Big plans, cheap planners

It's already a good day. I had a surprise tattoo offer from an artist I like that has an opening this afternoon. We have Chinese food takeout planned for dinner and then we're starting Bly Manor on Netflix. We finished The Haunting of Hill House and it was SO GOOD and now I'm anxious to keep it going. 

Caleb didn't try to keep me when I went to spoon in with him early this morning after a nightmare, handed off door to door to make sure I didn't go anywhere else so everyone's tired now and I wasn't cold in the shower which is nice, because usually I am. I have a new peony 3 in 1 bottle in the shower which is nice as usually I get stuck I'm hot or cold, no in-between lately and I spend more time putting on a sweater or taking it off than doing anything else. 

 Decorations are going up around the houses. Advent begins tomorrow. The presents have been sent out that leave the point and we even managed to snag a few black friday deals, or I did as I contemplated buying a Hobonichi planner with a Midori page a day book for my incoming leather planner combo but in the end I chickened out and bought a Leuchtterm daily planner and matching bullet journal which ended up being free (thanks Indigo!) and I'm satisfied with my choice. If I love it and last the whole year then for 2022 I will spring for the Hobonichi + Midori.

That's the plan, anyway. 

Really excited for my deep fried wontons tonight though. That will get me through the pain of this tattoo, anyway.

They hate it when I watch it. I watch it all the fucking time now. I can recite it word for word, songs too at this point. Someone please take it off Netflix already.

He's got the (whole world in his hands, sing it with me) fire roaring in the fireplace, window open, firescreen in place and a fully charged ipad on the tray across the bed. There's a very large glass of red wine beside it. A hazard, if you ask me. A necessity, if you ask Lochlan. 

I'm going to go get us a plate. You must be starving. 

I didn't eat dinner. I sat at the table though, taking up space. Staring at Ben who still hasn't noticed that I noticed that he's struggling.

K. I am noncommittal. Ben has been taken over by Schuyler and Daniel for the evening. I think (I hope, anyway) that he is just tired. Just heavy with the weight of the steps he must take, over and over again. Heavy with his pockets full of coins that all say different, encouraging things and feeling as if he is back at square one again and he worries we will be disappointed in him. At least that's what he told me the last time, jumping off the wagon, back for good. Wrecked in the head, destroyed liver and all. 

I'll take it. I like the broken ones best. Ben and I have a good long history now of being completely exasperated with each other and yet I love him with an intensity that sometimes he wonders (don't they all) if he even deserves. And even when he has given up on himself I don't give up on him and I won't. 

But I won't be satisfied with silence, either. 

When Lochlan's back I am knee-deep in A Star Is Born. I love-hate this movie. Everyone else just hates this movie. If only because the subject matter hits so close it bites at the skin on the backs of our necks and hurts with every single frame because legacy, in that movie, is bigger than fame, bigger than ego and sadly, bigger than love. Loneliness is a curse and a death sentence and Jesus, that poor dog. But I also sing along with the songs, which are incredible and the chemistry in that movie continues to blow my mind. 

And? Let's be honest, as I never am, here. It feels reallllllly fucking good to hurt for someone else for a change. 

Shut that off. Lochlan has that beautiful, angry clip in his voice as he returns with a plate of olives, peppers, tangerine slices and cheese. The minute I leave. Jesus, Bridge. 

But I'm off the deep end-

SHUT IT OFF, he bellows over my attempts to reach the notes. He wins. I switch back to the dashboard, where I am confronted with a plethora of cheesy Christmas movies and....Michael Meyers. 

Hey! Halloween's out! Can we watch it? 

I knew you would want to.

Awesome! 

Anything but a Star is Born. 

We should find the original. Kris Kristofferson drives his car off a cliff. 

Sounds uplifting. 

Pretty sure it's worse than this one.

Somehow I doubt it. 

Lochlan continues to glare at me and the screen interchangeably for the next several hours, not even getting jump-scared, he is so annoyed and he doesn't relax until about eleven, when Ben!! shows up for bed. Ben is full of affection and apologies, but I know it's temporary. Kind of like drugs. You get a few hours of feeling great and then you go back in your hole. It fucking sucks.

Its voice has given way to mine.

For every dream that is left behind me
I take a bow
With every war that will rage inside me
I hear the sound
Of another day in this vanishing life
Returned to dust
And every chance I've pushed away
Into the night

Time won't let go
It's got you in debt now
And it's got me crawling all the way back to the start
I swear that I saw you there
Your hands were reaching out for mine

Milestones this morning as Ben easily navigates the steps to the beach. In the dark, in the rain. Doesn't hesitate for a second, though I was on the outside clutching the rail along with his hand and John was directly in front of us, braced on both rails with both hands because he can reach. My job was to warn him in case Ben tipped forward, so he would have the seconds needed to plant his legs and take Ben's weight, keeping him from breaking his neck falling down the steps. We've put in stop gates on every landing. They are still way too far apart for my comfort.

He was fine. He would have been fine, and so John headed back up once we were at the bottom, giving us a little privacy for our sunrise walk, which consists of me obsessively checking the tide lines for glass and Ben zoning out completely in silence. He's already been to a meeting. I guess he's all talked out.

It's as if he isn't even there and I am alone and for his presence marking a necessary moment in my life he is as much of a ghost as anyone. I give up and put my headphones in. He won't talk, he's fallen back into his previous ways though I had really hoped that the hard knock that grew his brain just enough to snap him out of those ways would be a permanent difference, keeping him close, keeping him here with me, instead of always on a completely different wavelength. And for a while I got my wish, as is the way it always goes. Just enough contentment and blissful euphoria to make me let my guard down before everything goes wrong. That's how it works. That's fate or karma or bad luck or just me. I don't know. 

I turn suddenly, take out the headphones, the soaring chorus of the song still ringing through my skull and I find Ben, kicking driftwood into a pile, deep in thought.

Hey.

His eyebrows go up but he doesn't stop or look at me.

HEY FUCKER.

Now he stops. God, we have a strange relationship.

Can we do something?

Anything you want. Of course. Give her the fucking moon. Never consider it might not be yours to give. Or that it might not be enough. She'd rather have your soul, kept in a tiny box in her hands just for her and she'll never let it go because she's afraid to be without you.

Can we..go back to bed? Sleep for a couple more hours?

Sure, but you don't sleep in daylight.

I could try.

He stares at me curiously. I'm being a ghost again.

Yeah. 

I'm sorry, Bridge. I'm working hard at just being normal here.

I know what he means and it isn't what I would mean. 

Can I help?

You do, you just don't seem to realize how much. 

It's not often he admits anything like this and I'm in tears.

Ah Jesus, don't cry. 

This is rough. 

Yeah. But we'll be okay. He hands me his chip and we head for the steps. 1 month recovery, it says. To thine own self be true.

Last resort.

What did he put in your account?

Caleb is fighting his expression in the firelight. Struggling for chaotic neutral, as it were. His eyes glitter with glee and bitterness and possibly a smattering of victory and I want to walk out the door but instead I tell him, as instructed, exactly how much money Batman put in my account. This isn't a big secret. Batman is the original John Gage, offering Cole whatever he wanted in exchange for me and Cole didn't give a shit. Take her if you want her, I'm busy. So Batman paid Cole for the paintings he wanted and then gave me the money he thought was reasonable for me. 

But I was never his. 

And we've run through a few decades now living life and he never fails, a few times a year, to put a deposit in my account that makes my eyes water, whether I let him touch me or not. He was always the invisible saviour, my way out if things with Cole (or with Cole and Caleb) got to be too much and I had to run. When the kids came along the deposits grew. Now the kids are grown and the deposits haven't changed and I've still never spent a dime. I like knowing it's there. I plan to give it all back. There is no way to repay this man for the peace of mind he generously extended to me but I can try. I just couldn't give him what he wanted in life and dammit if he didn't even miss a step over it. 

At least outwardly.

If only any single other man on the point had that sort of strength of character we wouldn't be like this now. 

Is that fair? I don't know. Does it even matter? They all have their strengths. And their weaknesses. I am the only weakness Batman has. At least that I know of. He's still a stranger after all this time.

He's trying to buy back your affections. 

He's just assuring me the only way he can that in spite of my decisions he is still here for me if I need him.

You won't need hi-

Diabhal, stop. This isn't up for debate. Batman doesn't get to be judged by Caleb. Batman is the only true adversary Caleb's ever had. Lochlan is a lover, not a fighter.

(Besides Jake but Jake isn't here anymore. A sharp sudden pain rips through my chest and is gone as soon as I feel it.)

Fine. What would you like for Christmas? Because if you don't give me a list I'm just going to drop into Tiffany and-

A hot chocolate and movie night. Ending with a walk on the beach in the snow and a brandy.

We can do that every damn night all winter if you want. 

There's no snow. 

I'll get you snow.

The scars don't write a song for me at all.

 This is beautiful.

Demon Hunter, in suits, no less, doing a reimagined I am a Stone.

Adagio, on the run.

These fragile bodies of touch and taste
This vibrant skin, this hair like lace
Spirits open to the thrust of grace
Never a breath you can afford to waste

 

My heart beats so fast, skipping, stumbling, running so far ahead my breath is harsh, panting to catch up. My eyes are wide, frozen in the bright lights from below. I'm blind. It's a white floor. 

Don't look down. 

I didn't, I just know it's there. 

It's the sky and you're a bird, he thinks, and I hear him plain as day over the roar of the crowd.

I'm a chicken. So you're right, I think and he laughs inside his head. 

When I hear the drumbeat I count them, one two three and you would have thought I would have left the platform but we are performers and suspense is part of the game. Four five SIX and I'm away, soaring through the darkness toward Lochlan on the opposite quarterpole. The chaulk grinds into my palms, the trapeze is cool and familiar. The moment I am airborne I leave the fear back on the platform. The roar surges like a wave, crashing over my head, forcing my ears into a brown-noise silence as I focus in on Lochlan. Back away from him now I swing my whole body up so my knees loop up around the bar. I let go and the noise grows more intense, like a sudden forest springing up around me and I am cutting through the notes of its leaves in the sky. Away again and then he is off. I watch him, head up, torso curled in a J, waiting for the perfect sync. On the third meet up he smiles and holds his hands out from halfway and I grab them and let go of the trapeze, letting my body swing free. The only thing between me and the ground now is the bubble of adrenaline and his hands, now in a powdery death grip. 

He asks if I am okay to go and we launch into our dramatic rendition of two aerialists when everything has gone wrong. It was called Lovers in a Dangerous Time*, like the song (I didn't like that song, if you're wondering. I have now heard it at least four hundred thousand times.) and the entire act was disguised as a regular acrobatic routine right up until it isn't, and there is a fun moment when he lets go of my right hand and I begin to flail. The crowd noise is unbelievable now, holding me up, threatening to burst the seams of the big top and he fights for me. He reaches down and pulls me in with his elbows, putting his free hand on my face. A kiss and the subsequent deafening roar makes us laugh. 

I love you, he says but I can't hear him before I drop back precariously. Then he fights again and I take his lead and crawl right up his body, over his back and sit on the swing. The crowd cheers and I drop back again to the screams below. This time I drop upside down, however, and he pulls me back up until we are both on the trapeze again, knees firmly hooked, but facing each other, locked in a long embrace. Just as the lights dim we kiss and let go, falling together and I'm one hundred percent sure anyone who ever saw that act was scarred for life. We disentangle and he shoves me away in the final fifteen feet and we land in the net (you can't land together, you might get hurt) and he bounces out easily before I crawl off the net into his arms at the edge. 

It was fun. It was beautiful. We played it to a packed house every night once a night five days a week only because it is tiring and then we bailed the minute more money came along, an offer from a competing show. A global one, and one with so much liability insurance they wouldn't allow for creative control on the part of the artist and falling deliberately into the net was grounds for dismissal so we were forced to come up with something new. We did, lasting less than three weeks performing, doing a midnight run with our withheld money and as much of their gear as we could carry, and Lochlan's newest plan was that we would mount our own show. Maybe our own tour. 

Just as soon as we could find a tent to borrow, rent. Or steal.

It didn't happen. We went on the sideshow instead. I wasn't sorry. The whole thing took place on a stage. Relief was soon replaced by a dread of a different kind but I was just so happy to be in such a weird place in a weird (and dangerous) time that I hardly took a moment to acknowledge it then the way I do now. The strength we built up over that summer to do that routine was more than physical and apparently it was time-limited.

Bawk bawk, Lochlan whispers in his sleep and I burst into giggles involuntarily. 

*(Someone ALREADY emailed to tell me that song came out in 2001 so what's up, as I already had two children by then and clearly wasn't in the circus anymore. That's a cover by Barenaked Ladies. The original, the gloriously haunting OG version by Bruce Cockburn came out when I was thirteen years old. Listen to that one at least, if you want to hear the song. And if you want to hear a song that's less serious by him, listen to Wondering Where The Lions Are, which Lochlan sings with a hilarious exaggerated enthusiasm that has never failed to cheer me up. We never did find out where the lions were, and it's been...ahem...forty years.)

Tricknology (actually these are reallllly awesome. Go get some.)

 I ask Lochlan to pass me one of the light bulbs. He hands me one and I ask him if he thinks I'm bright. 

Yeah, sure. Of course, he says, looking at me curiously.

What if I was brighter? I ask him and wrap my hand around the base of the bulb. The bulb lights up, along with his whole face. 

The fuck, Peanut! How!

Magic! I tell him.

I told you we got battery back-up lightbulbs at the hardware store but you weren't paying attention, Doofus. PJ claps the back of Lochlan's head as he walks past, ruining my act completely.

Mot-valise (hurry).

 Sam invited us to a private sunrise service this morning, here on the point, a call to all: bring your breakfast out to the gazebo and I'll blow your little ignorant minds and that he did, but not with his words, which quickly fell away in favor of silent awe at the beautiful yellow and pink sky that burned across the horizon and brought Jesus to our souls in case we forgot the way. 

I sat on one of the big floor cushions holding my hot cup of coffee, other hand balancing the plate on my lap. English muffin with raspberry jam and a few chunks of pineapple on the side. Nothing makes food taste better than watching the sun rise while eating it. Not even a sunset (somewhat sad and not hopeful, more like time's up) holds a candle to this. 

I tried to christen the space the Jesubo but they wouldn't let me. 

That's...not a portmanteau.

Laaaaaame, Bridge.

Yeah, just no. 

You didn't just-

Pfft. I go back to sipping the remainder of my coffee. Lochlan pushes against my leg with his knee and laughs easily. I wink at him and smile back and Sam wraps up his mini-service for the heathens without a single bear pun or joke or serious offside meeting about how we can actually keep the bears out (DUH just don't let me forget to bring the feeders in. The magpies were screaming. I had to feed them.)

Amen, we all repeat and begin to gather our dishes, standing up. The rain has turned from spitting to a deluge of icy needles and we run up the path and up the steps, into the house and funnel into the kitchen to clean up our dishes. PJ takes mine and winks. It's his day for kitchen duty and so I escape out the other end of the space and head back outside to watch the rain. I am lifted off my feet and turned around before I make it out the door, however and am planted back in the great room. 

Help me make a fire? 

I stare at Lochlan. One cup of coffee doesn't wrinkle my brain all that much, unfortunately. Is that a euphemism?

Lochlan bursts out laughing. I mean, it can be? But I still have to get a fire going. It's hovering around freezing. 

Oh, okay, sure.

Then we can...you know, make a fire..if you want. He stares at me. Damn. I burst into flames and suddenly it's too hot to think about. 

Jesus wouldn't approve. 

Sure he would.

Not the way we do things, Locket.

Then we should have a righteous fuck instead. 

Shhhhhh. We look around, laughing. Wait. I'm totally game. 

Then get the kindling so we can get this show on the road. We pause, staring at each other. There's an old well-used phrase. I jump up. 

On it. 

He's following me up the stairs not even a minute later. 

Pretty sure I just vaporized my skin trying to light that fire so fast. 

You'll heal in no time.

You're right.

I don't have a Tom Gordon to love. I just have everyone else.

The bear left a wide four-claw slash across the cedar fence behind the stables. Practically the only place on the point that isn't covered by the pervasive electric fence. And another slash on the inside too. He jumped on the garbage can he knocked over, splitting it wide open in his rush to get to the bird feeder filled with seed and suet that I forgot to bring in when it got dark last night.

He growls at me and I talk back. Oh, stop it. 

Another growl and then he snuffles. He's not sure whether or not he should continue to poke around or disappear back into the darkness of the woods. I walk up the driveway after it. I know where he came over.

Get along. Go on. You got what you wanted. I clap my hands and he stands on the overturned, ruined garbage can, reaching up to the top rail of the fence and climbs over. He is gone. All that remains is silence, darkness and the smell of wet fur. 

Bridget. Are there any more? Lochlan stands two feet behind me, under the glow of the side door lantern. He's holding the big tire iron and he's ready for a fight. His voice is fucking tight. He's so angry.

No. Just the one. He knew the snack was there so he came and got it. 

You don't get to do the recycling anymore. I thought the bears were finished for the year.

I left one of the bird feeders by mistake. 

I let you come out, by mistake. 

And yet you're out here too. 

You didn't come back. 

It's a timed activity? 

Only if too much time passes after you leave my sight.

So nothing has changed since I was eight? 

No. He laughs. Not really. But there are bears so it's relevant to not be outside alone after dark. 

I figured you had followed me to continue yesterday's fight.

No, just to watch for bears. As I said. It's dark.

I held my own with the bear. 

No, he saw me with the tire iron and made the smart choice. You're busy playing Stephen King novel with it. 

Maybe. 

Can't do that in real life. 

Well then thank God you saved me from my make-believe. 

That bear was real, Bridge. 

I don't think I am, anymore. 

You feel real to me. Let's go in. The whole yard smells like apex predator. 

That's my new deodorant. It's for men. 

Stopped using the Bear Fight one? 

It's just been rebranded. Same scent!  

Ah! I'll have to try it. 

Sure. I'll share.

What would you have done if that bear had charged you?

Made history, I guess. 

First woman in West Van to get eaten by a bear in her own driveway?

No, first woman to make a bear cry in her own driveway and wander off to ponder his very existence in relation to being the main character of a Stephen King novel. 

I thought the main character was the girl, Trisha. 

That's where everyone is wrong. It's the bear. 

Don't know where we're going but you're coming with me.

I don't require any grand gestures. I can hold my own with Batman. 

Lochlan sips his wine beside me as we stare into the bonfire. It's freezing and raining but we're sitting in the half-moon shelter made from driftwood and the fire is spitting, sizzling and cracking while we bicker, using up all the oxygen on the beach, threatening to send it dark. 

You don't have to prove anything to me.

It wasn't for you, as I said.

You shouldn't make these huge moves, Bridge. You need to protect yourself. 

First time I've seen you advocate for keeping him.

I want you to have a happy Christmas this year. 

I have one every year-

No you don't. You put on a face. It's a show. It's exhausting for you and it's exhausting to watch. 

I stand up and the blanket falls from around our shoulders. Great. Thank you for such a romantic dinner. 

We're not finished. 

Yeah, we are. 

Where are you going? 

To bed. I need sleep. Then you won't be so hard to talk to, I think. 

Peanut, wait! Suddenly we're teenagers again and it's dark and I'm afraid of walking home alone but I refuse to give in. He is sorry he hurt my feelings and so anxious to fix it all but still wanting to be right. We choreographed a life together. He throws his hands up and walks the wrong way down the beach and I just want to go up now.

Fuck my life. I laugh suddenly. None of this was in the rehearsal.

Lochlan turns around. That's the point! It doesn't matter. None of that matters. The show goes on, no matter what. You know this. What matters is that you and I are here together, just like we dreamed. Do you remember? 

Of course I remember. Who's going to forget a hot summer night watching fireflies and fireworks from a makeshift bed of camping blankets in the bed of Lochlan's pickup truck at the end of fair season. He told me when I was finished counting the stars we'd be home for good.

You got them all? He smiles at me. Slowly. Makes me crazy. 

I think so.