Restorative.

The backyard is still covered with glitter (which. is. glorious), I am still covered with hives (not so glorious, as apparently my skin doesn't like glitter) and therefore we did not go back down to the parade today, instead hitting up the art store for new supplies and the Gap for my annual prize catch of a chambray one-piece wrap dress. I find one every single year in the clearance section just as fall collections are being trotted out and it always makes me very happy because it's the absolute antithesis of my black/ruffled/embroidered/layered/heavy/ridiculous warning-clothing.

I don't care if the Gap sees my hives. They don't know who I am.

We came home and are now snuggled into the cool theatre to watch Netflix stand-up comedy specials and drink wine. When Sam and company come home we'll go upstairs and hear all about it. Everyone went except for Loch, Ben and I. I didn't mind staying home. I like it when the point is quiet for a day. 

Good people and their bad music.

(Maybe it's a good thing I'm not going to Burning Man.)

As we walked toward the crowds my scowl spread across my face and I couldn't help it.

Lochlan pumped my hand in warning. Stop it, Bridge. Smile. 

I hear generic techno, I reasoned. Who smiles for that?

All of these people. 

I look around. He's right. Everyone is smiling. You can't tell me all of these people like this kind of music. I'm judging. I'm generalizing. That's the very worst thing I can do here. That's the very worst kind of person I can be here.

Just think, Peanut. I'm sure some cheesy eighties stuff will find it's way to your ears soon enough. 

Okay. 

Okay? 

Okay! I smile. I just hate techno! 

Me too! A man with a rainbow mustache and suspenders with no shirt hands us lollipops as he goes by. He laughs and blows kisses as he disappears into the crowd.

I blow a kiss and laugh and then hold it up. Okay! Candy! I feel better! 

Give it away, Bridge.

That sounds like a Chili Peppers song-

It's an edible-

Right, it's-

It's weed, Bridge. 

I look at it. Oh. I smile really wide and hand it to a really pretty boy passing me. He has even more glitter on than I do. Happy Pride! I tell him. He grins and tips an imaginary hat.

We wandered up and down for a couple of hours. People-watching was great. The costumes were fantastic but there seemed to be more people without costumes there to stare. Dancing was fun once the music switched over to more disco-y, groovy stuff. Blondie. There wasn't enough of it but it seemed to be the perfect soundtrack and Lochlan was right. We wore ourselves out. We had some pizza and water and piled back into the truck to come home around midnight. Lest we turn into rainbow pumpkins. I could do that every night if it wasn't so hot and smoky. What fun. What glorious fun. So much love. So many hugs. After the first three dozen the boys stopped being so overprotective and started being more open-minded too. We learned from each other I guess. By the end of it I was the techno-queen. Just don't tell anyone, because I don't like techno.

But that wasn't the fun part of the night-

And this isn't what you're thinking-

According to Daniel and Schuyler (who do this way more than I do and I'm suddenly far more jealous than I should be) the best way to remove glitter is to use baby oil.

So we had bottles of baby oil spray at the ready at home. Out at the end of the lawn as far as the hose could reach.  And we took turns spraying each other all over with baby oil and then turning the hose on each other until we all looked like vaguely greasy, glittery, somewhat worn-out rainbow warriors up past our bedtimes. Daniel and Schuyler gave us inappropriate tongue kisses and went up to the house. Matt and Sam said they were headed inside to talk (CROSS YOUR FINGERS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE), and Ben and Lochlan and I continued to fight with the oil, glitter, water and body wash until we couldn't get any cleaner even though we didn't feel very clean at all still, tossing around further ideas like paint thinner, acetone or an autoclave.

Lochlan said he told me so.

About what? The glitter? I'd do it again. 

Yeah, so would I. 

So what did you tell me so?

That you looked amazing. 

Topless people generally do. 

It was the smile. 

I've been told my fake I-love-techno smile is the best. 

They're right. It is.

Proud.

We're heading downtown for Pride Weekend/Anniversary festivities. It's very warm and smoky and yet I have heart-shaped pasties of pale pink shiny sticker-tape, boys-size tighty-whities tie-dyed in pastel rainbow bursts, knee-high pink socks with bunny heads covering each knee, Ruth's Heelys, my own pink velvet backpack and enough glitter painted in my hair/on my skin to be seen from space. Daniel says I'm his masterpiece, as I finally relented to let him decorate me for this annual Vancouver holiday. Usually I go and watch. This year I'm going to dance. 

No pictures. I have teenagers I'm not about to embarrass, but also friends I'm not about to let down.

This outfit is surprisingly comfortable.

(Lochlan packed my green docs in case the Heelys get the best of me. They will, probably before I make it to the truck.)

(You wouldn't BELIEVE the shit I'm getting away with now that Burning Man is off the table.)

(I don't actually mind nudity though I've never done it for free before. Lochlan says everyone will be brasher so...uh...okay. You should see him. I won't even describe him. You won't miss him if you're on Davie tonight though. Holy Christ. We all look weird and downright magnificent. Love is loud leaving this house tonight. Love is loud.)

It's too hot to be serious so let's be something else.

I can't get writing jobs to save my soul because the Internet wants to read the following kinds of riveting things like:

This.

This too.

Your loss.

(It is. I can't imagine being the type of person who actually felt as if I was rebelling by not putting polish on my toes! The freedom! How cheeky! WHAT CAN I DO NEXT TO STICK IT TO THE MAN?!)

(Or the type of person to actually question whether or not my pizza meal might be formal enough to require anything other than my hands to eat it. I live in a commune. It's mostly men. You grab the pizza as fast as you can or you don't get any. In what scenario is pizza fancy enough to require a third party implement to bring it to my face? )

It's just to hot to understand this place today so I'm out. I'll tell you all my stories tomorrow. Tonight I have a date with a window air conditioner. Going to wrap myself around it and hold on for dear life. Maybe tomorrow I'll talk about the rebelliousness of doing it naked! Or maybe WITH A FRIEND!

Lol.

Laga-pool-in (Modern/traditional).

It feels glaringly strange and wonderful to be celebrating a single solitary year of 'official' marriage to someone who's every move I've been shadowing since I was nine. Someone who has picked porcupine quills out of my face (curiosity has sent me to some wonderful and terrible places) and taught me the entire solar system and also how to win all the amusement park games and how to love a man so hard he'll forget how to speak his native language and any others besides.

But here we are. One whole year.

We spent most of the day floating in the pool trying to stay cool. My flashing LED raft exchanged early for a double floaty with a sunshade and a cooler. Lochlan kept it stocked with Lagavulin and ice and we smiled at each other and periodically would push each other off or offer more sunscreen, ice or a fresh argument. We talked about nothing and everything and then we went grocery shopping but it was hot so all we bought was more Lagavulin and some ice cream.

I feel as if I wished for so long not to live in a place where it was minus forty degrees all the time that I'm being punked, because it's suddenly forty degrees all the time and I'd like a happy medium because I can't think anymore. I'm princess-jello. I'm watching the cucumbers in the garden grow and I'm a little scared I'm going to be hot-batching pickles for winter in this heat sooner rather than later and that's not going to be much fun at all! ARGH!

First year traditional gift is pickling spice, right?

Don't worry. We haven't celebrated yet. It's too dang hot. 

Dunkirk.

I love love LOVE Christopher Nolan films. Can't understand a word anyone says, have no idea what's going on, am always profoundly moved nonetheless.

Dunkirk was a beautifully done telling of a true-life event with stellar acting, well-done scenes and just monumental action. The mumbling was rough though,  the bombs, torpedoes and shotgun blasts ridiculously loud in comparison and we also made the terrible mistake of popping in on Tuesday 'cheap' night (I didn't know they still did those), which was a VERY BAD IDEA because the kind of people who talk throughout a movie, kick seats and check their phones repeatedly were all there!

I won't do that again, I'll continue to call ahead and 'borrow' the theatre for a group. There were only five of us so it should have been no big deal. It was a big deal. People have no manners anymore.

A very good movie though. When it comes to Netflix I will definitely watch it again. This time with the subtitles turned on!

Raised on Radio.

Sunday late nights are for listening to Journey and getting the hell out of the way, I guess as the nostalgia monster runs everyone over until we're so flat we're ruined forever and it takes all week long to plump us back up until the next go 'round.

Lochlan's partial to Stone In Love. He loves that song. Sings it loud. Sings it with a passion I don't even understand because I don't understand the phrasing.

Me? I like Faithfully best. It makes sense. It breaks my little heart into pieces. I can't actually get through it, can't sing it, can't hum along, can't write it out. I can listen. I can hear Lochlan's voice mixed in as he sings along, his voice sometimes strong, sometimes cutting out because he can't do it either.  Sometimes I think that song looked for us and when it found us it settled in over us like a musical cloud, alternately a shelter and a storm all in one.

Sometimes I think I'm crazy too but I didn't arrive that way. It's nurture, not nature. It's Lochlan and it's Caleb and it's Cole and it's Joel and it's Jake and sometimes it's even PJ, who swore and rolled his eyes when the music came on and said he was out of here, that he'd be back in the morning to clean up the sap. He laughed and took the good alcohol with him and Duncan stopped him along the way and told him he should really stay and watch, that it's too entertaining to pass up. That's our cue to go inside too, so we can put our memories somewhere safe. 

Once the Frontiers album is finished playing, that is. It's the last album that I really liked. It came out when I was twelve. Does that surprise anyone at all?

Great. How are you?

No, really. If every there was any doubt that a little maniac lives here, it's been erased now.

My gifts for burning man are everywhere. I made hundreds of tiny little (working) rose gold and clear pinwheels with little LED switches you can turn off or on. You could wear them in your hair, clip them on your shirt, wear them like a necklace or string them to your bicycle or whatever. They are strung all over the camper and the hammock. They're hanging on the pergola out by the pool. I have a good hundred thousand little batteries left because I bought too many so I can leave them on and replace them when the lights go out. When the wind blows the blades turn and the light blinks wildly.

I liked them, in any case. The boys thought they were pretty neat. The kids are giving them to their friends by the handfuls.

Oh well. The yard looks rather neat at dusk and that is worth something.

***

I didn't go to church again. Sam dipped his thumb in coffee, crossed my forehead and muttered something that ended in Jesus Christ but I got the feeling it wasn't a blessing. I told him I was packing up my picnic basket and heading down to the beach for the day because I need a beach day with my sketchbook, my headphones and my book. We have packed orange pop, egg salad sandwiches, salt & vinegar chips and chocolate chip cookies. Cheese and crackers, plums and Oh Henry bars.

(Boys will come and go all afternoon, as is routine. Some to talk. Some to nap. Some to have a quick swim. Some just to check in.)

There are three round beach towels for lounging. The big ragged quilt for more lounging. Four towels for drying off and pillows. The sunshade for Bridget. Sunscreen. Two medium-sized freezer bags for the sea glass I find and half a bottle of champagne to drink because I just want it.

Better than church. The beach is better than everything.

Oh my God.

Woke up on my stomach. The sun is pouring in around the edges of the curtains, which lift in the breeze. I can faintly hear the small children at the park (sound carries miles over the water) and music coming from Duncan's patio two floors below. I rise up on my elbows, surveying my tiny bedroom kingdom from underneath my crown of wild blonde waves. Lochlan sleeps in a sea of red curls, a riptide drowning everyone who comes too close. Caleb has Ben's usual place which is most of the right side of the bed if you're in it on your back looking at the ceiling, so the whole left side if you're looking at the bed. He sleeps easily on his back, face unlined, head angled in toward the center. He opens his eyes and I shriek, not expecting it. He laughs.

What time is it?

No idea.We don't keep clocks. If you need an alarm, set one.

I test my limbs. Everything aches. They called my bluff. Lit the tiniest, dimmest lanterns and candles, poured some wine, put on some soft unfamiliar music and layered all of the pillows up around the bed. Caleb offered Burning Man Light. All of the fun and excitement, none of the risk.

Lochlan said he was game for whatever I wanted and as usual I said I wanted everything and the night descended through into an unending darkness in which we checked all of our emotions at the bedroom door save for one and let a silent cadence tick the hours down until daylight. I don't know when we stopped. I just know when we woke up.

We tried things never tried before, we found peace not achieved in decades and we went places we'll never speak of out loud that's for certain but the Devil didn't bite and the Fire Eater didn't burn anything down and we're all here intact to greet the morning and I may need a full-immersion baptism and all of the grace I can carry this morning if I am to show my face downstairs just as my memory is probably as transparent and useful as my poker face. Knowing me, it is.

Lochlan rubs his eyes and rolls away, taking his sea of curls with him. Everyone good? he mumbles.

Yes, we say in unison and giggle softly. He rolls back and opens his eyes with a grin. We don't speak of this. 

It's got to be noon. Going to be kind of obvious. 

I'll go out the front. 

Yeah. 

Maybe Ben came in. 

He didn't. He had already texted me. 

Okay then no worries. 

I hate that phrase. It's as if people go, 'duh...okay! I don't worry about anything now-'

You say that every time, Bridget. 

I know. 

What are you worried about right this minute?

I cover my face.

Tell me. Caleb always pretends Lochlan isn't even there. That can be worry number one today.

I'm good. I just mean in general. I need to get rolling. 

What do we have to do, Peanut? It's Saturday-

I have a whole list-

Kidding. Okay. See you later, Cale. 

Much love, Brother. Neamhchiontach. The pleasure was all, well, wow. You are incredible as ever and I'm humbled and thankful. He plants a soft kiss on my bottom lip, finds his clothes, dresses efficiently and he's gone.

Lochlan makes no move to get up. You really okay? That was some harsh-

I'm absolutely fine. I think it would have been better if he left afterward instead of sleeping over. It would be less weird. 

But you let him stay so he feels less alone. 

I do. 

That's sweet. So we put up with the weird so he can have that comfort. 

Right. 

Then leave it.

You've very patient. 

I think we both would do anything if it meant keeping you from going to that festival. 

I think you both did everything last night for what it's worth. 

You might be right. 

Thank you, Locket.

Told you I would do anything for you. It has nothing to do with him. There are things I'll never forgive him for and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Trying to put those two things together is now something I've become really good at it. 

Juggling.

Yes, juggling, Bridget.

And he laughed from deep within. I will always love that sound best. Though there were some other sounds, some brand new sounds, some that I heard, some that I made have made last night that are in contention now.

Crow-flavoured ice-cream.

No, Bridge.

But within twenty minutes he pulls over, tired of the sound of me sniffling in his ear but also concerned because I haven't stopped crying and if it keeps up I'll start hyperventilating. Eleven-year-olds tend to do that.

You can't eat those!

But I'm huh-huh-hungry. And w-why not? You said they're he- he- he-althy.

Did you see the layer of dust and grease on those bags? They've probably been there since Woodstock. I don't want you to get sick off them but I don't want you crying over gas station sunflower seeds either!

I sniff. I don't know what he wants me to do.

We'll get ice cream sandwiches at the next store, okay?

Promise?

Yes. And maybe some seeds if they look new. If they don't have dust. He leans over with a grimace, wiping his sleeve under my nose. Smile for me. I do as instructed. So pretty when you smile.

What do I look like when I cry?

My broken heart.

That's so romantic!

Not really.

***

Some day you're going to look back on all the terrible things you write about me on the Internet and you're going to regret it. 

I hope so. 

Someone has to be the bad guy, right?

You should let Caleb have that label. 

Trying my best. He grins lopsidedly, lazily and he suddenly looks so sexy I couldn't be mad at him if I tried. Our argument, his action followed by my crushing silence brought the army in as reinforcements, as apparently the plan was for the tickets to be dispensed with this week anyway to friends of Batman, before I got my hopes up to where I...you know, couldn't breathe. Lochlan just chose to do it in a super-punitive fashion because he's an asshole like that.

Heh. 

He didn't buy the tickets anyway, he never wanted us to go, honestly. August, Ben and Schuy pooled for them and talked everyone else into it. I don't think August was game but then he wasn't about to let us go without him. Then they all realized what a bad idea it was and had planned to let me down easy but I made one too many offhand remarks about TJ and Lochlan was ready to teach me a life lesson.

(He is full of those, no?)

Most of the many reasons Burning Man is a bad idea mostly stem from the fact that Bridget is a free spirit and prone to bringing home wayward followers, cult leader that she is. The boys were scared. They were scared I would be the pied piper on exodus day, leading a fresh army of people out of Black Rock City in a line straight up the coast to Vancouver.

Which is only partially true.

I would do that, sure. But I'd roll them all for their valuables and leave 'em all stuck in Portland. I'm not a savage. I don't even know them, and the rule is I must have know you for centuries 'tantric-ly' or whatever. Someone made that comment about New Jake once and it still makes me laugh. I think I knew him in a past life. He's one of precious few I haven't known since childhood.

What are the other reasons, Loch?

Huh? 

You said 'most'. 'Most' of the many reasons it's a bad idea. What are the others?

Bridget, I'm not a young man anymore. I've learned that my bravado and what I'm capable of are two different things and I'm not comfortable keeping you safe far from home surrounded by people who don't give a shit about anyone's safety. I learned that lesson and it changed everything and I'm not willing to put you or everything we have at risk again. Call me soft or scared or write about me all you want but I made that mistake once already and I will not make it again.  

Just admit it. You like the eight-dollar ice-cream sandwiches. 

Okay, I do. I really, really do. 

Yeah me too. Can we have them for breakfast? 

Yes. Because nothing has changed since 1980. 

In a perfect world, no. Nothing has. 

The smile this time came more slowly, more sweetly.