad when he does this.

Then you can pay your credit card bill for those tires. If he can't even afford to keep you two safe then...his eyes fill up. Incredible. God damn it. I'm going to call this The Week Everyone Cried.

He keeps us safe.

Caleb nods because he's going to drop it in favor of something else. What about the job with Batman? 

I don't know about that yet. 

He'd be a fool not to take it. Which for Loch is par for the course now, isn't it?

Demands a sacrifice

Only then I am human
Only then I am clean
Amen
Amen
Amen

I brought my treasures home and planned to wear all of it, just not with the Devil. And it backfired spectacularly when Lochlan came upstairs, stripped me out of my clothes, took one look at the most beautiful rose velvet and walked away to the stereo, where he turned up the music as loud as he possibly could without disturbing anyone. Our wing isn't near any of the others. It's the other side of the house with its own staircase. So loud and he locks the door and then comes back and puts me up against the wall, asking me where I got the outfit and I tell him like I'm so proud that I can stick it to Caleb and wear it with Loch instead and he turns me around and rips it all off me, stinging my skin, tearing my pride with the sound of buttons popping and stitches exploding in his hands.

Back around and he tells me not to do that, not to play them off each other, not to go there, not to let him touch me, not to take his gifts, not to leave, not to do anything but just be who I was back before I knew I could be someone. In the dark I can see the tears streaming down his face, dripping off his nose, hands clenched, not gentle, just fed up beyond belief. He can't buy the tires, he can't afford to dress me in velvet, he can't change our circumstances any more now than he could back on the road when we wound up in rough towns behind by a payday or three working for people who didn't deserve to see what we showed them and we didn't deserve to show them what they wanted to see. It's a vicious cycle and I'm going to be eaten alive as the music swells so loud it blocks out the light and mercifully I don't have to see what I've done here anymore.

Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

Nerves that feel like velvet when touched.

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down
I'll never wear your broken crown
I took the road and I fucked it all away
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace

There were boxes and boxes of the most beautiful lingerie. Cashmere underpants in gentle hues of warm brown, pale blue and sage green. Periwinkle velvet camisoles and stockings. The absolute cutest selection of forest green ribbed woolen underpants I have ever seen. I've never seen material like that for underwear before. It's a little stretchy on these tiny boyshorts. Very soft, fine fabrics. Silk and woolen stockings in sweet pastels. Some greys, lilacs, pinks, cream, skyblues and ocean teals, along with olive, burnt orange even, but absolutely no black. More velvet. The most delicate covered buttons and boning on a dark rose velvet corset that I've ever seen. With matching pink underwear with ruffles and satin ribbon edging and clips. Heirloom-quality. This is a dream.

My first two initials embroidered delicately on the top edge of everything: BR.

These are bespoke and unreturnable. I had everything made to measure.

Amazing. I push him away so hard. I ignore his requests, threats and even the pleas and I am rewarded. I don't understand him. Most people would get the hint and give up. He goes shopping because surely he can buy whatever it is that I'm made of. Five weeks without touching me and he loses his goddamned mind.

I expected to show up today and be flung off the cliff by my head.

What do you think? His hands slide around my waist. He's right behind me, pulling me back against him until I can press my head against his chest and feel his chin on my head. He sighs.

Why do you do these things, Diabhal?

Because I can, and because you get endless hives from lesser fabrics, and if I recall the last time I watched you dress, the elastic of the pair you had on was ruined and they sagged off your cute little ass. I'd rather you had good pieces to wear.  

Why these colors? 

They look best on you.

To whom do they do that?

Me. 

I thought you liked black and grey. 

My brother's been gone for almost nine years now, Neamhchiontach. I want to see colors again.

Junkyard Bridge.

She's in a long black coat tonight
Waiting for me in the downpour outside
She's singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time

Stress always manifests in me so violently, obviously, wracking my body from head to toe with uncontrollable tears and endless debilitating headaches and stony silence as I fight my way through another day of remembering to breathe and not cry when I catch a melody of a song that I like. Remembering the the little things building up are not the worst and maybe I don't have to fall apart over a flat tire or a broken nail.

But I do and it's like those little things, when you stack enough of them up are just as tall now as the big things and it doesn't seem to matter if the issue at hand is important enough, it's all painted with the same brush. It's all the same catastrophe and I keep trying to arrange things just perfectly in my deranged OCD way. Everything straight in a row, checked seven times because my memory shuts down first and leaves the rest of me to sort it out like throwing someone with no limbs into the sea and yelling at them to swim already.

That's what it's like.

It isn't pretty, it isn't film-worthy or book-worthy or fit for public consumption. It's like being in a coma and feeling everything when they've already decided you feel nothing and to just go ahead with no anesthetic. Rip out her heart. Rip out her mind. Rip out her soul.

The rest?

Keep it for spare parts.

Pseudoscifi.

Joel is aghast that I am turning down free, local, voluntary, familiar help as I forge ahead with his banishment.

Jasper is outraged that I nailed his boss again when that's all he ever wants in life, please and thank you.

Caleb is incensed that I still don't seem to need him.

Ben is busy.

Duncan is white-knuckling life and I want to help him so I stay away.

Lochlan is keeping his cards close and won't tell me what he's thinking about the whole job-offer thing in case someone gets ahold of me and I squawk before he's ready. It's happened. I'm a pushover and I'm gullible. I'm also horribly ticklish. It's a favor, leaving me out in the cold, trust me. I never could keep very many secrets. Once I'm full, I'm full.

PJ is tired, so I'm making dinner by myself though Dalton is about to jump right in here because again, I slipped and admitted I still have a very bad headache. If he can chop up some heads of broccoli we'll be in the clear I think.

Blue Monday? You're freaking right it's Blue Monday.

The good news is it's almost over.

The even better news? New winter tyres on Lochlan's truck because the ones he brought from the prairies were falling apart and unsafe. Not an expense that he needed right now so I put it on the black card. That will buy him some time, at least. He was so mad that I paid for them but also kind of glad for a little more time to cover the cost, I think.

It's like the whole point is half in rich dark shades of black and the other half is always in the red.

Whiskeyjacks. I've never seen one with my own eyes. I like birds, though. We have owls here and they are SO LOUD. It's awesome.

The Swedes have moved on, the house is semi-pulled back together (Ben and PJ are working on it) and I had breakfast with the devil this morning because he was lonely, he was angry and he wanted to negotiate*.

He also pulled rank over Sam, who is starting to get irritated at the lack of attention I pay to church and Sam actually sent Caleb a scathing message that I saw because Caleb's phone was sitting on the counter while he made cheese toast for my breakfast. He even did tea instead of coffee because eighteen days, you know. I'm doing great. I really want a cup now, but my poor fragile kidneys and my anxiety won't allow it.

Sam sent a scathing message to everyone, as I later found out, that they need to show up and make an effort if they want to live the best life possible. We support him fully as heathens, we do. He hates that. Jake did too.

Caleb sent back a scathing message and pulled rank over God too and I stopped wondering about his phone after that.

Lochlan is gearing up to announce that he's going to work for Batman, I think. He hasn't said much. When I ask he tells me he's thinking, and it's no longer as reassuring as it was when I was eleven and didn't know what it meant.

I might be sort of drunk right now too, I'm sorry. Dalton poured me a good one an hour ago and it is lighting up my insides and burning my expressions brightly into my face and making it hard to concentrate but he said I looked like I needed it after a long weekend and they are allowed to medicate me as they see fit. Some of them are until they cross lines, that is. But he cleared it with Lochlan first so I guess it's okay and I won't be up late tonight anyway and Matt is making spaghetti for dinner so I can just sort of slide out of the weekend on a melting ice cube and the memory of the hard hug Caleb gave me when I realized he really didn't want me to leave.

(*He wants Joel to stay. I say Joel goes. It's a Irish standoff and dammit, he's not going to win.)

Totally tea.

The Swedish band rats didn't stay here last night. Our landlord doesn't permit it, or so he pointed out in a text that woke me up because I had one whole beer (well, almost a whole one) and then was so sleepy by eleven I got very snappy and so I sent myself to bed. Ben was still going strong because Ben is weird like that. Sometimes I think he could stay up for weeks without blinking even. He didn't have a beer though. Beer is heavy. He had tea and water all day. The rest (except Sam) drank flats and flats of beer. PJ was fuzzy and slowly joyful. It was adorable. Duncan did well to not drink. I watched him. Probably too closely but I worry about him even though he stuck to tea for the whole evening in spite of being repeatedly offered drinks until Ben said some of the house is teetotal and then the offers stopped short. Done and done.

Today they were back right after breakfast but thankfully they've moved downstairs to pull out a serious jam session with a mind to record.

I didn't join them, I don't want to sing with a cold or have any more beer (ever) and besides, I had a standing date with Caleb and Henry to go shoe-shopping. Henry's now in 11.5s for sneakers and if he keeps growing I worry we might have to put a lift kit on the roof just in case he grows so tall his head pokes through the flashing and the shingles too. Then he'll get rained on and get leaves in his eyes and make a mess besides and kids named Jack will come along and try to follow him into the clouds via a shortcut in a beanstalk that grows nearby.

Can't have that. I'll keep him inside.

But I can't have that either.

So on he grows.

Death n' roll, it's called (love that).

Two or three times a year Ben's friends show up and take over the whole point for a day or a weekend and then they vanish again. This is one of those days. They eat everything. They make me laugh. They tease him incessantly and they bring presents in the form of things like the best, newest stereos with plugs that don't fit North American outlets (I have that covered though), vintage guitars (!!) and entire crates full of merchandise.

Fun fact: Men's medium fits no one. Ever.

Also fun fact: Who the fuck fits a ladies XS junior? Ruth is a 00 size and she can't even squeeze into those shirts. I'm sure she could when she was 2. I'm being punked, right?

Final fun fact: I haven't fallen asleep yet. Score!

They played some music together between conversations on the porch (It's metal! You can't play metal quietly) and our uptight, homophobic neighbors across the cove called the cops within minutes, who came down to check things out but of course they can do nothing because I know the noise bylaw and it doesn't kick in until long after dark but because we're actually nice people (if you try to get to know us) we took it inside.

Because we're not that nice we opened all the windows.

Everyone looked the same as always, just slightly older. They asked me who did this to me, who cut my hair and made me look like a boy? I was quickly defended with a few comments about how I probably did it to look taller. Consensus is it's had the opposite effect and I look smaller. Then a chorus of awwws let me off the hook and they moved on to teasing Lochlan for almost burning himself down from the inside out last fall, something Ben had told them about over Christmas when they spoke of coming for a visit. They brought Lochlan a giant antique copper fire extinguisher. I don't think it works but he loves it anyway.

By eleven this morning it was too loud and too crazy even for me and they switched gears, opting to rendezvous for an early traditional Benjamin-lunch which is when eight of them go and bring back twenty pizzas (sometimes the numbers vary slightly but they must always be even). And then I'll make actual-lunch because the pizza won't be enough. I have a headache from laughing, Caleb is afraid to leave his house and I got to hear Ben mimic a Swedish accent which was so terribly done he should be publicly shamed. We were laughing too hard to film him, however, so my proof has gone to the same place his dignity wound up.

It's just nice to see him so happy.