Last minutes.

Seven o'clock on a Saturday night and Ben walks into the kitchen and says simply,

Little bee, let's go camping.

Who?

Caleb's got the kids for movie sleepover so I figured you and I would go. Go pack your boyfriend and let's get going.

He turns and walks out of the room. If I know Ben, he'll put his truck keys in one pocket, a guitar pick in the other pocket and proclaim that he is ready to go. Not sure he's ever really figured out the whole tent + sleeping bags + food part of the deal. Ben doesn't actually live in the reality he claims to. He lives in a different fantasyland, where camping equipment just falls from the sky for him to use. That hasn't changed in twenty years.

I take off, scrambling. Sleeping bag. Check. Tent. Check. Food. Check. Run down the driveway to the boathouse and kiss the kids and tell them where we will be. Check. Urg. Phone isn't charged. Will do that on the drive in the truck. Check. Sketchbook and pencils. Check. Extra blanket in case it's colder than the forecast. Check.

I am waiting in the front hall with mostly everything when he returns with his guitar case and he looks around.

Where's Lochlan?

I don't know? Camper, probably?

Go get him. Come on. We have to get moving to get a site before dark.

I thought you were being sarcastic about bringing him.

No. I wasn't.

You want him to come camping with us?

Yes?

Are you going to kill him in the woods?

Only if he tries to kiss me again.

He doesn't do that. You do it to him!

Oh, right. Okay, I'll only kill him if he doesn't respond to my advances.

You've a very hard man to figure out, Benjamin.

I hear you like guys like that.

Just..wow.

That WAS sarcasm. In case you were wondering.

Between two thieves.

It's a carpet bag with lavender stitches along the outside of one seam, a painstaking repair job done in the dark with a flickering flashlight and a rusted needle while I waited for him to return from tear-down. The rotation is horrible some weeks and so I am forced to go to the medical station each night and be watched over by the disapproving nurse because no one else is free. She doesn't like him. I think she likes me but she seems too worried to confirm that and instead I am treated to an endless routine of disapproving clicks and checks so I go out and sit in the dark behind the trailer.

She wants proof that I have not been kidnapped, stolen or otherwise forced to be here against my will. She wants proof that I'm eating, growing, menstruating even. I am weighed every week. Just beforehand Lochlan pours sand in my pockets and in my shoes. But she wants proof that he isn't doing anything to me that I don't want him to do.

All of this is carried out through charades. She doesn't speak English and I don't speak Romanian.

Lochlan does, but he isn't here now, is he? I just wait for him to come back and flash me a brief tired smile and she'll launch into a barrage of words at him that sound even stranger than the ones in the songs he sings when he thinks I can't hear him, and he'll answer back just as fast, beginning softly and ending in that stern none-of-your-business voice that he deploys as proof that he can handle this.

This.

This life, with it's broken camper with the makeshift lock on the door, one pillow to share and one thin blanket we hardly even need for the temperature Lochlan runs at. I often think if one of his torches goes out during a routine he could just blow on it it to reignite but he laughs and said it's his Scottish passion that heats him to a slow burn and it's his Bridget that fans the flames. Oh, the charm. It works magnificently when he is standing in front of me defending this life. The one with the stolen tablecloth and the hard-earned toolbox and the warm beer and fifty dollars in hand to procure a week's work of food but we run out on Thursdays usually by mistake and have resorted to borrowing regularly with no intentions to pay it back because if we do then we'll never get ahead.

The zipper on the bag is finicky, catchy and almost broken but not quite. In it always the same things. Something warm to wear. Something good to read. Some music to listen to (then it was the walkman with the expensive batteries. Now it's the expensive phone that can't last half a day on a charge), some photographs of times when I could still smile spontaneously, and a half-assed plan to rule the world on our terms, because there is no me in we, as Lochlan says late at night when we giggle as he pulls the threadbare blanket up just to the stars, calling it our night-fort. It's the safest place in the whole world.

It's where he teaches me those other languages I will instantly forget and where he tells me about all of the places in the world that he will take me someday and where he describes in great detail the food we'll eat on Saturday when we cash out again and head in town. I think I like that part best.

The part I like least is when he reminds me to keep the carpet bag packed and near the door. Just in case. I still listen. It's still there. His stuff is in it too.

Champion of the world.

Nothing you would take
Everything you gave

Did I say that I need you?
Oh, did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
And I come clean

Outrageous. He's not holding to his word anymore, Bridget.

He's using logic as a weapon tonight. He's highly annoyed. The eyebrows are working overtime. I'm glad he cut his hair, I get treated to the full complement of facial expressions. Otherwise I just see a faceful of curls and his mouth.

I know but look at the other side of the coin. We have the whole peninsula now.

It's a trick coin, Peanut! Remember?

It will be good for the others.

My whole wing is vacant, Bridget. You could fit a couple of them in there.

That's your space.

That's my space, right there. He nods in the direction of the driveway where the camper sits with big wooden chocks behind the wheels. I never needed much. My sketchbooks and torches. He looks down at me. You.

I know.

But now it's out of control. I can't live like this.

You don't have to change anything.

Sure I do. This is it. The deciding factor. The final piece of this experiment and now it's all-in, Bridget. It's a compound. And he owns all of it.

You're making it sound like it's such a big deal. Caleb bought the house next door. That's it.

But now he has the whole peninsula, as you said. A hell of a lot of prime real estate.

And you're threatened by his money suddenly?

Lochlan shoots me a warning look. No, I'm threatened by his proximity. To you. To my daughter. To Benjamin. This isn't healthy.

Like you said, it's an experiment.

And you're the subject. That isn't right.

I would use Caleb to get Daniel and Schuyler out from under their mortgage any day. They can't afford that house. Having them move into the house next door and having Christian and maybe Corey have their own suites there too will help all of them immensely. Do you want to deny your friends the same help you received?

I want nothing from him. I never asked for this.

But you got help by default, Loch.

Jesus, Bridge. You're not going there. Not tonight.

I want to help them. It has nothing to do with Caleb.

He sees it so differently. His eyes are pleading and I can see his thoughts.

(No further. No more. You'll only get so far from me, Peanut and then I'll call you back and you'll come skipping down the dirt road at sunset, sugar streaked across your cheeks, tangled hair with daisies braided into your curls, and you'll ask if we can stay out later but I always have to disappoint you because you need a good nights sleep while I hold you so you can grow up healthy and someday leave all this danger, these thrills behind. Only I failed to help you do that and it's all still here, right behind me. I drag it with me as I walk.)

I straddle his knees and take his face in my hands. It's how I get them to pay very close attention. Old habits die hard, I've been doing it since I was nine.

I don't care how he sees it. I only see it as a means to an end. The land is worth far more unified and everyone will be in one place. I'm even going to propose some space to Matt and Sam, if they want, it might help them sort out their stalemate on living together. It's a good thing, Lochlan, please.

Then tell him you're using him.

He knows. I don't think he cares.

Exactly. He doesn't put your feelings first. It doesn't matter who you love, there he is, right there dismissing your plans for his own. That's not right, Bridget. Things aren't getting better with him here.

That's what Ben has been saying about you, remember?

I always put you first.

If you did that you wouldn't be here now would you! I shout it at his face. It's not a question, it's an observation.

Do you want me to go? Because I can go, Bridget and then you can live happily ever after with the Boogie Man and Frankenstein but don't cry for me when you wake up and you're afraid of the dark because I won't be there to soothe your fears. No one will. They're both too wrapped up in themselves to do the job. You know it and I know it and THEY know it.

You weren't there for y-

I'M HERE NOW!

He was so loud I was scared into silence.

I'm here now. Repeated in a whisper as his hand takes mine and brings it up to his lips, warm as they press against my skin.

Hades waits.

(A very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless. Dalton said it was 'just a dream' which reduced it to manageable for me. If it's only a dream I can control it. Right? What do you mean, no?)

It took him forever and a day to open my hands. In one was a broken lock, the inside of the tiny door handle, the mechanisms that failed. In the other was everything else, the air removed, sealed into a tiny package. I can add water later and it will grow back to normal. It took even longer for me to open my eyes, I had squeezed them shut tight against the lies and promises, against the epic block of time I would never get back again. Life is over before it's even begun, that's what this sign says, while the one up ahead says Hell: Next Exit.

We get off here, sweetheart.

He smiled when he said it, arm resting on the door sill, aviators in place, hair ruffling in the breeze.

I didn't even want to come here. I sit back and cross my arms. It's a momentary lapse, this outward petulance. I resume the vacant stare out the window. I've been subsisting on panic and silence. Neither contains enough fuel to see me through. I know the platitudes involve things like keeping my strength up and looking after myself but somehow that just happens and I'll have nothing to do with it. I can stand here on the side of the road and watch as I drive past and wave only I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what the directions mean or what hell even looks like. This is not the roadtrip I planned. This is not the life I lead. This was not how things are supposed to be.

Pull over, I tell him. It's not a request, it's an order so he does when he sees the panic in my eyes and I rush out the door, almost tripping in the dry tall grass on the shoulder and I bend over, automatically pulling my hair back with one hand. He comes around and puts his hands on my shoulders and I wait for the retching but it doesn't come. Why is my head spinning? My stomach is empty and he knows that so he yanks me back up to face him.

You lied, Bridget.

I nod. I'm not going to verbalize anything. I no longer care. I'm the passenger. This is not my trip.

Why did you lie?

Silence again. What am I supposed to tell him, that I thought I could pull it off? That I thought I could eat the cake, that I thought everything would work out, that I like to torture myself because I've never felt worthy of any more than that? Fuck him. He doesn't deserve an answer any more than I deserve to know the reason I'm here in the first place. A few words on a page and complete and total invisibility besides.

He forces me back into the car, buckling the seatbelt around me, frowning at my obsolescence.

This is not a reason, it's a minimum at best, a tangent. A will to persevere in spite of nothing. Some will say it wasn't for nothing but that's a lie too and I see right through it. We drive through it and it spreads and dissipates onto the wind.

He takes the turn too fast but nothing happens. The car drives like it's on a rail. He smiles.

Almost home, Bridget. Then we can rest.

I've been here before. It hasn't changed a bit. It's exactly like I remember it and at the same time I have no memory of this at all.

This isn't my home.

Everyone feels like that at first. Just give it ti-

We need to turn around! I shout it and scare myself but Caleb just smiles.

Give it time, beautiful. All of this belongs to you now.

Texts from Satan.

Eurydice. Brilliant. I forget how incredibly bright you are sometimes.

Eurydice waits.

Back into your endless honeymoon, I see. Everything is straightened out with Ben?

For the time being.

And then what?

We'll see, I guess.

You know what the best part is, Bridget? You give away everything and you give away nothing at the same time.

Caleb, what are you talking about?

Your writing. You have zero class when it comes to detailing things you can't control but when it comes to finishing what you start, you come up short.

Maybe you should read someone else's words then, since I have no class.

I said when it comes to-

I heard what you said.

You're a very cranky little thing today aren't you? Boyfriend keeping you up all night?

Yes, actually.

Oh, good, that made him stop talking. He fussed with his tie for a moment before loosening it significantly and then as he rolled up his shirt sleeves against the heat he tried a new topic. It was not a better choice.

So what in the hell are you going to do without your Jake-substitute around for the next ten weeks to pacify your need for oversized Newfoundlanders?

Aren't you late for a meeting or something?

I've already been.

Oh.

So I have time.

I don't.

Sure you do. You're here, aren't you?

Not anymore. I turned to leave.

Bridget, don't think I can't be a force for good in your life. I'm trying really hard here.

I know.

Then let me help you.

Help isn't supposed to be your means to an end, Cale.

I'm one of the few with means-

Money can't help you. Don't you think if it could everything would be fixed by now?

Lose the charades then. Do it now.

Slipping a little, are you, Mister Honest?

I can't help it, Bridget. We're wasting time.

You can go do whatever you want. I'm not holding you back.

What I want is in front of me.

No, it isn't.

He laughed out loud. I can assure you, it is.

Then you're the one who's wasting time. I balled my hands into fists and turned to leave but he grabbed my arm and pulled me in close.

You think an amateur seaside commitment ceremony protects them from losing you?

Yes.

Bridget, you are truly amazing. I've never seen someone fight so hard to surround themselves with such a loyal army of lovers.

I do what works.

And it's an illusion, princess. Just like your fire boy. Your future is predestined. Stop fighting it.

I wanted to say You stop fighting it and get used to the idea that you will die alone but in that moment I could not be so cruel. I guess that's why he still has hope that things will turn out differently.

Manual transmission (AKA Happy Mother's Day!)

Today when we were leaving the shopping center, we were walking between cars in the parking lot and we passed a car with a couple inside, sitting oddly close for bucket seats. It only took me half of a heartbeat to realize that the girl in the car was giving the guy in the car a handjob. It took me the rest of that heartbeat to realize that Ruth and Henry saw everything I saw.

It took me the rest of the trip home to explain that private cuddles in public aren't supposed to be in places where children could witness things they don't need to witness. My big-city-living, cross-country-moving, worldly, sophisticated, knowledge-sponge children are just that: Children.

I'm not all that impressed, truth be know and I'm the furthest thing from a prude that you will ever meet (see previous uh...eight years worth of entries). My kids have taken sex ed. I've talked to them, they get the rest from the boys' talks with them, books and questions and everything else so they're not shielded or bubbled or ostriched into ignorance here. I just don't think coming out of the Hello Kitty store and into HELLO FETISH was how I wanted to spend Mother's Day, but your mileage may vary.

All I'm asking is that when my elementary-school age kids are passing your windshield at least stop moving your hand, goddammit.

(Not safe) Swimming in velvet.

When he moves to slide my rings off Ben stops him, shaking his head briefly once. It's enough. I exhale my relief visibly, rewarded with almost-smiles in near darkness. Golden bands are threaded back onto my ring finger gently and deliberately. I watch, holding my breath. Loch smiles and pulls me in closer. He kisses up under my neck. I lift my head up and the back of it rests against Ben's chest. No space. No need for distance now. No room for error.

Ben takes my hands and holds them clasped in front of me. His head comes down to kiss along my shoulder. He slides the strap of my dress off my skin and turns me around as Lochlan's hands fall to my waist. Another kiss, this time stretching far up to meet Ben as he lowers his head. His hands slide around my head to hold me up closer to him. And then he lets go and I fall onto the feather bed. Lochlan laughs and pulls me over. He is already stretched out the full length of our in-house cloud, a dreamlike place where, once fully relaxed, you only feel peace. It's designed on purpose, similar to the giant soaking-bathtub of total sensory deprivation.

Ben has my wide green velvet ribbon and the last thing I see before he covers my eyes is his expression. He craves me. He ties the ribbon gently around my head and now I am blind. His lips are on mine. Cool rough stubble lingers against my philtrum. His breath warms my cheek. His hands pull me back toward the edge of the bed, lifting my knees, wrapping them around his waist. He pulls away and then he is back. When I cry out Loch's hand slides over my mouth. His head presses against my ear and he tells me that everything is okay. And then he disappears again and there is only Ben with his hands locked around my hip bones, grating them against his fingers. I have no leverage. I am in thin air, blind and at his mercy.

And oh, he likes it that way. Abruptly I am dropped back onto the cloud and then pulled back toward Lochlan. His arms pull me in close against him. His skin burns mine until we are fused glass and he stays against me, his mouth against my forehead, exertion forcing his breath out in harsh gasps. I throw my arms around his neck and hold on tight. He moves his head again, this time matching his face to mine, biting my lower lip, whispering things I can't hear between bites. Suddenly he lets go again. I am lifted out of his arms forcibly, back into Ben's embrace. When I cry out loud in dismay, Ben pulls off the ribbon and asks me if I'm okay. I nod. I am delirious and overwhelmed by their coordinated efforts to bring heaven down here. They become one person, blurred lines becoming a blend of red into black. Of blue into brown. Of hot into cold and romantic affection into something so outlandish and depraved that even I tend to ignore the safe words, if only I knew what they were. If only I thought they might heed them.

I am bent and pulled and taken to places I have never seen or heard of before. What we've seen of life is strange enough and so there is nowhere to go but here and there is nothing to do but let go and be honest and try harder and stay together.

Eventually we slow to a sleeping crawl and my eyes close against the rising sun, my head against Ben's heartbeat, Lochlan within reach as ever now. I hear the birds and see the light through the windows, burning off the ghost fog over my mind, taking with it my lingering reservations as it rises high into a Sunday sky to highlight the green velvet ribbon, lying tangled on the floor.

Boy sandwiches.

(Again, not putting a time reference on these. When is not important. What is. Besides, it's mostly obvious. One is from thirty years ago. The other, thirty days.)

I knew that he drank most of the whiskey from the bottle on the picnic table but I still didn't know why he couldn't follow simple directions.

Ow! Let go. You're hurting me.

Stay with me, Bridgie. The last thing I want is for you to get lost in the woods tonight.

Lochlan has my hand clenched so tightly in his my fingers are crushed and I'm tripping as I try to run with him. We are making our way through the woods toward the lake as the sun goes down. Not the public swimming beach but the rope swing the boys put up with their fathers years before.

We're going skinny dipping only I don't do that because I don't feel like I'm one of them. Bailey will. Her eyes are bright gold, full of beer. She scowled when she saw that Lochlan was bringing me with them. She's safer at home. It's past her bedtime anyway. I'm not looking after her.

We will, Lochlan says. Caleb nods.

Bailey looks fierce. Don't give her any alcohol. I don't want to get in shit.

I don't want any!

You're not having any anyway, Bridge, you're too young. Here, I brought pop for you.

Caleb twists the cap off as I watch. He is nineteen and this is his first year home for the summer from university. I take a drink. It's really sweet. I don't drink pop late at night. I don't even know late at night, we've never been properly introduced. I'm usually in bed by nine o'clock. But when it's summer and everyone stays out late my parents are satisfied that the older kids will keep me safe and entertain me besides and then they are free to sit on the dock and talk into the early morning hours with their cottage friends. It's a win-win situation.

Caleb doesn't seem drunk but he drinks a huge gulp from the whiskey bottle and then he's the first one out of his clothes, leaping ahead to grab the swing and launch himself out over the deepest part of the lake. With a holler he lets go and disappears under the surface. Everyone laughs and Cole goes next. I stare at his nakedness. They have no modesty whatsoever. Bailey is next. Her long hair covers her chest and she leaves her bikini bottoms on. She laughs and squeals as she flies out over the water and then screams when Caleb leaps up from below to catch her. I smile. I picture them as a couple someday. Maybe next year when she gives up the mall for more serious pursuits, because Caleb is so serious. He wants to be a lawyer. I can see that. He's very good at talking, reasoning. Adults trust him.

Lochlan has not gone on the rope yet. At sixteen he is well-respected but a loner on the fringe of the group even though he pretends he's right in the thick of it all. He's sitting beside me drawing pictures with a sharpie and a composition book. He turns to me and draws a ring on my finger and writes Love is the most important thing down the length of my arm. He tells me never to forget that. I write I won't on his knee. It wears off before we go home because it gets wet. My words don't because I don't go in. In the morning my mom asks what it means and Bailey tells her that Lochlan doodles on everyone.

I don't show my mother what Caleb wrote on my back. I saw it in the mirror this morning because he wouldn't tell me what he wrote in his modern cursive script from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. He tells me he's going to get a big tattoo on his back in a few years. I ask him what he's getting but he doesn't know yet.

***

Your shadow
I will show you something different
I will only stop you drifting so far

I find Lochlan flat on his back on the floor in the library. Oh, he is so loaded I can't get him up. He wants to get up but he can't. I don't want to tell anyone else to enlist some help because they will just judge him. He needs to forget things so he uses a liquid lobotomy and then he will forever be sixteen and I will be ten and nothing will have ever gone wrong and the worst thing we will ever have to deal with is homework and eating our vegetables and rainy days in which we can't go to the lake or beach at all. He stops singing when he realizes that I'm there.

We need to go back in time, Bridgie.

Too late, Lochlan.

Tears slide out his eyes and into his hair. He does not get up. There's music on the stereo, I can't hear what it is. I just know I want to get him up off the floor and upstairs so he can sleep it off but I don't want the kids to see him and I can't do this by myself.

You need to get up, Lochlan.

Bridget, just go out and lock the door. Come back tomorrow please.

Come to bed, Lochlan. Come on.

I can't feel my teeth, sweetheart. I'm sorry.

You're an adult. You didn't fall into a vat of whiskey, Lochlan. How can you be sorry for something you did on purpose?

You don't think sometimes things turn out not to be the right decision?

I don't know.

I'll rephrase it then. Bridget, you've chosen wrong. Now what?

He doesn't wait for me to reply. He is singing again. His accent is all over the place and I want to laugh only this sucks.

You looked beautiful this morning.

Thank you.

No, I mean it. It's hard to believe you have grown up in front of all of us.

What was I supposed to do, stay little forever?

Maybe. Then I wouldn't have taken you to that godforsaken place.

I look away. I really don't want to do this now. I sit down beside him on the floor.

Then you wouldn't have this stupid tattoo. He lifts up my shirt in the back and runs his hand across my shoulder blades, where it says Innocent in Caleb's neat cursive script, in Gaelic. Neamhchiontach. To match his tattoo that says Devil in Gaelic. Diabhal.

I like my tattoo. It keeps him forever accountable.

It makes me feel guilty.

I forgave you.

But you didn't forget, peanut. He tilts forward and puts his head down in my lap. He closes his eyes and I automatically start to comb through his curls with my fingers. He goes to sleep. He's the only one who doesn't look like a little boy when he's sleeping. He looks like a man. A man conflicted and torn, a man who carries such a heavy load all the while refusing to claim it as his own.

How am I supposed to forget? And why can't you follow simple directions?

He doesn't hear me. He's in his whiskey dreams where I am a child. Little more than someone to bounce his fears off. Little more than a mirror, his little shadow. A little hesitant. A little suggestible.

Little.

****

The library door opens around seven. I see the light spill into the hallway and I get up and go to see how he is. Lochlan walks out into the hall and sees me and then turns and heads upstairs. I am behind him the whole way but he doesn't stop. Finally outside the bedroom door I ask him how he's doing and he stops for a beat but then he goes into my room and closes the door on me. In my face, if we are being particular.

I turn and slide down the door to sit against it. I can wait for him. Eighty-five minutes pass and Ben comes to the top of the steps and just looks at me. I ask him what he wants and he says he's been looking for me. I snap that I've been here for a while, that Lochlan went inside and never came back out. Ben says that he probably went to sleep. That he weighs a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet and probably can't handle a forty all that well. Why don't I come down and let Lochlan sleep through the rest of the evening?

I shake my head. I'm fine right here, I tell him.

What's more important, Bridget?

Love. Love is the most important thing, Ben.

Who told you that, Bridget? I wouldn't say it's true all the time. I watch his face. He is choosing his words so carefully. Each one is made of land mines disguised as letters. Each one ticks like a time bomb. Each one is locked and loaded.

Maybe you're right.

He stops thinking and reacts instead, changing expressions and I know I went too far.

Are you choosing sides today?

Trying not to.

You might want to think about that, Bridget. Because from here it looks like my team is down a player.

We're all on the same team, Ben.

You know something, Bridget? You and Loch may live in some kind of fucked-up Neverland fantasy but some of us are right here in reality and I've got news for you. We've never been on the same team. Ever. I gave you as much latitude as I could and it's making me crazy.

The door opens suddenly. Lochlan doesn't come out or say anything but the door is just...open. An invitation. An escape.

A decision.

I did not have to think twice. I grabbed Ben's hand and pulled him in with me. He didn't fight me. We made a Lochlan sandwich (Ben and I were the bread, Loch was the meat) and stayed with him until he started making sense again. We took turns watching over him, took turns sleeping and took turns talking him out of his drunken opinions and stalwart proclamations. It took a while.

When the tides had turned we were forced to do the same for Ben, unencumbered by alcohol but positively hobbled with doubt, fear and massive waves of regret. I'm not picking sides, I prioritize based on need. Once reminded of that Ben was more comfortable and far less resigned. His generosity hits me like a brick wall only to mix with Lochlan's possessiveness. The heartbreaking honesty and depth of our words leaves me exhausted and suddenly doubtful of everything and nothing, least of all this very unconventional love affair that finds me squarely in the center.

Because this time I got the middle. It's very hard to be the meat. And yet, here I am.

Neamhchiontach go cinnte. And please pass the whiskey.

The dreams we have as children.

He either grew tired of us mentioning his curls nonstop or he went Hare Krishna on me (it's happened before) but when I walked into the kitchen this morning I didn't recognize Lochlan, who finally went for a haircut. By the end of summer he will be strawberry blonde and have perfect curls again but until then we get treated to this virtual stranger with dark red and weirdly straight hair. I can see his eyes. He can't hide behind his curly charm now.

***

I'm listening to Noel Gallagher again. I know. The Birds album turned out to be a literal masterpiece to my ears. They are so selective sometimes I even surprise myself.

***

We're out of cake.

I did not care to acknowledge much about this birthday just because I can't count this high and when I try I become sad in a way that seems so permanent and regretful and completely unusual to the fleeting and crushing sad feeling that I am familiar with. Life is far different from what I pictured. Not in a bad way, just completely different, and I have had to be far braver than I thought possible and still every day things are new and different and kind of unbelievable and those are the dreams you can pop like bubbles and I know I'm a fatalist but I mean well, really I do.

I worry the bottom will fall out. That's all. I've always felt as if I stood on the outside and my life is a movie I watch on a big screen, so lifelike I can feel what everyone feels, so intangible after all that any decisions are put to a committee vote instead of a whim.

***

People want to know what's going on. With triangles and declarations and boys and life here in the collective and I tend to ignore writing about it when I get overwhelmed or distracted.

Well, sorry, I've been distracted. An awful lot actually.

I stepped into the garage and Jake growled at me to smile, oh and to slow the fuck down, and really pay attention and count the stars that are lucky and leave the rest for others (no, I need them all, Pooh) and then I tried a new tea and learned that yes the afternoon coffee will now destroy me because caffeine makes me crazy and then I had to bite my lip when I realized I really really wish I could control the universe sometimes because then it would make perfect sense and I realized who I sounded like and it was that much-needed stab of familiarity mixed with an ache for a time when things were so simple the only things I had an opinion on were the color of my cotton candy (blue, always blue) and whether or not my hair went into a braid or a knot at the back of my neck (I liked the braid, he liked the knot).

I went to tell him about the ache but he had left already. To get his hair cut. And when he came back my courage left to make room.