Thursday 20 June 2013
POW.
Can you see my white flag from here? I mean, really. Can't you fucking SEE it?
(Turn off the stereo. We have to talk, and besides you're blindsiding me with my entire emotional map laid out in song. That isn't fucking fair of either of you.)
Batman owns this house, here in Cape Cod. I found a stack of paintings at the end of the hallway upstairs and I couldn't resist looking at them. Some of them were by Cole and I looked at Ben and asked him what he hadn't told me over the past five years. He just stared at me as he weighed which answers would provoke which results. Not sure he ever figured it out since he turned and walked back down the hall, away from me.
Ben is still under the wagon and Loch is still singlemindedly determined to take me apart piece by piece and then he can put back together his perfect summer girl as he remembers me instead of how I am.
Flawed. Surrendered. Surprised. Disappointed, demoralized and exhausted. This was not a good idea. This was not a good idea at all.
Wave that fucking flag high, girl, and maybe they'll come and get this over with.
(Turn off the stereo. We have to talk, and besides you're blindsiding me with my entire emotional map laid out in song. That isn't fucking fair of either of you.)
Batman owns this house, here in Cape Cod. I found a stack of paintings at the end of the hallway upstairs and I couldn't resist looking at them. Some of them were by Cole and I looked at Ben and asked him what he hadn't told me over the past five years. He just stared at me as he weighed which answers would provoke which results. Not sure he ever figured it out since he turned and walked back down the hall, away from me.
Ben is still under the wagon and Loch is still singlemindedly determined to take me apart piece by piece and then he can put back together his perfect summer girl as he remembers me instead of how I am.
Flawed. Surrendered. Surprised. Disappointed, demoralized and exhausted. This was not a good idea. This was not a good idea at all.
Wave that fucking flag high, girl, and maybe they'll come and get this over with.
Wednesday 19 June 2013
Tuesday 18 June 2013
Bishop and Clerks for three (bring them to the light).
Bring me home in a blinding dream,Long before I finally asked him to revert back to his habitual self so that my lobotomy could still be successfully reversed, Lochlan dropped through a hole into a place he doesn't belong. The nightmares were back, the rabbit hole wide open, the mind behind a familiar face unrecognizable.
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again
I don't care if you get it, I get it. He isn't like that with me. He can't be. He's just not wired this way so his attempts to make a strategic move only served to illuminate his completely selfish plan to edge Ben right off the playing field. It served to prove that the dark magician is still in there and oh, Jesus, no. Anything but that. You don't understand.
As if we don't know Lochlan has been plotting this all along, right up until he gets everything all lined up in front of him and he's home free and then he gets scared, turns and disappears, like magic.
Like magic. I think I'll stick with the coins behind my ears and the fire routines because we can't survive anything greater than that.
So it's better if he just continues to be himself and not let himself go to places neither one of us are comfortable together. It's better if he does things his way and I will exist around him, doing what I need to do, and Ben will do whatever it takes to stay clean and sober and alert and present because he knows that's what he needs to do. Never mind the fact that I've tied an imaginary chain around his neck and am forcing him to be present because I refuse to commit to his absence any more. I refuse to watch him drink and self-destruct and I refuse to give up.
Yes, you heard me right.
And to that end Ben has planned a getaway (when the going gets tough the tough book planes) and as usual I'm not packing, I'm writing. I've got my hearing aids and my string bikini (one will not be worn with the other) and my big holey sweater, jeans and a windbreaker, my SPF25000 sunscreen and new sunglasses and we're taking our magician and going to Massachusetts, where it isn't warm enough for a string bikini, nor is it bright enough yet for that SPF when a 60 will do just fine.
We're going to have a bonfire and talk things out and figure out our future plans and apologize to each others' faces instead of ripping them off and spend a little time, which is easier to do without things like opinionated friends, overbearing millionaires and wi-fi, though there's a bookstore in town that hooks me up for the price of a cup of tea so you might see me yet.
Otherwise you'll have to wait until the weekend and I will catch you up. Cross you fingers for us. As usual we seem to need prayers even though we are heathens and hopeless and bereft.
Monday 17 June 2013
Unsealed on a porch a letter satNew hearing aids. Really really good ones. If you need me I'll be wrapped around the stereo listening to Eddie Vedder breathe.
Then you said, "I wanna leave it again"
Once I saw her on a beach of weathered sand
And on the sand I wanna leave it again
On a weekend I wanna wish it all away
And they called and I said that "I want what I said" and then I call out again
Sunday 16 June 2013
Father's Day.
Today I put on my happy face and honored six fathers, one stepfather and ten full-time surrogate dads/hunkles here today because the boys work so hard to see that the children have more than enough help, support and discipline to go around. They all always make time for the kids, no matter what else is going on and I am grateful and humbled by all of them for their efforts in helping me raise these amazing human beings.
I watch it and I am awed. I participate and I hold my breath as I realize the depth of the bonds they all share with my two greatest accomplishments. It's more important than anything else, as always.
So many times I wanted to open my mouth and continue the war but I looked at Ben as he taught the kids how to grill cheese sandwiches and saw the look on his face as they watched and listened carefully and I remembered that I picked him, not only for myself but for them too.
I watch it and I am awed. I participate and I hold my breath as I realize the depth of the bonds they all share with my two greatest accomplishments. It's more important than anything else, as always.
So many times I wanted to open my mouth and continue the war but I looked at Ben as he taught the kids how to grill cheese sandwiches and saw the look on his face as they watched and listened carefully and I remembered that I picked him, not only for myself but for them too.
Saturday 15 June 2013
12404.
That was my lobotomy moment. He was above me, and he had one hand around my thigh and the other was wrapped around the back of my head, pulling it up. I'm barely touching the bed and he's on his knees and oh, Jesus, I can't reconcile what he's doing and I'm still not sure why he's suddenly given up his perfect record of self-control but I like it and that's bad and he's ruining everything but also it's better and now what?
Now what?
Is the trauma past and he can let go finally? Is there a limit on how long one can be the way one is before you're reset only to have to figure life out all over again? Is this what midlife really is? My baby-faced carnival man is going to be forty-nine this summer. He looks maybe thirty-two, thirty-five tops.
Maybe he has started a countdown of his own. Maybe forming in his head right now as he winds me out and holds me down is a proposal of sorts. Maybe this time he'll get everything right.
What about me though? I don't have a reset button. I don't get to let go of anything. I can't shake the past, it follows me around like a six-foot-two Devil in a bespoke suit and it speaks to an evil I can't seem to escape.
And there's Ben. I'm not sure I want to escape from him, though he's all but shoved me so far into the corner right now I've stopped trying to fight my way back out. Yesterday I gave up. I fucking gave up on him and now is not the time for this. Now is not the time to take that leap, Lochlan, just hold the goddamn line and please don't try and stand on what's left of my heart because you'll fucking finish me off here.
Sadly Lochlan refuses to hear the words inside my skull and I'm not sure I want to say them out loud. I don't know how to tell him not to be selfish when I'm still chasing after Ben because I was pretty sure I could maybe fix someone in my lifetime. If it couldn't be me, anyway.
We just took the long way home, that's all, Bridgie.
Now what?
Is the trauma past and he can let go finally? Is there a limit on how long one can be the way one is before you're reset only to have to figure life out all over again? Is this what midlife really is? My baby-faced carnival man is going to be forty-nine this summer. He looks maybe thirty-two, thirty-five tops.
Maybe he has started a countdown of his own. Maybe forming in his head right now as he winds me out and holds me down is a proposal of sorts. Maybe this time he'll get everything right.
What about me though? I don't have a reset button. I don't get to let go of anything. I can't shake the past, it follows me around like a six-foot-two Devil in a bespoke suit and it speaks to an evil I can't seem to escape.
And there's Ben. I'm not sure I want to escape from him, though he's all but shoved me so far into the corner right now I've stopped trying to fight my way back out. Yesterday I gave up. I fucking gave up on him and now is not the time for this. Now is not the time to take that leap, Lochlan, just hold the goddamn line and please don't try and stand on what's left of my heart because you'll fucking finish me off here.
Sadly Lochlan refuses to hear the words inside my skull and I'm not sure I want to say them out loud. I don't know how to tell him not to be selfish when I'm still chasing after Ben because I was pretty sure I could maybe fix someone in my lifetime. If it couldn't be me, anyway.
We just took the long way home, that's all, Bridgie.
Friday 14 June 2013
Intervals.
(Twenty-nine years, eleven months, and thirteen days.)
That's how long he waited before pulling the Ace down out of his sleeve, a sleight of hand trick you missed before you even realized you were concentrating so hard you weren't actually concentrating on the right things.
He's good and you don't put any faith in that. You can't be fooled. You can't be had. There are no surprises, you cry. It's all just smoke and mirrors. Anyone can do it.
A challenge, quickly dispensed with, and you'll walk away with a new appreciation for magic, because magic is real and now you know, he always says.
Except I've never seen a trick that took that long ever and I've seen them all, watching from the temporary, rickety steps with the bag of red licorice that he put into my hands to stave off the dinner-time hunger pangs. These steps are the emergency-door steps behind the Funhouse and this is where he practices his tricks in the mid-afternoon. When he grows up he's going to be a magician and I will be his assistant, because we needed a backup plan for the downtimes between school, the midway (which is so unpredictable) and the circus. I think we almost have it.
And I'm going to barf. I've eaten half the bag. It's so hot out here in the blazing sun but Lochlan likes to torture himself. He says if he can do the tricks under 'dress', he can easily do them in better circumstances.
(Later he would correct me and tell me it's duress, and it means someone doing something that might even be bad because they have been threatened by someone and will be hurt if they don't. Oh, I think I get it. Yes, I definitely get it.)
He brings me a bag of licorice from the store where he stopped and filled the bike up with gas because he's hardly been off it and it's not even his and I fret every time he guns it up the driveway, waiting to see him smoke the gate at a thousand kilometres an hour but so far so good and now it goes back to New Jake, who I think is getting anxious to ride.
Licorice still makes me want to barf after a certain amount, because I can never stop eating it. Once I ate the entire bag in one sitting and had to spend the rest of the afternoon hallucinating on the kitchen floor from the sugar sloshing through my veins.
Lochlan tells me four sticks only and sits down beside me with Jake's helmet in his lap.
How is Benji?
He's pissed and unruly and...I don't know, he's everything today, Loch.
Want me to go talk to him? (I've been mostly keeping them apart. All of them.)
No. Not really.
This doesn't work, Bridget. Any issues he has with me need to be fixed. I can't be responsible for how he reacts to stuff.
I know this. But still. Why now?
You don't like it? I got the feeling you were pretty thrilled with me.
Why now, Lochlan?
Because I was trying so hard to make your life magical, Bridget. I wanted everything to be bright lights and magic and make believe. I wanted it to be so beautiful and Caleb and Cole took that all away and taught you that life is painful and violent and frightening. I just want to bring things back around. I won't let him win this. I just..I just want to show you that you don't need anyone else.
All for one, is it then?
I don't know, Bridget. This isn't sustainable.
That's what Ben said this morning.
He's right! Jesus, he's so right.
I take another stick of licorice and he pulls the bag out of my hand and stuffs it into his backpack. He picks up the deck again in the blazing sun and asks me to choose a card. Any card.
But I can't because my stomach hurts. He fishes the Queen of Hearts out of the collar of my shirt and tells me to come on, we'll go back to the camper now and he'll put the ice in front of the fan for me, and that next time to listen when he tells me how much licorice to eat.
That's how long he waited before pulling the Ace down out of his sleeve, a sleight of hand trick you missed before you even realized you were concentrating so hard you weren't actually concentrating on the right things.
He's good and you don't put any faith in that. You can't be fooled. You can't be had. There are no surprises, you cry. It's all just smoke and mirrors. Anyone can do it.
A challenge, quickly dispensed with, and you'll walk away with a new appreciation for magic, because magic is real and now you know, he always says.
Except I've never seen a trick that took that long ever and I've seen them all, watching from the temporary, rickety steps with the bag of red licorice that he put into my hands to stave off the dinner-time hunger pangs. These steps are the emergency-door steps behind the Funhouse and this is where he practices his tricks in the mid-afternoon. When he grows up he's going to be a magician and I will be his assistant, because we needed a backup plan for the downtimes between school, the midway (which is so unpredictable) and the circus. I think we almost have it.
And I'm going to barf. I've eaten half the bag. It's so hot out here in the blazing sun but Lochlan likes to torture himself. He says if he can do the tricks under 'dress', he can easily do them in better circumstances.
(Later he would correct me and tell me it's duress, and it means someone doing something that might even be bad because they have been threatened by someone and will be hurt if they don't. Oh, I think I get it. Yes, I definitely get it.)
He brings me a bag of licorice from the store where he stopped and filled the bike up with gas because he's hardly been off it and it's not even his and I fret every time he guns it up the driveway, waiting to see him smoke the gate at a thousand kilometres an hour but so far so good and now it goes back to New Jake, who I think is getting anxious to ride.
Licorice still makes me want to barf after a certain amount, because I can never stop eating it. Once I ate the entire bag in one sitting and had to spend the rest of the afternoon hallucinating on the kitchen floor from the sugar sloshing through my veins.
Lochlan tells me four sticks only and sits down beside me with Jake's helmet in his lap.
How is Benji?
He's pissed and unruly and...I don't know, he's everything today, Loch.
Want me to go talk to him? (I've been mostly keeping them apart. All of them.)
No. Not really.
This doesn't work, Bridget. Any issues he has with me need to be fixed. I can't be responsible for how he reacts to stuff.
I know this. But still. Why now?
You don't like it? I got the feeling you were pretty thrilled with me.
Why now, Lochlan?
Because I was trying so hard to make your life magical, Bridget. I wanted everything to be bright lights and magic and make believe. I wanted it to be so beautiful and Caleb and Cole took that all away and taught you that life is painful and violent and frightening. I just want to bring things back around. I won't let him win this. I just..I just want to show you that you don't need anyone else.
All for one, is it then?
I don't know, Bridget. This isn't sustainable.
That's what Ben said this morning.
He's right! Jesus, he's so right.
I take another stick of licorice and he pulls the bag out of my hand and stuffs it into his backpack. He picks up the deck again in the blazing sun and asks me to choose a card. Any card.
But I can't because my stomach hurts. He fishes the Queen of Hearts out of the collar of my shirt and tells me to come on, we'll go back to the camper now and he'll put the ice in front of the fan for me, and that next time to listen when he tells me how much licorice to eat.
Thursday 13 June 2013
(I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back, til things are brighter.)
(That would be Mr. Cash, if you're inclined. And we're okay right now).
I'm lighting torches and laying them down on the patio. One after another after another. Ben sits scowling directly behind me on the steps. I have him on a proverbial leash and he must follow me around as I scowl, dragging my dark cloud along over our heads. Head to toe black for each of us and I'm not sure who is pulling off the fiercer look. I would say him. I'm too small to make anyone nervous except in this way. I'm mad. I'm really, really mad and the only way I can keep everyone at bay, away from us is with fire.
Again, how fitting.
I'm so mad I haven't actually spoken to Ben since Monday night, except to order him around. I haven't acknowledged his threats, given in to his pleas or given up on his dismissals. I wish he would stop talking some times. I wish he'd stop being silent too. I wish he'd stop being funny and sweet in between moments of failure and despair. I wish he could turn his ego off with a flick of a switch. I wish he wouldn't say one thing and do something else. I wish sometimes that I didn't love him so I could just walk away.
He's said more than once that I should. Just go already, walk out. Don't come back, cause he won't miss me. Don't look back cause he won't watch me leave. Don't cry because he's not going to shed any tears.
I put my head down in my hands and let the words bounce off my skull. I hear that's the thickest part of me, according to sources who know these things. I could still feel it though and it hurt.
I finally looked up again and I leaned back against my heels and I told him to shut up and he laughed and said I was amazing.
Yes, I am. So if you want to be with me you'd better work hard to be amazing too.
He laughed until he cried. No, literally.
Caleb picked that moment to come up the steps from the driveway and he saw the imaginary leash and the heavy black clothing and the ring of fire and our expressions, hung right out to dry and he rolled his eyes and said For fucks sake, can you two be normal for five minutes?
I'm lighting torches and laying them down on the patio. One after another after another. Ben sits scowling directly behind me on the steps. I have him on a proverbial leash and he must follow me around as I scowl, dragging my dark cloud along over our heads. Head to toe black for each of us and I'm not sure who is pulling off the fiercer look. I would say him. I'm too small to make anyone nervous except in this way. I'm mad. I'm really, really mad and the only way I can keep everyone at bay, away from us is with fire.
Again, how fitting.
I'm so mad I haven't actually spoken to Ben since Monday night, except to order him around. I haven't acknowledged his threats, given in to his pleas or given up on his dismissals. I wish he would stop talking some times. I wish he'd stop being silent too. I wish he'd stop being funny and sweet in between moments of failure and despair. I wish he could turn his ego off with a flick of a switch. I wish he wouldn't say one thing and do something else. I wish sometimes that I didn't love him so I could just walk away.
He's said more than once that I should. Just go already, walk out. Don't come back, cause he won't miss me. Don't look back cause he won't watch me leave. Don't cry because he's not going to shed any tears.
I put my head down in my hands and let the words bounce off my skull. I hear that's the thickest part of me, according to sources who know these things. I could still feel it though and it hurt.
I finally looked up again and I leaned back against my heels and I told him to shut up and he laughed and said I was amazing.
Yes, I am. So if you want to be with me you'd better work hard to be amazing too.
He laughed until he cried. No, literally.
Caleb picked that moment to come up the steps from the driveway and he saw the imaginary leash and the heavy black clothing and the ring of fire and our expressions, hung right out to dry and he rolled his eyes and said For fucks sake, can you two be normal for five minutes?
Wednesday 12 June 2013
Afraid to fall.
(People seem to like the sound I make, screaming the whole way down, so here. Take it and just fuck off, please.)
I tried not to seem bitter. I tried to be nice. I tried to stand behind the door and watch as they've carted him off and made excuses and put up a wall and then I tried to make do. I tried patience and understanding too. I tried on acceptance but that doesn't even fit, it's huge and I would just fall right out the bottom and then I tried the last two things on the list and I think maybe they might be presentable.
Enough so that no one stares, at least.
Bravery, of course, and fear.
Oh, Jesus, golly, that's such a big one, that fear. I don't like that one at all but sometimes it works for me in ways nothing else does. I mean it works for us, for him.
For him.
Idiot-Benjamin.
Lochlan tried to steamroll me right out of the proceedings. Sam tried to jump in with both feet, this is his specialty and since he's in house, why not? But no. Go plan your fucking wedding, already, Sam, you're hammering Matt right into the ground. And Jesus Christ, Loch, you know I love you but you know I promised to be here for Ben in ways that trump just about everything else and hell, I never said 'forsaking all others' but right now come to think of it, he does need me a little more than anyone else does. Right now.
So I'll fix him, because nothing else is working.
I already forced him to get the fuck out of bed and go for a walk and then I made him eat and then shower and shave and wish the children luck. Ruth has exams today, Henry has a street hockey tournament and fucking Christ just stay busy.
Fix the shelf in the bathroom, help Daniel with the painting. Fucking take this book and read it. Make your wife a cup of coffee because Lord knows she hasn't slept and make a phone call and talk to August for a little while and then I will and we'll keep the pressure off Sam and we'll keep the children in the dark and we'll fight off the Devil and the superheroes too and we'll just stay here together and get you better.
Yeah.
We're in the double-digit hours already.
I tried not to seem bitter. I tried to be nice. I tried to stand behind the door and watch as they've carted him off and made excuses and put up a wall and then I tried to make do. I tried patience and understanding too. I tried on acceptance but that doesn't even fit, it's huge and I would just fall right out the bottom and then I tried the last two things on the list and I think maybe they might be presentable.
Enough so that no one stares, at least.
Bravery, of course, and fear.
Oh, Jesus, golly, that's such a big one, that fear. I don't like that one at all but sometimes it works for me in ways nothing else does. I mean it works for us, for him.
For him.
Idiot-Benjamin.
Lochlan tried to steamroll me right out of the proceedings. Sam tried to jump in with both feet, this is his specialty and since he's in house, why not? But no. Go plan your fucking wedding, already, Sam, you're hammering Matt right into the ground. And Jesus Christ, Loch, you know I love you but you know I promised to be here for Ben in ways that trump just about everything else and hell, I never said 'forsaking all others' but right now come to think of it, he does need me a little more than anyone else does. Right now.
So I'll fix him, because nothing else is working.
I already forced him to get the fuck out of bed and go for a walk and then I made him eat and then shower and shave and wish the children luck. Ruth has exams today, Henry has a street hockey tournament and fucking Christ just stay busy.
Fix the shelf in the bathroom, help Daniel with the painting. Fucking take this book and read it. Make your wife a cup of coffee because Lord knows she hasn't slept and make a phone call and talk to August for a little while and then I will and we'll keep the pressure off Sam and we'll keep the children in the dark and we'll fight off the Devil and the superheroes too and we'll just stay here together and get you better.
Yeah.
We're in the double-digit hours already.
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