Wednesday 14 March 2012

1

Oh yes, youre in trouble now. he said.

Lochlan siad.

But I'm also drunk so I don't really care and I and they forget to tkae away the laptop

I'm afraid of Caleb but I,m more afraid of revisinist history. If more poeple in my life, incoluding me would just tell the truth all the time everyone would bee soo much better off.

The whiskey maes me not care tonight though. It's been a long time. Half a glassjust put me in this place where it's amazing to see how invested everyone has become. How much I am loved.

oh well ben just said to say goodnight rbidget.

So goodnight Bridget

damn

sorry for the spelligns. night xo

Tuesday 13 March 2012

Coming clean.

He put his hands over my eyes and spoke with his mouth against my ear.

Don't look, peanut. And when we leave tonight you're going to say you were somewhere else. I'll fix everything if it takes me the rest of my life.

I listened. I always did what Lochlan told me, even two nights after he broke up with me when he showed up at the house and asked me to go for a drive with him. We drove across one province and into the next. We drove for hours. He said he didn't want to break up but we had to keep up the appearance for safety's sake.

I was there when he torched our camper. I closed my eyes for absolution. I closed them in alibi. I closed them under orders and I kept the secret up until now because it's no longer important to keep some secrets. Sometimes old ones are let go in order to make way for new ones.

Of course it looked like an accident. He controls fire for a living. But he did not do it out of a sense of malice, he did it to move us to the next chapter in our lives. He did it to erase my memories and soothe my fears. He did it, at great risk, for me. And when he realized he didn't have his journals because he had taken everything out and put it in the back of his truck and then they were missing he was crushed. He has had the journals back for a while now and the truth is out and I was right.

Time corrupts.

Monday 12 March 2012

Look way up. Feel small.

Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
And head back to the milky way
And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
Was it everything you wanted to find
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there
Tonight, for your viewing pleasure, Venus and Jupiter close together in the sky.

Enjoy. I will be. If the wind doesn't blow me off the cliff first. Hey, just like in the song.

Sunday 11 March 2012

Sticky with purple sugar and wishes.

Sometimes little changes after all.

Back in the early days of this website a three-year-old Ruth would stand on the kitchen table in a tutu and butterfly wings eating a cupcake with sprinkles for breakfast while Cole played her a poem on his guitar and I made flower-shaped pancakes at the stove. I had no less than seven sets of tiny string lights crisscrossing the ceiling in the kitchen and at least two sets in every room beyond, leading to outside where the elm tree branches met over the center of the backyard, completing the cozy mood. Henry would sleep easily on the couch with the cat under a big fuzzy blanket and the snow never seemed to stop falling, freezing, melting.

Summer happened in a blink and that was when I smiled.

Teenagers happened in a blink and that is why I am still smiling.

They finally took winter away permanently, in a blink, and I smile more than ever before.

I still leave all the string lights plugged in all the time. A modern electric system means I can have more of them. The table sugar in this house is still dyed a soft shade of lavender and I still do a late-evening assembly line of packed lunches with tiny surprises for the very next day, rain or shine. I open umbrellas indoors (but never over my head) for the cats to hide under and I will do a card reading for you now if prompted or bribed with something special. Easter egg hunts are year-round. I found one in the shower this morning and peeled it under the water spray and tried and failed to eat it before it melted, the water was so hot. I don't save chocolate. Like magic, it does not keep for so long.

Most people don't seem to realize that.

Another thing they don't realize is that we bring magic closer, in places where you would think magic would only wait nearby until time permits. Instead, life should be the other way around.

That magic should be the norm and the pedestrian every-day should be rare and fleeting.

Friday 9 March 2012

Echolocations.

The rain poured down in sheets and ribbons all day. The ground was soaked. The trees dripped and umbrellas were almost useless against the endless deluge. But today was the final day of peace and relative quiet before March break begins and other than baking and icing cupcakes, I spent most of the day on the big shag carpet in the library, spread out on my back on the floor, my head resting on the small of Lochlan's back as he lay on his stomach, elbows propped.

Reading.

It was nice.

I almost fell asleep once, book falling in slow motion to the floor beside my head instead of onto my face (for once) but then he sneezed and I said Bless you but I was so gone it came out like bleshoom and he said thanks and turned another page as my eyes closed once more.

Thursday 8 March 2012

Okay to go.

After a brief and cordial breakfast a couple of weeks ago to meet Sam's boyfriend, we haven't seen much of either of them. Nothing at all, actually, until today when they managed to coordinate a morning off together and I invited them for breakfast here, a risky but inevitable prospect, depending on the day.

Risky because you just never know when Lochlan is looking to have it out with someone or Caleb might be milling about randomly making people burst into flames. Sam's boyfriend is so very precious to him we are working on showing him our best sides.

Shut up. I'm really trying, for Sam's sake. Besides, I was excited to actually talk to the guy. Busy, noisy diners are not conducive to getting to know someone. This morning I got to know Matthew. Except he likes to be called Matt and he is so much like Sam the server at the diner had asked if they were brothers and I kept trying to see what was different.

Up close there are all sorts of small infractions that prevent a twins declaration. Namely, Matt is a bit of a clotheshorse. He appeared in a vintage mint-green dress shirt with pearl buttons and perfectly creased khaki pants. Slim leather belt, matching shoes and matching Coach laptop-manbag. Tortoiseshell glasses. Perfect hint of beard. Ben leaned way over and whispered in my ear as they were hanging up their coats that he had no idea hipsters were viable life partners and I had to bite my tongue not to laugh at that. I poked him hard and he straightened up instantly.

Sam is so...not a clotheshorse. Sam is grad-student chic, which means he's still carting around a fraying messenger bag he bought in 1998 and he may or may not wear his jeans eleven or twelve days in a row just because they look okay (I think he got that from Ben, frankly). They are two sizes too big and he wears a belt that has a brass buckle with a map of Poland on it.

Sam has never been to Poland. He doesn't know anyone who has visited Poland either.

Don't get me wrong, Sam is adorable. But he's not one to iron. Or do laundry. Or buy anything that matches. He doesn't actually shop at all, to tell you the truth.

Matt and Ben were introduced proper and Matt made all the right impressions. He knew of Ben. He thanked both of us for having him over. He was so charming I wanted to go upstairs and kick Duncan and tell him that if he could do Matthew-charming, the world would be his oyster, but I kept my pointy toes to myself and discovered instead that Matt is a scientist. An environmental scientist.

Whatever that is.

I refrained from making Contact jokes the entire morning. Oh yes I did. (Science versus religion? Get it? Matt can be Jodie Foster, Sam can be Matthew McConaughawt).

Matt is too bright for my table, mostly dismissing work talk in favor of talking about everything else. We covered world travels, motorcycles, death and decay, home-baked versus store-bought, strikes and the weather. We took him down to show him the beach and the yacht club that's going in (because it's a behemoth and a mess and I don't want to call it anything else) and we introduced him to Dalton, who wandered through the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxer shorts with his face in a bowl of raisin bran around eleven, and we answered truthfully when he asked practiced, polite and incredibly objective questions about the collective. He was genuinely curious. I can tell the difference now.

Ben offered him a lifetime membership but remember Ben is absolutely incorrigible and a sucker for a cute boy.

Bridget, because there's a first for everything, left her charm upstairs in the bureau drawer and went for submissive and shy instead of whatever it is that I usually do that people complain about.

Then Matt started to talk about Tchaikovsky and Mendelssohn and then I couldn't contain myself and chirped out a whole bunch of questions and learned that he listens to everything and is incredibly knowledgeable about all kinds of different music.

Then it all made perfect sense to me. Music. Shared love of most of the people I know. On a solid par with the fair and drawing pictures and cake. The holy quad of awesome, in my mind.

As I sat and watched them talk, without mistakenly forcing the attention to myself, without spellbinding them with my own charm, I saw something wonderful. They listened with admiration and pride as the other told a story or related some little moment. They touched each other often, holding hands, squeezing shoulders. They looked so at ease with each other that it made me jealous that they are developing a love free of protagonists, villains and strife. Free of drama. Free of grief and regret always tilting the balance the wrong way.

It made me profoundly sad and I got quieter still until Ben slid his chair back to the corner where I sat staring at my tea leaves wondering what they say because I don't speak tea, and he put his arm around me and asked if I felt okay. When I looked up at him, two ghosts stood behind him, one with concern and one with smugness for expressions and I nodded and said I was a little tired today. Matt took that the right way and made a move to leave. I didn't want them to leave. I wanted to stay right there in the chair and watch them interact with each other and the world around them and I wanted to write down how they did it so I could study and practice it later and maybe get it right. I wanted to film it so I could parrot it in the mirror and I wanted it to never ever end.

But since it was practically lunchtime and Sam had to go to work (he starts at noon on most Thursdays and works until eight or nine in the evening) and Matt had a dentist appointment scheduled for right after lunch to make the most of his day off, they made their departure, each planting a kiss on my cheek and shaking hands with Ben. Sam told me to get some sleep. He glared it, I should say, because he knows I am prone to the whims of the night. I dismissed his concern because it wasn't valid under the circumstances. We all promised to get together Sunday night for a little bit of jazz in the sanctuary, after the evening service wraps up. I am told Matt's collection of vinyl rivals some of my boys.

Then Matt and Sam looked at each other and they both said Ready? at the exact same time. They went through the door and Ben saw them safely out the drive, hit the button for the gate once they were clear in their truck and then he came inside grinning from ear to ear and we both said Awww at the same time and burst out laughing.

Days like today are worth sharing.

Wednesday 7 March 2012

(Oh the whores you will find, when reading online!)

I feel like Dr. (or maybe that's Mrs.) Seuss tonight.

Oh the things I could say!
Since you won't go away!
We live life without rules,
Sure we're nobody's fools!
But just look deep inside
There is no place to hide!
You must stand in the light!
You'll put up your BEST fight!

Yes, I made that up. Lochlan's not the only one who can spin a good poem albeit it's been a while since I heard from his giant neverending book of perpetual mermaid poetry (example here). Maybe he dropped it in the bathtub and the pages are too wavy and waterlogged to see any longer.

Maybe hell will freeze over and the whole world will cease waiting for me to stop being so obvious.

Oh, good luck with that, all of you, and while you're here if you stay long enough you'll witness my so-not-PG lapdance. Who's the recipient, you ask? Well, does it really matter? You'll just fill in your own assumptions and your own depravities and I don't even need to be here, now, do I?

Go on, I'll wait while you pull yourself the fuck together. Don't forget to straighten your puritan hems. You know what they say, after all. Don't ever assume you have all the facts, or all the information, names, situations, requirements, rules, or gumption to think you understand my life because you don't.

I write fragments. Altercations, moments, memories, wishes, dreams and the odd little funny bit (to placate my mother, since she has the vapors over what I usually write) and the rest, as far as you must understand it, is off-limits. I'm not going to entertain email demands for more, I'm not going to confirm and deny, I'm not going to do any more than make you understand that...

that...

What you see is what you get. Trust me, I didn't expect it to turn out this way either.

Tuesday 6 March 2012

Creep calm and carry on.

(I take no credit for the title, it's on Ben's t-shirt, complete with a picture of his face. It was sent to him. He adores it.)
Sooner or later the tides will be back here
Returning for ever and changing everything
Now that all the good islands have sunk down into the ocean
We're deeper than you know
I'm playing more emo music and Ben is bored out of skull, reading a book, sprawled out on the couch. Again, this man takes up more physical area than anyone I have ever met. He has this way of spreading out all over a piece of furniture and that means he's relaxed. It's fun. I could throw myself into his vicinity and he would swallow me up in his arms and chew on my hair and keep me there, humming into my skull until I guess the song.

It would not be this Post-Britpop, however. He would stick to soft death metal and things I really love like Tool and Type-O, Gojira and Metallica. He would be so pleased when I name the band and the album. It's like some sort of hearing therapy for me if you ask him, because I spent half of yesterday listening to songs that I could not make out the words too and I was irritated, frustrated to the point where I returned to Lochlan's smaller, obscure but clear pop collection.

His head has started to nod. I love watching him fall asleep while he reads. The moment Ben slows down it's as if the oxygen is sucked out of the room and he is lights out. Maybe it's a circulation thing because he's so tall or maybe he is just getting old (HAHAHA) and starting to finally relax but when he sits down he sometimes nods off. Or maybe my narcolepsy is rubbing off. Maybe he's just tired. We stay up so late sometimes.

Maybe I'm just bored, he says suddenly, his voice thick with sleep. I jump through the ceiling. I wish people would stop doing that.

How did you know I was just writing about you?

You're smiling. What else could you be doing?

Monday 5 March 2012

Masters of allusion.

We wait, watching the server pour coffee around the table, clockwise. She is efficient and professional and I don't watch as she struggles to place their faces. I feign boredom, looking out the window as early workers hurry down the snowy sidewalk to their offices. I didn't think it snowed here in March. I guess I was wrong.

So you never told him.

Both Ben and Lochlan break into comical grins. I roll my eyes.

It was none of his business. It's none of YOUR business.

It helps me to be informed if I am to keep an eye on him.

I can do that from home.

Yes, Bridget, you're doing a fantastic job. As are you. He glares at Ben. Ben's grin slides to the floor and he slouches out in his chair. He's taking up about six square feet of space at this point. He scratches his ear and shrugs.

You can't play both sides.

Lochlan nods, looking from me to Ben and back again. I feel like a child who stole a cookie and I try to take responsibility by speaking up. It's not his fault.

No, it's mine. It's too easy sometimes to overlook common sense and just give her what she wants. Ben glances from my ring to Lochlan.

That's never a good idea with Bridget, Lochlan tells him, missing the gentle dig entirely.

Hello? I'm sitting right here. I sit up in my chair so I am taller and Batman laughs out loud.

You three are so beyond convention. You tell me my life is skewed? It's nothing like what I see here.

Ben sits up again too. But it works. For the most part anyway.

Lochlan and I both nod.

Yes but leaving huge gaping surprises for people to discover doesn't help matters. When were you going to tell him?

When hell froze over. I didn't want him making any more trouble than he already does. It comes out in a near-whine and I struggle to compensate with regular word-sounds.

Bridget, don't forget you perpetuate that trouble as much as he does.

I'm working on it. Head down, playing with the spoons. There are five of them, all told. What sort of meal needs five spoons? I think I've topped out at three. Distractions are good, right?

Can you work harder?

Yes.

I can't hear you, Bridget.

YES.

If you do that, then I have room to help you. Otherwise my hands are tied.

Better yours than mine,
I mutter under my breath.

What was that?

Nothing, I tell him.

He stands up and comes around to my side of the table, planting a hard kiss on top of my head. I heard it anyway and I agree. Do you think you can get through the remainder of this week without going looking for trouble?

Yes. I tell him. He leans over the table to shake hands with Ben and with Loch too and then he's gone and I watch his perfect form exit the near-empty dining room. We stand to leave as well. Lochlan pulls my chair back and reaches into my pocket, digging out the smallest silver spoon and replacing it on the table. I turn and follow him out, fishing into his pocket, pulling out the same-sized spoon. We would never actually leave with the items, it's just practice.

Ben does not participate in this. In addition to overlooking common sense, his method of concealment would be to eat the spoons. Then it would take so much longer to get them back. We can't have that, we're busy trying to keep up appearances around here.

Apparently it's working.

Sunday 4 March 2012

Rituals.

They square off in the front hall on Saturday afternoon. Lochlan refuses to allow me to go. He found the envelope in my bag. He opened it and instead of his usual mere outrage, the inclusion of his name on the invitation brought him to a whole new level of fury. He confronts Caleb quietly as Caleb is checking in with Henry after lunch. Quietly because they always keep their violence civilized when the children are home. Caleb, ever unruffled, tells Lochlan that he should come along and then maybe for once, he could save me.

***

Dinner goes smoothly. Caleb has the servers bring the children ginger ale in champagne glasses and whatever else they want. He chats over their heads with Ben and Chris and Dalton. He generously asks me how Batman is doing. He talks a little about a new plan to dabble in venture capitalism. We are celebrating, for everyone loves a birthday. Once the main course winds down we make our traditional remarks and personal toasts. You can take five minutes or thirty. You can make it a wish or a hope or a memory or a story. You cannot pass. No one's ever passed and yet Lochlan's absence is felt, a glaring cold spot where his arm would be loosely hung around the back of my chair, and he would put on his showman's hat and everyone would feel at ease. Tonight his choice not to attend is a particular display of rebelliousness after our conversations of last week.

I make my toast first. Caleb's eyes well up briefly. A quick recovery and he applauds my words as everyone raises a glass. I drink and take my seat. If only time could go backwards. He could have saved me too.

But he is more interested in exploiting everything. I watch him while he listens to the others. I watch his expressions change and overlap and he comes around to stare back at me across the table so many times I wonder if he is tuning out the words as well but he isn't or his expressions would stop chang-oh, yes, just like that. I tear my eyes away and look at Ben, who brings his arm up loosely across the back of my chair. But I can't get warm. I look down into my lap at my phone. There are nine calls from Lochlan. None have gone to voicemail.

***

We come home and get the children tucked in to bed, lights off, doors pulled just-so and then we send off all of the others too. I laugh at Duncan, he is positively shitfaced and he tells me to be careful before closing his door clumsily in my face. I frown at the painted panels. I look toward Lochlan's door but it is closed tightly, lights off underneath, not a sound from within when I press my ear very hard against it to check.

Ben said he would meet me at the boathouse, that he was going to go ahead and talk a little business with Caleb, something that drives me to total frustration outside of standard hours so I am grateful. He gave me a kiss and told me not to take long.

I changed into a different dress, fixed my lipgloss and unpinned my hair. Then I put my phone on the charger, checked the kids once more to make sure they were asleep already and that sober-Dalton's door was cracked just enough to keep an ear out and then I passed through the rest of the house, turning off lights, checking doors and windows, taking my keyring as I went out the side door, locking it behind me.

I was halfway across the driveway when Lochlan stepped out from the trees along the edge of the woods. I think I must have jumped fifty feet and then some, heart restarted on the way back down, nerves blown, mind recuperating in slow-motion, all of my thoughts scattered in the night.

If you need me to fight for you, I will. If you need me to protect you, I'm here. But you can't put yourself in danger on purpose, peanut.

I didn't!

I know you didn't.

Then why do you make me go through everything alone? I turn away and walk deliberately until I reach the steps. When I turn back he is gone.

***

Caleb refills my glass for the third time with whiskey. Neat. Straight. Burn. Slip into the void. Forget everything, dollface. He tells me some things never change. I nod dizzily and stare at him. They don't. Everyone resolved to change and do better and try harder and yet I'm still screaming out safe words in the dead of night, words that will be ignored as always.

Where is Ben? I asked him finally. I'm annoyed. I'm also drunk now. Great.

He slipped back to the house to fetch some paperwork to show me. He'll be back in a few moments.

He starts to pull my rings off, to put in the little dish on the table because he will not touch me with them on and pauses as he exchanges them from his right hand to his left.

Bridget. What is this?

He holds up a simple band, far shinier than the others and my throat closes over in panic. I forgot to take it off when I changed. I didn't want him to see it.

Who gave you this ring?

I'm not answering. I forgot. I didn't prepare a speech for this moment. I have no sweet remarks, no toast to my own efforts at massive and total defection from the crowded position of neutral. My pokerface wasn't in the box when I was opened and constructed. I don't lie, I just freeze.

The door opens and Caleb starts to turn around. Maybe Ben can shed a little light on this develop-

Lochlan is standing there.

Come on, Bridget. Get your things, we're going.

She's here to celebrate with me, for my birthday. Caleb sounds like Henry when he wants to argue an immature point.

It's one in the morning. Your birthday is over. And the ring came from me.