On getting caught up in a moment that never ends.

Okay so we're home and we're up.

And dressed, coffeed and awake as ever and I think we've cemented the lineup for Burning Man as there is limited space and specific personality conflicts and this is the perfect, serendipitous group to go so...

I should probably pick other people or there will be nothing left of me.

The only thing left anyway is glitter in my bloodstream as my hands are shaking, my knees tremble when I try to walk quickly and I can't seem to pull my head out of the dream clouds. Suggest free love or love is love and suddenly we're all in, all hands on deck, all aboard the love train and it finally came in to the nearest stop and we had to get off or I might have been finished forever.

But in a really really good way.

The parade was long. Saw the Prime Minister (again). Saw a lot of men dressed like women, men who used to be women, women who used to be men and all variations of in-between. Saw a lot of love, is what I saw. All flags flying. All people welcome. All in, indeed.

Got overheated and very very tired. One day post antibiotics and maybe not really ready for a party of that magnitude. Not like last year. This year I stayed dressed and stayed with my group and at some point when I got very weak and very sweaty Lochlan pulled the plug and he and Caleb and Duncan and I came back to the house together. It was already dark so I didn't understand the full magnitude of trying to brush off all the glitter before coming home, or the fact that this morning the trail of glitter led from my bed back through the house, down the front walkway, down the steps to the driveway and ends in a large radius around Lochlan's truck. It's rather funny and I would laugh but I'm too tired as somehow we managed to navigate both freaks, the devil and the poet in one bed for one night and wow.

Just WOW.

Four is too many and somehow wasn't enough until the sun came back up and the glitter sparkled in the dawn and I think I reached my absolute limit and may have crawled down the hall to the bathroom pleading to be left alone while laughing because I couldn't believe it.

Still can't. Let's just say everyone was feeling the love and had the reminders not to be at war constantly and that was the best suggestion ever and I can never speak of this night again.

I'm not even going to describe it but let's just say my absolute favorite moment of the entire night was being lifted back into Lochlan's arms from between Caleb and Duncan. I might not forget that feeling any time soon but feeling safe with Caleb is something I always am jarred by because it's so sudden, so extraordinary. And the relief anyway when being returned to Lochlan was like a warm bath to my soul.

When I came down and everyone was in the kitchen/great room hanging out and PJ asked how our night went and where did we go and then burst out laughing and I shot a look at Duncan who shrugged without looking back I realized it wasn't as transparent as I thought but also not as obvious as it could have been as they both left very early, before the house was awake. Now Duncan is showered and in fresh flannel and cargo shorts and Caleb is outside digging out the leaf blower for the glitter and I need to go stop him. It's fine. Leave it.

I love it.

Best Pride weekend ever.

Going to go die of a slow shame now but it was worth it.

(Snort.)

(P.S. the shame is not for reveling in the pride week culminations but in managing to shoehorn both Duncan and Caleb into the same night. Greed is a sin, right? But love isn't so maybe one can cancel out the other and I'm good. Time will tell.)

Jesus rainbows.

Should I live blog? I should live blog but we're actually late, sitting on the bridge trying to cross to the west end to see the Pride Parade, a caravan of trucks and boys in glitter. We have a place reserved that is a great vantage point to watch and dance and have a blast but it's just a matter of getting there before it begins.

More later. Happy Pride!

The scraps you don't burn/Saturday, August 4, 2018.

All my words sucked straight into the void
Same black hole where my heart was destroyed

The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive
The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

Fresh hillside raspberries in a glass of chilled rosé and five men playing water polo, water pouring off their muscular arms, the droplets glinting in the late afternoon sun as they torment one another with gentle insults meant to distract, not crucify.

I'm in heaven.

Absolutely.

Lochlan sleeps easily beside me on the chaise, its sunshade pulled up against that cruel sun, keeping me cool and protected. My book long forgotten in favour of watching the boys play so nicely. Such a rare sight. Such a rare day overall, in which we woke up early, made love easily, hungrily even and then made breakfast, also hungrily, in order to get our errands run and chores done.

So we could do absolutely nothing.  Like right now.

John comes and sits on the edge of the pool. What's for dinner, Bridge?

What are you making?

Let's make tacos. 

Sounds good. We have tortillas and beef. 

Perfect. I'll go pick some tomatoes. He smiles contently. He looks like I feel.

Cool. I settle back against Lochlan, who throws his arm around my neck, waking up slow. I ask him Is this heaven?

The only thing missing is our Ferris wheel. 

Caleb offered to buy us one once. 

We'd never get a permit to build it. 

I like it to be hard to get to. It keeps the magic that way. 

True. It does. I raised you right. 

I think you did. 

You know what we need?

A wakeup like the one we had this morning?

That was stellar. I was thinking an evening like this morning is in order. Maybe some candles, incense, music. Sam can join us, if you're up for it. 

Ben is going to come up early. 

Better still. 

My relief is tempered by Caleb getting out of the pool. I'd watch him any day. Especially soaked. He towels off his face and hands, checks his phone and then comes around to us. Hope you don't mind, dinner is coming and will be here in fifteen if you want to get everyone organized and dressed. 

What is it?

Mexican. 

That's amazing. We were just discussing making tacos. John's gone to pick tomatoes. 

We can have them sliced, along with the dishes I have coming. He grins. It is a perfect day.

Okay. I return the smile. Jesus. Pinch me. There will never be another day like this. Only one thing would make it even more perfect.

The quicksand tugs at my toes and I yank my foot away at the last second. Hey guys? Time to clean up for dinner. We always dress for dinner. It's just a thing.

A chorus of confirmation rises up and Lochlan pulls the shade all the way down so no one can see us before bending over me for a kiss the likes of which I dream about on a daily basis. Time to go, Mrs. MacIntosh. 

This girl is only gonna break your heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,

No, I wanna fall in love

When pressed to choose, I'll tell you that Keith Wallen's cover is by far the best one. Second runner up would be Lochlan, if you can believe it. I might be biased but he can hit the notes and buckle my knees all in one go. The only caveat is he won't (Absolutely not, Peanut) sing it sober and he's rare to be drunk enough to begin in the first place. Maybe tonight if he is angry enough by the time I get home with Sam he can sing it to me while he takes off all my clothes.

Or maybe he'll let Sam do that. I don't know. They can figure it out when the time comes.

My first order of vacation was to paint my nails with glitter. Then I promptly had to take it all off. It was starting to make my fingertips turn red and swell and it felt so heavy. I threw the bottle out and am giving up.

My second order was a long hot bath, in which I put conditioner in my hair, filled the tub to the top with bubbles and then got in only to realize it was too deep to read so I had to let half the water out. Then I dropped my David Sedaris book into the water. Now it's wavy and thick and won't close all the way. At least it's making me laugh out loud regularly, finally after over three hundred pages.

My third was a lemon poppyseed muffin out on the front porch, with a huge hot cup of coffee. I stole Gage's BB8 mug. It's gotta be ten ounces, minimum. I filled it all the way to the top, as I do at work, and easily carried it outside. Yeah, by myself. Without assistance.

(It's the little things that bring me so much triumph. You would be surprised. One attempt to soothe myself out of three worked perfectly so I'll call it a victory while you call it a mess.)

They tried to keep me from seeing the news, but I found out anyway. Rick Genest took his own life yesterday. He was thirty-three. Like Jacob, he did it just before his birthday, except it was a week instead of a day. Like Jacob he's gone now, never to find a way out of the dark. Never to realize how many people were there for him because he didn't wait to ask for help.

For fucks sake, tell someone. Then maybe you'll stay here.

With me.

I need to do something different today. The sadness is quicksand and I prefer to look out into the world from within it, nonetheless. Today I think I should be without that sadness. Dalton and Duncan are taking me golfing. I don't know what part of golfing is cheerful (or even fun for that matter) but I guess it's better than drowning in this hole.

Oh, Duncan just said it's mini golf. Or in your case, normal size, Poem.

Will you let me win?

Hell, no.

The things that make me different are the things that make me.

Joel just left. He came to see how I was feeling, talk preseason Leafs to me, and gossip about Trevor Linden's exit from the Canucks but on the way out he invited me to go and see Christopher Robin tomorrow night. Sam is already taking me.

I think they paid him to offer because they didn't want to have to do it, honestly and he's willing because he vividly remembers Jacob's Poohisms, his endless reflections from the books that broke my heart, and that was before everything else.

Sam says he's going to wear his Tactical Preacher Pants, stuffed with kleenex, sedatives and a bucket to wring me out in, as I haven't made it through the trailers yet without crying. I laughed because he means his cargo pants. They look especially great with his Argentina flag belt buckle. I can't take him anywhere. They're a faded salmon color. When he wears them PJ calls him Mr. Pink Pockets. 

So in a way, it's the perfect thing to wear to a movie about Winnie-The-Pooh.

Joel nods. Glad he's taking you. The aside to this is he's glad Lochlan isn't taking me. Lochlan doesn't have a lot of patience for anything related from the Hundred Acre Wood. I always found that amazing because Lochlan has infinite patience for glitter, sprinkles, sugar, magic and basically anything related to my childhood, but this is just too "Jacob" for him so he gave it a hard pass. They're going to get shitfaced and play pool at Schuyler's instead. He and PJ are, I mean. The rest will drink tea like civilized adults and they'll all be ready for bed by the time we get home from the theatre, I bet.

The other aside to this is that Joel, Sam and August are the father, son and holy ghost of Jacob's memory, as they were his best friends and there's a clear divide right down the centre of my life in that regard. As much as Sam has made the leap from Jacob's person to my person, Joel and August haven't. But that's not a detriment to their character, it's just a fact. August rarely opens up at all and no one's going to let Joel open up ever. But they somehow wound up keeping care of my brain and the rest can fight over my body, I guess.

A tiny little chit-chat, because I'm on my way out.

Oh well, surprise indeed. This morning they closed the beach at Whytecliff, which is the closest one to my house. Because of E.Coli levels.

I've been jumping off the cliff for days and days and like two weeks straight and then I got this 'flu' with some weird and awful stomach aches and the doctor came and left the biggest antibiotics I've ever seen and great. Just what I need.

Don't swallow water, Bridget. 

Kind of hard if I'm screaming all the way down. Because eight years here and it never gets old and I'm terrified of heights and I'm never ready to jump/be pushed/be thrown off that cliff, no sir.

But it will be a few weeks before we do it again.

Ben and I can be the E.Coli twins. Yay. He's on antibiotics too.

Also, guess what? I'm beginning my first vacation from work in almost twenty years. I don't go back until after (shhhhhhh) Burning Man.

I don't even know what to do first. Probably chores. Yeah. Chores. Fuck.

Well one of us watched all of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy all the way to the end.

Ever walk into a room after being gone a while and everyone's holding their breath, waiting for you to notice/comment/react to something that's hugely different?

Yeah. That happened to me this afternoon and even after realizing they were waiting I still didn't know why and I threw my bag down on the island, cracking open a Gatorade because it's three hundred thousand degrees outside still and I'm actually taking antibiotics for a bacterial flu bug.

(But still working because DEDICATION. LOYALTY. WORK ETHICS and also MONEY. And free breakfast plates after 1 pm, huzzah!)

I finally snapped at Dalton with the most Lochlanesque order I've ever given. Go on then. Out with it! 

He nodded toward PJ. I look and then look back at Dalton and then around the room. What is happening. I don't get it.

Then PJ stood up and turned to smile at me and I realized what was different. I may have shrieked and dropped my Gatorade on the floor and now my whole kitchen is vaguely tinted orange.

PJ cut off all his hair. His elbow-length hair. His Obituary hair.

All of it.

He still has the beard and the chops but now he has a wavy, short do, streaked with some serious salt and pepper mixed in with his light brown.

You look amazing. 

I was so fucking hot, Bridge, I couldn't stand anot-

I love it. 

You do?

Yes. Also you look taller. 

See, I TOLD you I did. PJ claps Duncan on the back of the head. Fucker.

Each one more beautiful.

Caleb had my car collected and taken home and was there when I came outside, keys in hand, wondering who STOLE MY FUCKING CAR. No one had, he said, having sent one of the boys who listened, God knows why, and left me captive with my monster the whole way home. I put on Starset in the car, the new acoustic recording of Ricochet, and proceeded to sing along with my newly scratchy lower-mainland-forest-fire-air-quality voice, which is hella interesting to me, thinking he might listen to the words for once but instead he turned it off.

And I kept singing.

They won't know my heart
It's the darkest parrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt

Neamhchiontach. 

What? (Interrobang. Put it here.)

Are you warm?

What gave you that idea? I'm slippery like a fish, pouring sweat. Soaked through my dress. Wet hair. Completely unintentional smokey eyes. Smeared red lipstick. Hot? Yeah, no. Not me. Not right now.

I was hoping we could go somewhere for an early dinner. 

Sure. Pick something. And I give him my crazy smile.

Maybe another night. His silence allows me to turn the radio back on and I resume my singing. I have no shame.

When we get home I get out of the car, shouldering my bag, staring at him through the simmering waves of heat rising off the top of the car. I note my Porsche neatly parked under the tree by the garage. Good. At least one thing is how I like it today and fuck my legs hurt but I give Caleb my brave smile.

Why did you come pick me up?

So I could talk with you. 

But you didn't. 

It didn't seem like the right time. 

For what?

Another day, Neamhchiontach. For now it was just nice to treat you to a drive home. One less thing for you to do. 

I know what it is. 

Pardon me? 

You're still here, Diabhal. Still an alpha. Still my boyfriend, if that's what you want to be. Sam isn't taking anyone's place. He doesn't come before you. 

He smiles, suddenly looking like that handsome teenage boy who used to offer to drive me home from the beach. Bridget, you've just extended a generous peace of mind to me when I don't deserve it. 

I know. 

Thank you nonetheless.  

I would want to know where I stood as well. 

What do you mean?

If you had..others-

I don't.

What about Sophie?

There is only you, Bridget. 

No wonder you're lonely. 

Yes, well. I made my bed, as it were. I can't even say it's hyperbole but this is what I ended up with by trying to have everything I wanted. 

I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted here. 

Be flattered. I only ever wanted you. Now the time I do get is short and measured, tempered with supervision and suspicion and fear. I didn't want to be a monster but my need for you made me into one. 

Sorry. It's a whisper. He could say here that it's not my fault but it is just because I'm alive. Anyone could protest that I didn't ask for this but I did.

I'm sorry too, Neamhchiontach.  Life could have been so different.

Someone to hear your prayers.

I'll make you a believer

Oh. Oh.

The few few gestures warmed my heart, watching such an easy affection wash over them, as they found their places in the warm early morning against me. Comfort turned to an undercurrent of mild panic as they continued to extend those touching moments, almost threatening to leave me out in the process and I realized why he isn't worried that I'll fall in love with Sam and shut him out again, isn't worried that I want to divide my attentions all the time but also seeks him out, extends invitations without even checking with me first, folding Sam into our nights so easily.

Because Lochlan is in love with Sam.

I don't know if Sam is a life raft in Lochlan's sea of spiritual indecision or a concrete attempt to fill any space Caleb might try and occupy with someone he trusts. I don't know why Ben doesn't take this place as he and Lochlan are always loving and affectionate to a fault, possibly beyond with their grand displays some times and yet this is something different.

It's as if maybe Sam is Lochlan's security blanket. His safe harbour. His own personal Jesus, where Ben carries an air of vulnerability that makes you want to take care of him, in spite of his size and his easy humor in even the scariest of situations.

Maybe it has nothing to do with me, I think as I watch them look into each other's eyes as if they've never seen each before or maybe they have seen each other and they've come back hungry, looking for more.

Maybe it's that I've demanded Lochlan open his mind and accept having his personal space invaded on such a visceral level he's finally embraced it.

But only with Sam.

It makes me wonder if maybe some night I'll come back and my space will be taken, filled in a way I can never hope to fill it. With confidence and strength and righteousness. With a masculine security I seek out too.

But then my fears are smothered by their attention, all on me suddenly, as if they just had to figure out how to coordinate their efforts to bring together the well-practiced midnight choreography I crave so hard it hurts, and my jealousy evaporates in the early morning heat. Now that it's daylight I'm not sure if it really was jealousy after all, or just the usual fear of being left behind that developed at such a young age, imprinting on Lochlan like an orphaned ugly duckling and sticking to him ever since.

Those worries aren't necessary, Lochlan says, bruising his lips against my forehead, hard as ever, stubborn as always. It's just a safe place to get carried away. He winks at me. Lochlan likes to keep his freak flag flying indoors these days, trying to be a standup dad and husband (sometimes both at once with all the wrong people) and keeps his darker side hidden in dark places. Like our room.

I kind of love it. When I'm not scared I'll be replaced. 

He laughs gently in the morning light. That's definitely never going to happen.

But what if it already has?

Say a prayer for the wounded heart within, indeed.

Fade away to the wicked world we left
And I become the dark of you
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within as I become the dark of you

I've been tucked into Ben's arm all afternoon, trying to nap while he reads contracts, jolted out of my daze every now and then when he asks a question about wording, or one about money. I've become his de facto lawyer and financial planner. This is not a bad thing, trust me. He had a manager who fucked him over and then came back and fucked him over again just in case we had any doubts. It hurts worse because he was a friend.

The ex-manager doesn't work in the business anymore because I unleashed Caleb on him. Caleb had him ruined with a phone call. Ben then had a dozen cold calls offering services he never had access to before. Not sure how or why Caleb has such a fondness for Ben but there it is. If only he liked Lochlan at all.

I have headphones in too, so I have to pull those out and my brain isn't pleased for it's too busy digging through riffs and beats looking for the vocals. My ears and my brain don't connect all that well. Once I hear something my brain has to examine it for far too long before deciphering what it might be (usually wrong) and so song lyrics are becoming increasingly difficult. I used to listen to a song a few times and then I could sing along. Now I have to look up the words and memorize them. My brain is so full it's sluggish and no longer jumps to fight through the music for the beautiful words.

But Ben has amazing ear monitors and he had a little set molded just for me and I can hear everything. Well, mostly. I can't wear my hearing aids and ear monitors at the same time so there you go.

Ben's phone vibrates and he holds it up. I see Caleb's name on the screen with a message.

Where is she

Ben puts his phone back in his shirt pocket without replying and I turn the music up louder. Dark of me, indeed.

Little things and big things too.

I came down for breakfast covered with handprints. On my cheeks, my neck, my arms, my ears. Lochlan set us both on fire last night but the heat from the flames blended easily with the scorching heat residue from the sun earlier in the day and it was just like old times. We counted the money from Jay's wallet (a blistering $345 as he isn't a card person and tends to budget in the physical sense. Noted for next time.), tucked it all back in neatly with all of the bills facing the right way and left it on the bureau to return later. We only grift symbolically now, to keep our skills up in case we need them.

(I actually don't think we'll need them again but Lochlan always sleeps with his boots on, if you can understand how that feels.)

Duncan took a step backwards when he saw me. Baptized in ashes, were we?

Something like that. 

I'd be neater, Sam volunteers from the couch.

I shot him a look, poured two orange juices and took them back upstairs. I'm too hung over to banter, too filthy to get close. We drink the juice and then I take a long blisteringly hot bath which somehow became the greatest part of the heat-wave week so far, making everything else cool by comparison. The only handprint that didn't actually come off was the one on the back of my head as my hair is so pale now and the soot stuck fast, staining my hair black in the shape of his hand. I didn't notice it, but August pointed it out later on and I almost smiled at the thought of the shape of Lochlan's hand permanent touching me. Like an angel but here on earth because that's what he is.

We only slept for an hour or so the night before last, as his fuel for blood woke him up soon after we settled, a truth serum that saw him spill his fears into me in the dark, both in words and action as he searched for a way to show me how much he loved me while he told me how scared he is, how jealous he gets, how much it hurts, how badly he wants to fix everything, and how hard it all seems, how hard he works at trying to be cool with everything when right now he's cool with nothing. He talked while he drove against me, keeping me an inch from his skin, keeping me pushed up high against a euphoria I thought we left behind once, a long time ago but apparently we packed it. We brought it with us. And only once we burned off all of that fear, all that nervous energy, all of the alcohol did we appreciate it.

Boy, did we appreciate it.

I don't want for much right now, let me tell you. He strips us of our skin and our false fronts, rips the masks off, takes away the grace and we start again.

After my bath, a clean dress and the inevitable display while everyone arrived to see the handprint on my head, Lochlan made coffee and we took it out to the garden. We talked and we rocked and we checked out the progress of the yellow beans and the tomatoes and the grapes too. And we had a lovely day. A day by the sea, just for two. A day in the sun. A day in love. A day we used to dream about back in the overheated nights in the camper in between work shifts when we had three dollars but no food. A day we've actually never had before.

We topped it off with an early dinner at the diner, because we are creatures of habit, and we came back and lay in the hammock, watching the lights of the boats right through magic hour and then we went upstairs to bed where we actually slept this time, right through the night and I didn't think about grief or Jay or Caleb or Batman. I didn't think about being hungry or scared. Lochlan didn't think about being jealous or fixing things and we woke up and it's today.

Today.

Today I'm going to finish my chores quickly before it gets hot and then I'm taking some iced tea out on the porch. Today I'm going to order pizza for dinner. Today I'm going to be kinder to myself and to those I love. Today I'm going to do everything I want to do and more and also less, because it's a whole new day and that means a fresh start. A re-do. A new chance.

Actually today I need to go and return Jay's wallet. He would probably like it back.
 

Part II: Hold your fire.

And so I say to you
Let’s not force a meaning
Forget the lines we drew
Forget your teenage demons

We have nothing to state or prove
We have nothing to fear or lose
And I’ll be trying to catch you hiding
Now all my hiding is seen, circus queen

Four drinks in now and I found what I was looking for, a hole in the dark I could crawl out of in order to run back home. The getaway car wasn't supposed to be to get away from here, it was to get away from me, the me that's afraid. The me that doesn't listen. The me that goes looking for trouble and finds it every time. Just to make sure I can still feel. That I'm not dead. That someone still wants something that's broken and was once told she'd be alone forever. That's not a feeling I can take, and it's a feeling that I push back under, holding her head below every single time she surfaces.

I need you to take me home. 

You shouldn't go anywhere.

Fine. I'll go by myself. 

Jay frowns at me so handsomely my heart breaks. He walks out of the room and returns in seconds, a t-shirt now on his tall frame to go with the jeans. He skips the shoes and holds his hand out for mine.

We head across the grass in the dark. Not talking. The lights are spinning. I smell fire. As we come around the porch I see him. Lochlan, sitting on the top step skipping a single flame across his fingertips. He fumbles it when he sees us, briefly lighting up his entire fist before extinguishing it with his other hand as he stands up. He looks wild, dishevelled and...also drunk. Completely trashed, as he staggers against the step and grabs the railing for support.

At least you're in good hands. Jay rolls his eyes.

Lochlan comes down to the walk, pulls me away from Jay, noting our hands, and gives him a good shove. Jay, to his credit, didn't dent any fridges this time and didn't budge either. He's not the man he was when he landed with us, broken and afraid. I'll have to remember to ask him how he did that when I'm sober, as the rest of us can't seem to figure it out.

Go home, drifter. Lochlan doesn't want to argue so he tries a command.

She asked me to walk her home. I would have let her stay and sleep it off but I figured I owed you more than I can ever pay you back and this is a start. For what it's worth, she only had one drink with me and arrived half in the bag.

Lochlan is staring at me like he's never seen me before. As soon as my flesh begins to blister from his gaze I beg for mercy. Jesus, Loch. I'm too drunk for this shit. Can we just go home?

He nods and tucks an arm around my neck. He addresses Jay with a nod. Lochlan's famous approval that makes you feel like you're okay. Thanks. 

Jay nods and we turn to go back up the steps. At the top I hear my name.

Wait. Bridget?

I turn. Yeah?

Can I have my wallet back?

Lochlan laughs. No. Gotta keep your eye on your belongings. 

Jay is stronger than I thought. I would say the same to you. 

Night, Jacob.

Lochlan tenses but we keep moving forward and soon I am in my big comfy bed and he is wrapped around me tightly so I can sleep.

Part I: Keep the car running.

He called me over for a drink, not liking my words, wanting to fix it, wanting to change things, his voice amused and yet clipped, wounded, dark, almost.

I can't resist so I promise him one drink and I show up at nine, the smoky blue night just beginning to settle over the point. I've seen the world and I want more but I also want to control everyone around me and I can only do it if I'm here. Joel always said that need comes from feeling as if my life is always out of control but I don't know why he says that. It isn't. It's fine. Everything's fine.

One drink turned to two and then three as blue deepened to black and he pulls me into his lap. I cup his face in my hands but I don't kiss him. I just stare into his eyes. I'm not supposed to be here. Not supposed to be like this. Not supposed to want this.

I'll make it twenty-five thousand. 

Now you sound like Caleb. 

Okay, I'll make it two-hundred and fifty thousand. 

He laughs at his own joke, taking a kiss I didn't offer him. I pull back but I can't get far enough away so I stick my lower lip out and extend the dare as far as I can. I don't believe you. 

I told you forever ago I could do whatever he could ten times over. 

He has no conditions. You have so many. 

You accepted my invitation. 

For one drink-

Bridget, it's never one drink and we both, hell, everyone knows it. That's code. That's the dance. The only condition here is timing. 

He doesn't want more than I can give him. 

I don't like your lies. They stain an otherwise beautiful face. Tell me the difference and I'll let you go. I don't think you can. 

He isn't cold, like you. 

Batman stares into my eyes for what feels like the remainder of the night as the heat burns off the hemlocks, settling into the ground, cool air rushing in to fill the holes we're blowing into the dusk, trying to force light in all around us. I stare back in return. Don't call me a liar or it's going to hurt even more. He takes my drink from me and slides me off his lap, standing up, standing me up and turning me away in the same motion. 

Lock the door when you leave, he says and he leaves the room. Just to make sure I was telling the truth, I guess. I thought about following him and asking him to prove I'm wrong but I didn't. It's a first.

But I'm still keyed up so hard, I don't want to go home. Reckless fuel in my blood from the whiskey flushes through to my skin, which screams at the cold air as I head down the hall, knocking on the door softly. Jay opens the door to his rooms, a look of surprise on his face I adore instantly. He's in soft jeans, no shirt, no shoes, in need of a haircut, in need of sleep maybe but he holds the door wide and I walk underneath his arm into his cozy den. He's got a movie on the television and a half-finished beer on the table.

What do you need, Bridget? He says as he closes the door behind us. I should have said Lochlan. I could have said anything. But instead I said I needed at least three more drinks and maybe a driver with a getaway car for when I run. And Jay laughed and thought I was flirting with him and went and got the good stuff and poured me a drink so strong I forgot what I wanted to run from.

Whoop-fucking-whoop, indeed.

Tomorrow I'm being moved again, starting at a different restaurant, one owned by one of my boss's relatives. Out of sight, out of mind? Or cherry-picked to help run a cuter, brand-new place that has a soft opening this week after many delays. It's only slightly higher-end and may be a different crowd, but not too different, and since 2018 seems to be the year of Bridget never being comfortable, why the hell not? My uniform is pressed and ready to go, shoes shined and correspondence with my new boss is in place, as they confirmed late this afternoon that yes, indeed, it's happening.

It's been three months exactly since I got the job and I'm still trucking.

Hard to believe, especially after a very tough day like today, when no one seemed happy with anything, save for a couple grateful construction workers who remembered their manners and were so appreciative of their cold drinks I wondered if I was being punked, for everyone else was SO awful today.

On the upside, Ben phoned me at lunch and said he saw that Insane Clown Posse is coming to Vancouver next month, so if I want my gathering that's my chance.

I'm thinking about it.

I need to blow off some steam.

I'm not sure how any more.

I wondered briefly if Batman knows but every time Batman looks at me lately he throws his hands up in frustration. Like Caleb except Batman has even less leverage and can only stand by and watch now, as he has exhausted his own resources in this matter and it didn't make a bit of difference.

Three months. Huh. Honestly, I've now outlasted my own expectations, and I have $2546 in my account that I didn't have back in the middle of April. I mean money I made without the help of anyone else. That's something. It's small, like me, but it's something.

Pad Bridget.

PJ's crassness yesterday was quickly frozen out by Lochlan, who did that disapproving thing he does which isn't easily quantifiable but causes one to work desperately to return to his favour. He's got a way without words, let's leave it at that.

With his looks, gestures, general tension and disapproval he saw my message on the way home and brought me Pad Thai. Which is pretty close to Vietnamese so I'll take what I can get.

He didn't bring PJ anything. Usually we include PJ in our close family meals unless it's a very specific romantic date but PJ was suitably chastened and made himself something for dinner and then after a few hours of torture Lochlan came around. Lochlan only likes the frathouse humor when he initiates it, sadly, but at the same time if you give any of the boys free enterprise they will take off running and we'd never crawl out of that hole.

By midnight they were back to normal. By then I was hungry again.

Chlorine Jesus.

Might have food delivered out here for an early dinner, as I kind of don't want to move. I already had coffee, croissants and my laptop delivered to me poolside. Got to objectify a few willing people along the way, got objectified in return as I've busted out the new pink eyelet string bikini, which looks great with my perpetual sun/razor burns. Pink is probably the wrong color today, as Caleb is legendary for giving me bad razor burn, but my new striped bathing suit (one piece! I love it but no one else seems to?!) is on the clothesline and I forgot to check and see if it was dry.

The stripes are orange, blue, brown and a dusty rose. It's so seventies.

Hey. I try to get Dalton's attention but the man is out cold. Dalt. Hey DALT.  He doesn't move so I call PJ. Who can organize dinner out here without me leaving? 

You're asking me if I'll bring out steaks and a salad to cook out there?

No, I want Vietnamese takeaway. 

Ah. Going hard on the self-care today?

Huh?

You want me to go fetch you takeout?

No. Is anyone out who can pick some up?

Bridget, I was sleeping. Send out a note. If someone can get it, I'm sure they will. 

I don't know if I want to play that card. 

Why not?

What if I need a bigger favor later?

You know how to suck a dick. 

JESUS, PJ!

My morning routine these days.

I woke up this morning in physical pain, kind of a nice change, if you ask me. I was clutched tight in Lochlan's arms, on my stomach, with my right arm tight around his neck and my left arm tight around Caleb's neck.

Because I choose.

And I called him at three this morning and said he needed to come to me and weirdly he was awake and so he did, stripping down to a t-shirt and his boxers and he climbed into bed and kissed my forehead, stretching out beside us and said Sleep now. Everything is okay. And it was but it wasn't but Lochlan slept, at least. It's as if he knows Caleb isn't the extreme physical threat he once was. It's as if Caleb knows we'll have room for him if he listens to me. It's almost as if we have managed to find a way to take the sharpness from the past, blurring it into unrecognizable shapes, blobs of emotion we have to think hard about to conjure up and that's good enough for everyone present and everyone presently. We seem to need to clear the air on a regular basis first and then everything is okay for a little while.

It's okay, Ben was there too. He was wrapped up like a very large comfortable mummy on Caleb's other side, and takes absolutely no offense to trading spots as sometimes he gets me all to himself and he likes that too but as he says he's getting old and needs help to handle me.

:)

So yes. I woke up in pain, shoulders jacked the wrong way, arms asleep, unable to move or fix it as I had no leverage so I cried out.

Oh my God. Someone help me. 

Lochlan startled hard, almost finishing me off. He reached out and pulled my other arm from around Caleb's neck, moving my right arm back underneath me, ducking underneath it as he turned me onto my right side and slid me back even closer against him, his arms tight around mine, using warmth and pressure to bring the feeling back and take the pain away.

Breathe, Peanut. (I hold my breath when things hurt. And my tongue.)

I did and tingles flooded through my extremities. After a few minutes he told me to go take a hot shower, which was heaven. I stood under the broiling spray for twenty minutes. When I came out Caleb was gone and Lochlan was trying to tickle Ben, who remained wrapped up like a mummy and was too deeply asleep to notice.

I threw on my lingerie and a pretty cotton shift and ran my fingers through my pixie cut. I adjusted my necklace (I don't take it off) and checked my rings and asked what he wanted to do today.

Not the same thing we did last night. He makes a face at me. Also, you look beautiful.

Sharp points (and a lovely literary transition, just for you).

I was a shadow on the screen
I was a drifter on the prowl
Now I’m the lights behind the scenes
Now I’m the wolf that’s yet to howl

Yet to break out and yet to run
Yet to be outdone

Waking up to twelve degrees. The windows are open. My skin is cool, shivering in full effect now. The moment I startle from sleep Lochlan reaches out and pulls me in tight against his chest with one arm, not awake at all but also never completely asleep.

Last night the past clouded the present and he and Caleb argued heavily into the dark and I was brought home. Not going to leave me there, not going to turn his back on the monsters, not going to risk further damage tonight, and definitely not going to negotiate on any of it.

There are no choices here for you to make. The Devil stands his ground, reminding Lochlan. Caleb owns this show, somehow. We are merely the performers. Irreplaceable, sure, but also partisan to each other in a way I never expected. One giant writhing mass of limbs and hearts and tears and when one steps away a hole is created which remains until they return to the fold.

Even for the Devil. Oh, yes.

Lochlan stands staring at him, bottom lip jutted in defiance. He's thinking. I'm sure he's thinking he's going to burn the whole thing to the ground. Again. Instead he kisses my hand and looks to me for his answers.

Tell him. 

I shake my head. I mean no, but Lochlan takes it as fear that I don't want to tell him. It's the same in the end.

Neamhchiontach, please. Caleb would also like to know how this will end.

I shake my head again. I'm looking sideways, up into the night. Tears spill over. So tired of this. So tired of everything. I wipe them away and find a voice that will suit them for the moment.

Another time. One of my famous empty promises. Collected by the armful. Usually resulting in being ordered to do something at gunpoint, with shaking hands and angry voices raised. Like always.

Of course. Ever the gentlemen, not willing to show Lochlan how fierce his cravings really are, Caleb lets me off the hook. He crosses to me, hesitates briefly as Lochlan tenses, pulling me closer by the hand, and kisses my cheek gently.

Get some rest, Bridget. We'll have some time in a few days.

Lochlan pulls my hand hard and we're gone, into the dark, back across the line to the safe side of the world where the lights are golden bright and the hemlocks push back against the monsters.

He's right. You need sleep. Candles aren't supposed to burn at both ends, Peanut. 

They do if you light them. 

He smiles softly in the morning light, bending his head down, leaving a kiss against my lips. It's not a dismissal or a placeholder, it's all of the oxygen in my lungs.

What do you want to do this morning?

Damage control. 

He lets go of me and rolls to his back, covering his eyes. You don't need to do that. 

I do. We're supposed to find peace together. 

Never gonna happen. 

We can try. 

We've been trying for our entire lives. It only works if everyone actually tries, Bridget.

Reasons/Seasons.

It feels like fall, today.

These days no one remembers I like my toast well done. I'm finishing the Gatorade flavors no one likes and I'm craving a long hot bubble bath like it's the best vacation I will ever have. I need color. I need loud music. I need distraction. I need sleep, as always and I needed it last month and the month before that and now with critical mass staring me down I feel as if suddenly I don't need anything, and everything is weightless, unimportant and shallow.

You're stuck in my head and I can't get you out of it

I chased one cool evening with another and I can't remember what day it is. I'm down to reminding myself to breathe, certain my heartbeat no long keeps time, no longer keeps me alive and I feel like the wind is the only thing that matters. Not even the sea, for the sea is the wind's bath, a discarded, long-cold empty vessel full of discarded memories, drowned in a fit of impulsive, necessary change.

Come inside, Neamhchiontach. I can fix this. His voice is soft and low. It sends a shiver down my spine, as always, but I shake my head.

Look at it. 

Magnificent, isn't it? But he's not looking at the dead sea or the live wind. I know this because his eyes are boring holes into my soul. He craves it like I crave that hot bath, like I used to crave the sea before I suddenly arrived at this place where I momentarily don't love him, don't feel anything, don't care. Don't want. Don't look. Don't breathe, Bridget, for he's close enough to touch and you'll fucking care when you get burned again.

Defeatist.

Am I nice? I must be nice.

I approach every new situation as one in which I ask for help figuring it all out and today I was met not once, but three times with people willing and capable of making our lives extremely easy and efficient when they had no pure incentive to do so other than the prospect of helping someone out who needed help.

I needed that. I needed help to make the day smooth and I had to trust strangers. I took a breath and did it and it all worked out.

So the day is wrapping up and I'm taking that breath for the first time since eight this morning.

Things aren't going all that smoothly with my patient. Things are downright rough but after all these ER trips and today a surprise trip to the surgeon I feel like there's hope in sight. I will try to stay positive and tonight I'm going to make my gratitude list here because I need to see it written down. Here's all the things I'm completely, unabashedly grateful for today:

-Queer Eye Season two. (I'm not crying, you're crying.)
-Memes. Because memes.
-The impending picture galleries from the Gathering. Seriously. They're just all spectacle. It's incredible. I love it. It reminds me of the circus.
-A car full of gas and in good repair for my four trips into town today. Easy traffic (well). Worried boys.
-Prayers from Sam for energy and compassion. I am always low on the former and never ever run out of the latter.
-A big old wet juicy kiss from Lochlan this morning, almost in our sleep.
-A text from my boyfriend reminding me he has unlimited, infinite resources, if I need them.
-PJ slipping a granny smith apple into my bag.
-Picking the first cauliflower of the season.
-Henry having a day off the point with friends and having a blast.
-OH. I preordered Alice in Chains' new album, Rainier Fog. I love that name. We see them next month. SO excited. I also preordered Eisley's I'm Only Dreaming..of Days Long Past because acoustic versions of anything make me so happy.
-Ben saved me a chocolate chip cookie for after dinner. I baked a huge ham in between making trips into town. I'm a multitasker, finally.

Stuck in my jumpsuit (a pep talk for one or twenty. You pick).

We never got it right
Playing and replaying old conversations
Overthinking every word and I hate it
'Cause it's not me ('cause it's not me)
And what's the point in hiding?
Everybody knows we got unfinished business
And I'll regret it if I didn't say
This isn't what it could be (isn't what it could be)

You could break my heart in two
But when it heals, it beats for you
I know it's forward, but it's true

A reprieve last evening. Reading up on the news. Watching Selena Gomez and Twenty One Pilots videos with Ruth. Eating fried eggs and spicy sausages. Shopping for pretty shirts to wear when it's too hot outside to breathe. Having lemonade and vodka late, when the temperature dipped back down to reasonable. Being cranky with each other, but mildly, in order to find civility in the craziness. Trying to take deep breaths. Trying to keep up.

Henry's birthday was yesterday. We celebrated quietly over the past weekend, with gifts on Saturday, a special dinner and cake on Sunday and of course yesterday Henry had cake for breakfast and cake for a bedtime snack. You would think he is related to me for the love he has for cake, wouldn't you?

The only person who likes cake more than me is Caleb.

(Surprise, motherfucker. Right?)

(Forty-eight messages on my phone from him right now and I don't know what to do.)

Today is going to be better. My work is cancelled for the week, the heat is supposed to let up after today and hopefully this time everyone is on a roll toward greater things. I think yesterday was a hiccup, a wrinkle in the fabric of time. A bad day, when most of them are actually pretty good.

Let's have a good day, guys.

Such a PRO at Emergency Rooms. Got our parking, brought my book and a granola bar, just in case. Six hours and fistfuls of Percocet later (HA), we're home again.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Fresh starts are a blessing.

This week's big small goals:

1. Get everyone to 100 percent, physically and mentally.
2. Eat outside every night for dinner, Monday through Friday. 
3. Celebrate Henry's birthday in style (17!!)
4. Get him driving at least twice.
5. Work three shifts without wanting to cry/quit
6. Find a place to buy cute summer patchwork apron tops.
7. Sit under the strings lights and listen to the wind thread it's way down the mountain (this can be accomplished alongside #2
8. Make butterscotch ice cream with raspberries.
9. Work on knitting and finish watching Queer Eye. 
10. Plan out the month of August. 
11. Breathe. 
12. Pray.
13. Be/Bee.

Wish me luck!

A conversation in three easy pieces.

When life gets really really overwhelming, God yells CATCH, Bridge. It's not a contest to see who can take the most suffering or difficulty, it's simply a reminder that life is full of ups and downs, it's unpredictable. It can be easy or hard. But you don't control it. He does. 

He needs to let me take over for a bit. 

What would you do? 

Firstly, I'd turn the waterfalls to chocolate syrup. 

Really. You're given power over mankind and you decide to be Willy Wonka? 

Maybe. 

Sam laughs and sips his iced tea. We're on the big hammock down by the gate to the beach. It's more private, quieter somehow. I had to be talked into it, but my iced tea isn't iced tea, so that helped.

What else?

All horses would be pegacorns. 

What is that?

Wings and horns. 

Oh. 

Just imagine. 

Those are not the things I would do. 

No, I don't imagine. 

I would ensure peace between all living souls. 

Ha. Going to start with Lochlan and Caleb? 

They're on the list. 

We rock some more. It's growing dark. The mosquitoes are coming out. Sam doesn't notice but I start to get itchy just thinking about them.

Okay, there has to be something fluffy you would do. 

I'd give people tails. 

Tails? 

Yes, tails. Like monkeys or lions. Then they would remember where they came from and what they lower to.

They'd also be easier to catch. 

Glory, Bridge. You think of everything.
 

Why, yes, they did have the World Cup on in the OR prep area. I really wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry so I continued doing both.

The gratitude here today is fresh-baked and still warm, as my wanderlust was quickly drowned, never to be seen again, dissolved in an acid bath of sheer panic.

I held it together well, though. Go me.

I even not only found the hospital and paid for parking but I found the ER and navigated registration, triage and the long wait afterward.

Then I did it all again on Wednesday. LOL

No, seriously. I did. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Where are the boys. Why can't they do this. REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

(Be an adult)

(No)

(Tough. Do it anyway)

(Fine)

By yesterday morning I was so done with the whole thing. I need sleep. I need a shower. I'd like a meal, or better yet a drink. I'd like a little break. Here I was teetering over the edge of exhaustion, a trickle into a stream and now it's a waterfall and I'm keeping my white-knuckle grip here, best as I can.

But we lived and now we're home.  To freshly-made beds, freshly scrubbed bathrooms, freshly-watered gardens, laundry caught up, and reunions full of laughter. Finally.

The only difference is that now, one of us no longer carts around a ruptured appendix.

(Not me. I still have mine. I'm tempted to have it removed preemptively, however.)

Honor among thieves.

This is the calm before the storm
This is the sea between the isles
And this ain't the time to chase the dawn
This is the time to count the miles

So hold your fire and clear your mind
You won't get left behind

I can't sleep. The night is cool and quiet, the house muted. Someone left a light on in the kitchen. I wander quietly through rooms, turning off lights, closing curtains. Checking doors and windows. I touch the door at the end of the hall before the foyer. PJ's domain now. Used to be Lochlan's. I miss crawling in with Lochlan when he wasn't the way he is now. When history didn't jam itself down between us like a wall, separating us until we can no longer even touch without the world burning its reaction into our lives with a swift flash of flame.

I miss a lot of things.

I miss being everything to you. He says it softly behind me. Pulling on pajama pants, following me as I made my rounds, me oblivious to any sound he would have made, Lochlan's been behind me this whole time. But the house is muted for me virtually all the time, not just in the late hours before dawn. I wouldn't hear him if he were an intruder and yet the person I trust most in this world just walked up behind me and stuck a knife into my heart.

I start to shake my head as he pulls me in but he twists the knife and leaves it jammed between, cracks forming in the wall that keeps us apart. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.

Don't fight it. You didn't need them when you were with Jake.

Because I had you. 

No. Not most of the time, Bridge. You didn't. You had him. 

It was fleeting. You act like it was so long-

I watched you fall in love with him right under my nose. And there was nothing I could do. That changed me. Watching you slip away changed who I am. And I've been trying to get back to who I was before that but I'm just not having any luck.

The tip of the knife now sticks out my back and is catching on everything. I thought pain was a feeling. Now I know it's an object one has to get around. Or through. But not over. Never over.

So what can I do? Here it is. The part where my trust strips back and shows the raw pain on the inside, the part where he said goodbye because he couldn't manage his own feelings. He never could. I thought I do better but the fourteen-year-old he kissed goodbye all those years ago still regards him with suspicion while she waits for the other shoe to drop. And that's why she goes to them. And keeps him at arms length even as she swears she won't.

Trust me. 

Oh, that's a big one, Lochlan. 

You trust your demons. You trust your nightmares, Bridge. 

They've never left. 

I won't either. 

Those are just words, Loch. You're so good with them. 

Not compared to you. Your words have torn me apart and rebuilt me. I'm asking you to stop. To trust me. I'm not playing musical beds for the rest of our lives. I'm not. Something has to change. I've tried everything. We need to try this. 

We did it before-

That was then. This is now. 

Why is now different?

Because we deserve this. She. She deserves this. 

But he doesn't mean Ruth. He means the fourteen-year-old he left standing beside the fair gates.

How do I just forget that and go forward? 

Believe in magic. 

It's a risk. 

So is everything else you've ever done but the Bridget I raised would jump with a laugh and not hesitate. 

The Bridget you raised has been through too much to be that girl anymore. 

See, that's where I think you're wrong. He pulls the knife out and I bleed all over the floor in my own death before being resurrected in his flames once again. Let's have the greatest love story ever told. Like we always planned.

White spots, short wings, mate for life.

The clouds and the thunder roll back in over the point and the fairy tale ends, real life picking up and running with the narrative for the new week. A busy week. A trying week, and it's only Monday. God help us.

The rain is coming back and it makes me happy. My garden loves it. The cauliflower are the size of volleyballs. The lavender is strong and beautiful. The grapes are coming in so fast we can't keep up and the peas and beans are flowering like mad, as are the tomatoes. I have a huge rosemary plant, and an equally impressive oregano one, and I feel accomplished when I look at the gardens. Like I can at least do one thing right. I inherited my grandmother's green thumb and I'll never waste it, that's for sure. The only difference is this year we're doing two cucumber plants instead of seven, because last year things got a little out of hand.

Plus it's therapeutic.

Who's going to knock that?

Lochlan finds me out on the bluff where the strawberry patch is, wind in my freshly shorn hair, skirt billowing around my ankles as I water them diligently. Rain or not, some plants need a ton of water. I'm making sure they get it.

He came and went the past few nights. Leaving just as things were getting good only to reappear when things were on the downswing. He's subtle like that, generous like that, and now he's here to make sure Caleb's most recent gift isn't going to put him on the outside for yet another night.

Peanut. What's this? 

Yellow beans. 

Ah. Everything's growing amazingly. 

I nod.

Bridgie, I know you're mad at me.

I'm not 'mad' per se-

Ruffled. 

That's a good way to describe it. Like a bird. I'm a bird.

You are like a bird. Like a magpie. Finding pretty things and flying away. 

I say nothing. Here we go with the stay-puts and the stick-beside-mes as if he can undo history and fix all of this shit in one go.

I just wanted to know if you feel better. If it works. If this is what you want. What you need. I don't know. I just want to know that it's worth the sacrifice. If it isn't then we should change it. 

I shrug. I don't have the answers I think he wants.

Do you feel better though?

Let me put it this way. I felt like I've felt all along but then just now you got here and now I feel better. Relieved. Safe. 

Oh, that's the best answer I could have hoped for. He's got tears in his eyes and I feel so small suddenly.

Loch-

Don't say it. Leave it at that. That was all I needed to hear.

This time I'm actually going but I promise I won't talk about it at all.

The rain stopped but the fun didn't and the love is real. I got breakfast in bed. And pinot gris too. I got a text from Sam reminding me that church was at 745 if I needed a lift. I did not reply and I didn't hear his car leave but I wouldn't anyway, on average.

I got drunk..ish on a Sunday morning and I have no regrets. I don't spoil myself much, actually unless it's with men. My swims are regimented for time, I cook at home for an army of twenty on a nightly basis because eating out is stupidly expensive. I don't drink unless someone offers and I don't go for massages, manicures, haircuts by real hair stylists or anything. I don't shop for clothes. I don't shop except groceries. I don't have a housecleaner. I don't have an assistant. I have a lot of help, mind you but at the end of the day, I run everything, I schedule everything and I run myself into the ground.

So fuck it. Not today. I'm on the verge of tears perpetually. I'm so tired. I'm so not up for life today so today I'm calling in sick. 

I got a Daniel and Schuyler sandwich, and I'm not ashamed of that. They bring the affection ten-fold. Daniel is stronger in the dark then in life. He runs on love, as I do. He's confident and sure here. He's fierce and loyal yet playful and accommodating. He's experimental. He's like his brother. He loves Schuyler with a devotion I admire but he's also loathe to pass up a chance to hold me, or love me.

Schuy rarely participates. He's content to give Daniel whatever Daniel could possibly want but this weekend he didn't hold back and it was new and fun and exciting too. It was rare enough to appreciate but still familiar enough to let go.

It was a catalyst, as this morning Caleb sent me a three word message, because he knew they didn't leave and he knew it's been days and days now. He knew I wouldn't have any regrets or second thoughts and he knows that I need a way out from this life sometimes. I don't get bored, I get restless and there's nothing wrong with that unless you never find a way to make that feeling stop.

Fine. Burning man

YAY!

The fab five.

Heavy rain from late evening until the early hours of this morning and I slept like the dead, wedged in gently between Ben and Lochlan, who also slept soundly, only waking when one of us would shift. I wake up foggy, in a panic, wondering if they're leaving me but they always touch me to reassure me that they're not.

Without words. Who needs these words? We roll on touch around here, you just don't know if it will be a punch or a hug half the time and though everyone will insist that boys will be boys I'm now insisting on respect. Some of them have zero self-control and though it may have looked cool and tough to go around with a black eye or a good cheek bruise in your early twenties, in your early fifties you just look like a fucking degenerate.

Look it up, Peanut. Maybe that's what we are. 

I don't know how Lochlan's ever become such an accurate walking dictionary over the years, I've never seen him with one but here we are.

Daniel cut my hair for me yesterday, back from a lazy almost-bob into a pixie again. He proclaimed it adorable, got confirmation from Duncan and PJ and then invited me to come watch Queer Eye all weekend with them, eat Polynesian takeaway in bed and drink pinot gris.

(Note for the always vigilant: Schuyler won't be drinking the wine. He will have juice or sparkling water. Yes, he's in recovery. No, he hasn't fallen. Not sure why I have to spell it out every post. Trust me. If someone in recovery falls off the wagon, pretty sure I'll write about it post haste.)

I said I'd be delighted, wondered what I should wear and then Lochlan mowed him over like a freight train.

One thing you don't do in this house, or in any house for that matter is attack Daniel.

Ever. 

Daniel was helped up and pointed out to Lochlan that he could have said no, that he doesn't need to resort to violence, and that he's living a civilized life now where brute force isn't necessary to make one's point.

Like a Queer Eye episode for the emotional, reactionary guy. For the jealous guy. For the guy who's just trying to hold on to what he's got.

And to his credit, Lochlan threw himself on Daniel and we all shouted but it wasn't a second attack, it was a hug. A big mushy hug and they talked in each other's faces about love and Lochlan apologized and thanked Daniel for his patience (Danny's delicate, for sure, but still bigger) and boy did Loch feel awful for a long time after that.

But while I still did not get to go to what sounded like a fun way to spend a rainy weekend,  Lochlan did proclaim my haircut to be awfully cute and he promised me we would have an equally fun rainy weekend in bed with Ben and with whatever else my heart desires.

So I brought Daniel and Schuyler with us.

Under the surface of the water you'll hear the way I hear above it.

I spent the day sitting on a big round towel in the shade by the pool, eating egg salad sandwiches and salt & vinegar chips, drinking lemonade and reading my book (still slugging away at David Sedaris's Theft By Finding, which finally went from weird and sad to hilarious so I can't wait to pick it up every chance I get), while Ben snoozed on a chaise nearby and Batman swam laps or as near enough to laps as you can swim in a huge kidney-shaped pool.

It's so lovely and quiet, breezy and yet calm. No hearing aids. No sirens. No yelling. No music. No anything. The perfect late summer day if ever there would be one, and so I don't wish to miss it. The bunting flags bounce and twist in the wind and there are boats on the water and I already had my swimming lesson review, in which Sam asked if I remembered anything at all and then we had a twenty-five minute debate on the risks of wearing jewelry in seawater versus chlorinated water.

We agreed to disagree and I had a pop quiz in which I had to do my own laps, front crawl, back crawl, tread for five minutes and then demonstrate my knowledge of CPR, using a half-awake Benjamin, who hijacked all of my attempts to be serious with his tongue and left me howling with laughter and covered with spit. I did get a damned good kiss out of it, and Sam said I passed my review later on, because he was laughing too hard and had to walk away for a bit to compose himself.

Officially they're all a full whoppingly ten percent less nervous when I'm in the water now, or so I'm told.

Newton's third law.

Watching Caleb at our big Fourth of July dinner on the patio (because the long outdoor teak table arrived just in time. The chairs did not. We winged it. It was fine) I see that he's struggling to find his place here so I went and sat with him for a while. I'm only a true body language expert on people I know very well and so it's safe to say he relaxed somewhat visibly, taking an open position in his seat, his expression blooming into a contentment that belied his curiosity about my...uh....schedule. For lack of a better word. For my future plans? When he can see me next? Who am I going home with tonight? He caught my eye and so I did what I always do.

I pointed at Duncan.

Caleb swore out loud and looked away, which brought the conversation to a halt. Everyone looked to me.

Nothing! What? Keep talking. 

The conversation restarts slowly and I take my glass and excuse myself, heading to the pool, where PJ and John are floating on loungers, PJ almost asleep, John reading a book. They look content.

Where is Jay? I ask and PJ wakes up.

He's around. Go back to Lochlan, Bridge.

I just want to make sure everyone is good. That's what a hostess does.

I'm the hostess.

You're sleeping.

A good hostess sets the tone for the evening. He winks at me before closing his eyes again. I take a few steps past the pool and he says my name again in warning.

Fine.

I go back to the patio and Lochlan puts down the guitar, pulling me into his lap. Drink?

Five, please.

I would have cut you off at two.

Okay. As long as I can have them both at once.

He laughs and a drink is put into my hand, and the plain lemonade is whisked away. Go slow, he warns. Like he did when I was sixteen and stupid.

Yes, Daddy. I tell him and he flushes with irritation.

Jesus, Bridge.

Ooh. New pet names for each other. I always wanted to be Jesus-Bridget.

They're not pet names. Leave it.

Fine.

I drink my first drink and then accept my second/the last one and I can't finish it. My eyes are so heavy. The string lights get brighter and the air cools down. Soon the pool is empty and the lights are turned off around it too and everyone has amalgamated to the patio proper. Some with beers, some with vitamin water, some with tea. We light sparklers and celebrate the Fourth of July on behalf of our favourite former Americans turned Canadians because we're gracious like that.

Or maybe, like Lochlan, we're grumpy like that. See how fast he went from contentment to ire and how fast Caleb went from ire to contentment? I swear to God for every action with one, there's an equal and opposite reaction of the other and here we go, Bridget's Summer Learning series is here again! This summer we're doing physics. Weeeeeeeee. Pretty sure my favorite years so far were sex and outer space.

But not together.

I mean...

Though, if I had a chance..

Yeah. I would do that.

SIGH.

Don't pity me for she'll not stay
She scorned my love and turns away
Farewell my love for all I've done
By the setting of the sun

Farewell my love of yesteryears
We roll upon the tide
Tomorrow's day should lead the way
And life begins tonight

I needed something to snap me back to place, and here it is. An audible signal. A droning intonation bent on the melody formed by the wind whistling through his motives, threading a story that is watertight. So watertight it floats on the tide, back into my hands before being drawn out again, unreachable, only to come back in again, close enough to touch.

Lochlan is learning the song, and in between his efforts he pulls me into his arms, stripping us both of our disguises, our false fronts, taking us back to blood and bone, to rhyme and reason, to grit and grift.

Aye, Peanut. This is not so complicated. We have the music, the sea, each other and...PJ to get the groceries. 

And Ben to keep our heads above water. 

Indeed. The mood flattens in time to the end of the song, and he begins again in earnest, head down against the wood of the guitar for several minutes while he worked at the tune with diligence.

Lochlan-

Bridget, if we have a dance every now and then and a roll in the clover and a good long hug and enough firewood for the winter, our babies are close, we've got each other and our friends are nearby then I consider it a good life. 

What about the Devil breathing down your neck?

I swear on my life it wasn't my neck he was breathing down. I'm going to call it the cost of being civilized and a good chance to keep him in line and otherwise I don't want to think about it any further. Tonight is for music. And the sea. And each other. Alone. Together.

Don't forget the clover. 

Oh, believe me, I haven't. 

Light standards.

Today people were assholes.

No, you can't change your food order fifteen minutes after you've ordered. 

No, you can't have any more time to decide. You're taking up space. 

No, you can't send it back with two bites left. 

Yes, people make mistakes. Sorry your chicken sandwich was the wrong chicken sandwich but that's what you ordered because I asked you. 

Yes, the coffee sucks. So that you'll leave when you're finished, instead of lingering.

Of course the table is dirty. You sat yourself. 

No, I won't go home with you. 

No, you can't have my number. 

And please, for the love of god don't call me Baby.

Ready to quit now, Bridge?

No. Tomorrow I'll show them. 

Bridget, you can't change people. 

Oh yeah? Look at you. 

I'm a lion masquerading as a lamb. 

Good enough for me.

Devil's advocate.

Gratitude today comes easy. Food on the table, help in the house, the safety and health of everyone I adore beyond compare and Caleb and Lochlan, not only getting along but both still upstairs asleep in my bed when I left this morning in my diner-dress, BABY on my nametag just to see who's paying attention, memories playing in my brain just to see who's keeping score.

Caleb invited us back for a nightcap after the fireworks last evening but we instead extended a drink invitation to him. He was on his greatest and best behavior and damn, I love him for it.

Personal Jesus and the boomerang girl.

(Lochlan doesn't want that memory left up there on top like that but I don't change my words unless it's a safety thing. He thinks it sounds so ominous that he wanted me to remain small forever. It isn't, I promise.)

So here's Sam instead. Barging into my peaceful weekend once again with his good friend Jesus. They each take a side, forcing me to my knees where I am made to remember who gave me this life.

(Technically the Devil, though I've learned not to say that out loud anymore.)

What are you in gratitude for this weekend, Bridget?

That pizza can be criticized as a choice instead of being a vehicle simply to assuage our hunger. That we can afford expensive jazzfest tickets and even parking to go. That my raspberries in the garden are ripe. That my children are healthy, happy, not hungry and spoiled even but that they still recognize their values lead the way. That the tires have air. That I get hugs and am loved. That we have more than five forks that match. That I found good music and can indulge in it as a welcome distraction. That the store had my favorite candy. That it rained. That it stopped raining. That we won a Fortnite match and went for a long humid walk. That Jake went to heaven and I'll see him again (THIS PART FEATURED MUCH CONVINCING ON THEIR PART LET ME TELL YOU FOR FREE). That I'm better today. That you love me. 

Finally, I hit on something that soften's Sam's expression.

We all do, Bridge. 

I know. He helps me back to my feet.

I swear you think up the strangest things to throw me off. 

No, I just grab from whatever's happened in the past few days and remember the little things are as important sometimes, as stepping stones to larger things. It isn't always fireworks that impress, sometimes it's the sparks that leave you breathless. 

Jake said that?

Loch did. 

You shouldn't worship your friends, Bridge. 

I'm not-

Good-

He's my life.

A sound from the doorway made us both turn and there's Lochlan, irritation fading from his expression at finding Sam grilling me to wonderment as my words hit home for him in the most joyful way.

Rhetoric? He breathes.

Not even, I confirm. The truth. 

Eight and thirteen (in the very beginning).

She brings the sunshine to a rainy afternoon;
She puts the sweetness in, stirs it with a spoon.
She watches for my moods, never brings me down;
She puts the sweetness in, all around.
She knows just what to say to make me feel so good inside.
And when I'm all alone I really don't feel that way.
Oh how I need her so,
I know she'll never go.

Lochlan is making me laugh today. He's in pajama pants, with a guitar in his arms, and he's performing his old, well-worn, rearranged version of Yes' Sweetness. He's been singing it to me since I was very small. Like we're talking single-digit small. And he's still singing some of the same songs today even though I recall specifically requesting Sister Golden Hair today. Hrmmmph.

Who sings this?

Yes.

No, I asked you who sings it?

The band's name is Yes.

Well, THAT'S dumb.

He bursts out laughing. Actually it's pretty cool. Short and sweet. Like you.

I'm not short!

Okay, Bridgie. What are you?

Dimmer-you-tive.

Dim-IN-u-tive. That's a big word for a little kid.

Wow. I'm going to go home if you keep making fun of me.

But then you won't be able to hear the song that I'm singing for you.

Okay, I'll stay but you have to be nice.

Bridget if you get any bigger I can't give you a piggyback so I like you this size.

You do?

I do.

Well, then what if I grow?

Christian or someone bigger will have to carry you.

What if I never change?

Honestly, I hope you don't. You're perfect just the way you are.

How can you say that? I'm only eight.

It's not the outside, it's the way your mind works. Everything is stars and magic. Keep that. Be this way forever.

Only if you will too.

How am I?

You're just...you. I like you.

I like you too.

Ripple, roar and rise.

We went to an event for the Coastal Jazz Festival last night. No big deal. Just Robert Plant. Just The Sensational Space Shifters. Just Seth Lakeman, who we're all thoroughly in love with now. Especially Lochlan, who came home at two in the morning and dug out my violin and said we've done life all wrong and the only thing we should have been that we haven't actually been were minstrels.

Well, technically we were. 

You know what I mean, Bridge. 

Last night was weird. We dressed to the nines. We ate bad 'New York' pizza on the streets of Vancouver while we strolled down from the parking lot to the Queen Elizabeth theatre, starving but without any time left for a proper dinner. I had a drink at the theatre and then had no more as I had a hard time finding energy for the show, or so I thought.

Seth Lakeman opened and I fell in love instantly with his music. We bought all of his albums when we got home.  So east coast. Celtic. Folk-rock with sometimes more of one and sometimes more of the other. A one-man show. Where has he been hiding? Incredible. Then Robert Plant played the Rain Song and I cried out loud. The songs got jammed in my head. Then I realized how late it was and the show was done and we made our way home.

Seven drunk driving roadblocks on the way. Seven. Three more in the distance on different roads. Life is strange. If you knew death as we do you wouldn't take the chance. You would live so hard. You wouldn't be stupid enough to risk throwing it away, or worse, taking it from someone else. You wouldn't-

Bridget. We know. 

I didn't think that was out loud. 

It was. 

My ears didn't ring afterwards. And last night I slept for eight hours. Hoping it's just going to keep going up and up. Still not feeling better but really thrilled to see all my boys in suit jackets and button down shirts (no ties) and it wasn't even a wedding.

Trying my hardest here.

"She thought she could have what she wanted; She thought she could see the world from above, as if it were a distant blue ball whose sorrows had nothing to do with her. She had wanted to be a bird, but now she knew, as she looked out the window to see Lewis following, that even birds are chained to earth by their needs and desires."      ~Alice Hoffman, The Rules of Magic

Woke up from a drugged sleep (seven. full. hours. Almost there.) in the arms of Lochlan, who was still in jeans and a flannel shirt and boots. He slept sitting up, almost, uncomfortably so, clutching my head against his chest. Like he was ready to fight off every angel I could find in my nightmares and every devil that exists in my waking life.

We need to stay put, Peanut. This is a good place to ride out the hard parts. 

You think it is?

I think it is. 

Okay. (Eight-year-old Bridget always, always trusted him anyway so why not?)

Let's make some breakfast. Do you want to do toast and I'll do some coffee and eggs?

No, bagels instead. Raisin ones. God. Still slurring words this morning. Still fucked up from the pills that stop everything that wants to destroy me in their tracks.

Okay. (He smiles here, because he always trusted eight-year-old Bridget. She always knew exactly what she wanted and she always stayed put when he told her to.)

We'll take today slow. (We have a big group outing tonight and I'm in no condition to go and yet we refuse to miss this.)

Yes. I'm actually feeling better. 

I'll let fuckface know. He's been bothering me nonstop. 

He's just worried. He watched me slide right into the void. 

Yeah, well, the fact that he watched and did nothing to pull you back doesn't leave me wanting to include him if he can't even recognize it happening right in front of his fucking face, Bridge. 

I know. 

You know what? Fuck Caleb. Let's have breakfast up here. I'll call him later.

Two alone.

Gasping at glimpses
Of gentle true spirit
He runs, wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of good-bye

The holy quad is this: grief, fear, wanderlust and love. They all treat the symptoms of the wrong diseases here. No wonder I'm like this. No wonder I walk in quicksand in the dark all the time. No wonder I can't find the light, can't outrun this shit, can't gain any speed.

I have today off. I have a doctor's note as I'm sort of having some sort of major depressive episode exhaustion issue going on here. Everyone's been so helpful and so kind to me and yet I can't seem to gain any traction.

Put on a song, burst into tears. Told Ben it was my favourite and he said it's too sad to be and until I can survive it without the intense reaction it doesn't count.

But I insisted. That's what makes it this way.

Don't do it, Bumblebee. 

Can't help it, it's done. 

They hid all the vehicle keys, except to the ones I can't physically drive (the big bikes and Ben's truck. He got a bigger one. The seat can be zoomed all the way up to the dash and it's still nowhere near the pedals for me so oh, well. Pretty sure this is on purpose. Where's the car key that was in my purse? Ruth doesn't have it. She looked so apologetic. It's sad when you're light years more mature than your mother. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes.

Actually I would.

I would rather have been protected by them, as she is.

Than exploited.

As I was am.

(I said I wouldn't take no for an answer but I technically already have, here, I guess as I'm not in a position to argue. I'm not in a position to operate heavy machinery so on that note, I'm going to bed.)

I am deglazing the pan for a nice light gravy for the roast and Caleb is buttering bread for garlic bread. Dinner for two. He wanted some sort of reassurance after a few long days took me to the other end of my wits and I wasn't forthcoming enough so here I am, being wined and dined and encouraged to help cook in order to prove that everything is fine.

It's fine. I'm fine. I'm okay. Whatever. I finish up and he nods his approval.

Have you decided? 

Bridget, we've talked about this-

I need a change of scenery. 

I've offered and you refuse.

Because you pick weird trips. 

And the Gathering of the whatever they were isn't weird?

No? 

We're not on the same page. 

We're not even in the same library, Cale. 

What would make my trips less...weird to you. 

If they didn't involve all inclusive everything where you just lie around and people wait on you. I hate that. If I go somewhere I want to explore. 

That just gets you into trouble. 

Right. 

So...no. 

No?

Yes, that's what I said. 

Wait. Yes or no?

No, Neamhchiontach. 

Sure you want to be the bad guy here?

I will if I must but I have a feeling I won't be the only one. 

See, I think you will be. 

Try them, Bridget, and let me know how it goes.

Whoop whoop.

The only thing I can do in between sucking up to customers and their endless jokes about 'just one slice of pie but I shouldn't har har har' while they fish for a compliment is to daydream about running away.

Briefly. I could run briefly. I have obligations here. I have a life here.

Actually I'm a little burnt today, a little turnt, even. Maybe one begets the other but I go into each day with guns blazing, super morning-person not even checked, super super super. Holy energy. It starts at a thousand and then slowly ticks down like a full charge to black screen and once again by three this afternoon, I couldn't have lifted another coffee pot if I tried, and happily handed mine over to my successor for the day. She scowled at me and I know damn well she doesn't have the same work ethic. Not like I care though.

God. It's so liberating not to care.


But I do care. I want to do well. I want to matter. I want to have a regular life.

Caleb laughs when I tell him this. That isn't a regular request. 

It's the one I have for you. 

Bridget-

Choose. 

Fine. I'll get back to you once I've thought about it.

I'll be waiting. 

The choice? Either taking me to fucking Burning Man this year or we're going to the Gathering of the Juggalos instead. Not sure if this will light a fire under them but frankly either or sounds like a blast. I will get to something this summer. Not taking no for an answer.

The lamb of Wall Street.

Come, Bridget. 

His eyes glitter, hard navy diamonds in the post-sunset dimness. He's been patient, he's been absolutive, he's been muted in his usual protests. He's been waiting me out.

I don't make him wait longer. I go to him, as instructed and he slides his hands around my waist, trying to breathe me in, exhaling all of his tension out against my skin, as he rests his head against mine. His arms slide further, until I am tightly pressed against him and then he feels right.

This. Just this and nothing else. Relaxes me to the very core. 

Your standards seem low today. 

No, precisely the opposite. They have risen. 

It's a Monday Miracle. 

Was today difficult? 

Beyond. 

Anything I can do?

This. I echo his words and his eyes soften into a lapis laze.

Delighted. But tell me the hardest part anyway. 

Talking myself out of my usual nervous panic. 

Did you succeed?

Barely. 

Then that's a milestone. 

Yeah, you're right. It is. Go me. 

Go you. 

I should go, actually. 

I wish you wouldn't. 

I really need to. 

Another time then, Neamhchiontach. 

I nod, still surprised that I got away. Without being eaten alive and all that.

Burying hatchets (in the sand)/The Four-hour Jesus lunch.

Today was Baptism Day, which means early, early morning church on the beach. Which means men in suits with rolled up pant legs and bare feet being all god-like and Sam pulling out his scuba gear under his robe and neck stole since he has to go all-in.

I didn't know most of the people being baptized personally but I handed them each their goodie bag (containing a bookmark ribbon with one of several of Sam's favorite bible quotes, a small towel with an embroidered cross in one corner, a monogrammed leather bible cover with each candidate's initials and a bunch of treats inside to fully welcome them), after Sam gave them a brand new bible once on land, before walking the next person out to be dipped in the sea.

The final candidate (and the only one I do know) is Jay. New-Jake. Jacob. He came out of the water arm-in-arm with Sam, a look on his face I've never seen before and when I passed him the bag and towel he grabbed me in a big wet hug and then proceeded to hug absolutely everyone. It was beautiful.

We came home and threw a party for him, after everyone had cleaned up. Sam had written a note on the inside cover of each bible for the candidates. Jay passed it around with pride, with tears in his eyes and everyone read it and the weepies were contagious and touching as we brought lunch outside to the patio to enjoy.

What changed? I asked Jake.

I've been given this amazing family, and I want to honor that and be the best person I can, and part of that involves letting go a bit. 

And letting God?

Yeah. It's hard to be as earnest about it. 

You can resist if you want. Look at Lochlan. 

He carries so much anger. 

He's had a hard life, Jay. 

Is it easier now? 

Yes, but he's scarred nonetheless. 

We all are. 

True. 

I want to help make this a beautiful life. 

It is already because you're here. With us. 

Thank you, Bridget. 

I didn't do it. 

Going to give God the credit? 

No, Lochlan. He's the one who brought you back even when you didn't deserve it. 

He nods. I've got to thank him. How do I do that?

Keep being a good person. 

I'll try. 

No, Jay, you have to go all in. There is no 'try'. 

You sound like Yoda. 

He was a smart little green dude. 

Does this mean you're coming to the dark side with the other nerds?

No, I'm never going to be a big Star Trek fan. Sorry.

Living on the edge.

I feel like I reached a milestone today.

We had to drive into Vancouver for an errand and on the way out of it Lochlan stopped and got me a coffee. He was in a rush and forgot to get a lid, and so he handed me an open, full paper cup of coffee when he got back to where I waited. Then he drove the whole way home with me in the passenger seat, sipping my open, super-hot coffee. I'm not sure if it was my confidence that I could manage or his trust but I didn't spill it, didn't get burned and finished it just as we got home. In spite of the short stops, potholes and distracted highway usual Vancouver shit. In spite of the fact that I can't walk and breathe at the same time and have never gotten a coffee on the go.

Because to Lochlan I will always be eight years old and needing to be taken care of, protected from hot coffees, protected from myself maybe.

So I guess I'm an adult today? Finally?

Hurrah. Coffee for everyone. No lids though, fuck it, we're grownups here.