Taxed and pricked.

Dalton and Duncan didn't do their taxes even though they both swore up and down that they could manage their own shit and I was to stop momming them. I still didn't get an answer from Keith yet either so it's probably a trifecta of stupidity today as I order them all to produce me with receipts by three pm and then I'm handing the whole mess off to Jasper to take to Batman's accountant because he (Batman) said I shouldn't have to do it.

Jasper didn't want to come and said he would check with Batman at his usual time.

I threatened to staple his nuts to the forms if he wasn't here at 2:55 in my front hall. I called him a little bitch and he said I was a whore and yet we hung up on good terms.

Yeah, I don't understand my life either.

Ben also bit the rope on the swing in half for no reason other than he is weird. But he said it's okay because he fixed it with barbed wire. Now it's the Swing of Death.

*throws horns*

I think I'll go back to bed. It's Monday again isn't it? I can tell.

Nine: completion of the process.

The noise outside the concrete room startled me as I sat on the wet floor, close to Jake but far enough that I could retain just a little sanity where no sanity remains save for a bit if you get a butter knife and scrap up along the inside edge. Jake sat with his head on his arms, crossed on his knees. Lanky and faded now, he is where he will always be forever and ever until Bridget dies which sometimes I hope is in ten minutes and other times I'm ready to take the devil's offer and live forever.

I don't want to be here. I want to be closer.

No. Sorry.

But the noise. It drives me out into the hall. When I exit the room, I see Loch coming down the hall, flashlight beam bobbing, rope clinking. He's taken the climbing ropes and clipped them around his waist so he doesn't get lost in here. He's taken every precaution to get us both out safely. He's here. He's never here and he's here.

He looks so scared and angry though.

I try so hard to keep you in the light, my whole life, up above ground where the lights twinkle and they make you dizzy as they go around. Every color of the rainbow in the night and then I find you down here where there's no color. Just ghosts and black and white. Don't do this, Bridge. Don't be here anymore. Come back with me. 

***

Nine years ago today I left Cole.

For Jake.

Then Jake left me.

For God.

(Or the Devil.)

(I won't know which until the end.)

Even though the Devil offered me immortality in exchange for my soul back I refused.

You have that wrong. He offered to give me back my soul if I would agree to live forever and I told him to keep it.

And then Ben saved my life and I saved his and Lochlan came bursting out of my memories to be present again and this is Happily ever after, after all.

Who knew?

Good morning.

They want you to be Jesus
They'll go down on one knee
But they'll want their money back
If you're alive at thirty-three
And you're turning tricks
With your crucifix
You're a star

It's Saturday morning and I wake up perfectly. My eyes don't hurt. My feet are sticking out from the bottom of the sheet and the quilt and my pillow is comfortably under my neck instead of pressing against the top of my head but not supporting it. Loch and Ben are still sleeping and don't stir as I crawl up out of the covers and down the center of the bed to climb down to the floor. My skin is filthy with the long night behind us and I turn on the shower, waiting for the hot water to reach the top floor of the house. While I wait I poke around inside my brain. Testing doors, cleaning up a little, tidying errant thoughts scattered haphazardly around the cold concrete hallways. Jacob is sitting in the concrete room with the big metal door and I have propped the door open with the stick I found outside in the fall, above ground where the wind blows and it's always dark and just about to rain, brown and burgundy leaves twisting, trying to hang on as long as they can to avoid the winter that never comes. I keep it just so, you see.

The door used to be closed and I kept him in there but then he wanted to be closer but that wasn't good for me and since I'm the one who is alive I had to make the decision to put him back in the concrete room. It's a lot further for me to go if I want to see him but it's what I need, and I left the stick there so if he wants to he can come and go. He likes having that option, I think. I haven't heard a word.

Cole can't get out. He is still in that room. He'll never get out. He can just linger there until forever, perched up high against the ceiling the endless shadows. He can't get out because I won't let him out. His permissions are far different than for anyone else, as they always were.

When I am satisfied that the memory thief hasn't been back to see me I get in the shower. It feels so nice. Super hot. I use all of my fancy scrubs and soaps that I don't bother with when it's not just me. I shave my legs and deep condition my hair, grown out now from the gamine Jean Seberg pixie to a flippy little almost-bob, just as soon as it makes it past my ears again. The curls are pronounced at this stage and will disappear completely once the length pulls them out eventually as I make the slow return to my mermaid hair. It was fun to chop it off and now it's time to grow it back.

(Loch smiled when I came to that conclusion. My braid was his security blanket/leash/lifeline for years.)

When I get out of the shower my skin is raw and I'm fresh and brand new to greet such a beautiful day. I should do so formally, before the baggage takes over and pulls me back under.  I find a dress and a cardigan and skip the shoes completely. I put my lipgloss and my rabbit's foot in my pocket and I head downstairs to steal sips from everyone's coffee all the while denying that I drink it anymore.

Twelve, maybe less.

If you could eat anything, what would it be? 

A huge plate of the hash browns from the diner. A chocolate milkshake and some cake. 

What kind of cake?

There's only one kind of cake, Lochie. 

Strawberry shortcake?

No, silly. Fruit and cake don't belong together. Try again. 

Cheesecake? 

Gross! No one's going to make a cake with cheese! 

Hot dog cake? 

That would go good with cheese cake. 

That would go well. 

That's what I said! 

You don't use the word 'good', you use 'well'. That would go 'well'. 

Well, it would go good. 

He let out a long breath. So what if we did that? 

Got some cheese and baked a cheesy cake? 

No, went and got huge plates of hash browns and milkshakes and cake that is only chocolate forever and ever. 

It's expensive. 

It will cost us twelve dollars. I have eighteen. 

What about tomorrow?

Tomorrow we make more money. And then we can do it again. 

I wonder if cheesy cake costs more than chocolate. 

I think it does, Peanut. 

Why? 

They have to shake the cows to make the cheese. Labor costs. 

How do they get the cheese out?

Don't even ask. But that adds to the price as well. 

At least with chocolate someone just has to go pick the chocolate beans off the tree.

He laughed out loud. It's my favorite noise of his thus far. And I'm humoring him just to hear it. Because I know chocolate beans don't grow on a tree, they grow on bushes, duh.

Arcane fire.

The Canucks lost their first game against the Flames last night in a heartbreaking straight shot with about forty seconds left. They couldn't pull off a play in forty seconds to even it up and so it was over. I tried not to be too smug about it as I was reminded hourly that my team didn't even MAKE the playoffs.

They don't need to. The Leafs have won the Stanley Cup fourteen times already. They're having a rest. 

*rolls eyes*

But on the upside, Hearthstone came out for the iPhone! And there's a new Star Wars teaser out today.  And the sun is shining and the breeze is blowing and the frogs were croaking last night in the woods around the front yard and it feels more as if everyone is sharing the heavy weight that is Jacob on a day like this and I don't have to carry him alone. They're like mental pallbearers sometimes, shouldering an odd projectile of a memory or a crushing sense of deja vu so I don't have to by myself and on a day like today it feels nice to just let go a little. Just a little. Maybe I'll keep one hand touching Jacob's edge so I don't lose him. Just in case.

For a few minutes. That's all.

See how it feels. 

Joel will take credit, I bet.

Princess training wheels.

She showed him all her teeth. He saw a smile.
                  ~Joanna Russ, in The Female Man.

They're all moved in, amazingly enough. We left all of the dishes in the kitchen downstairs because PJ doesn't need them. Matt thanked us for not stepping in too closely but supporting them both objectively, lovingly. And he apologized for hurting Sam. Sam apologized for hurting him before he could finish. We all found things we needed to go and do so we could leave them to their new home. I stole out to the boathouse and boldly pilfered a bottle of Dom from Caleb's extra-secret stash and came back, knocked on their door and when Sam opened it, I said Happy housewarming!, thrust the bottle into his arms and turned and left. Boundaries. They end at that door right there.

And hey, we got something right for once as a group.

Sam has promised he won't be a stranger. I hope he keeps it.

***

Today was special breakfast sesh with PsychoJoel, and surprisingly I didn't get a single word of protest about it, which means I am as insane as I thought.

There were no butternauts. We went to a diner that had those little individual butter containers that were round and you had to peel the lid off and underneath the lid these ones were ice-cold. Butter-concrete. We asked if they could be warmed and got an almost-eyeroll. The effort the server put into controlling her judgement of our pretension earned her a forty percent tip because it was masterful and I made a little hacked up butter inukshuk to say I was there.

We made no progress because I'm not feeling even forty percent of usual myself so when I got home my relative paleness and the fact that I am mostly exhausted and refusing to eat much because it just wreaks havoc on my whole system bought me an appointment with scary Russian pseudodoc.

(Who loved my stitches on Lochlan's face and said I would have made a terrific field nurse. Except that I couldn't hear him because his accent is so thick, I thought he was calling me a field mouse and I agreed heartily with that, except I couldn't understand what that had to do with Lochlan's stitches.)

I have more pills because pills. They fix everything. Except I'm famous for not taking pills so he gave me a list of good dietary things to bring me back around, and the usual reminders to get more rest, take better care, slow down, that I'm not out of the woods yet with  my kidneys, that all of these wonderful men should be doing my bidding, etc.

When he left I turned to Loch and said, See? You're all supposed to be looking after me! 

He nods and says dryly, You won't let us, you little fuckhead. I haven't been able to look after you properly since the eighties. Stubborn as a bull. You're impossible. 

I just want a vacation. 

Name a place. 

I'll have to get back to you. Maybe we can just drive to Malibu. (Unless there are pills that will make me happy to fly. Oh I know what they are, thanks and I'm not interested in those either.)

Sam came up (already! Yay!) and asked if I had any fish sauce, that he is going to make a special dinner for him and Matt tonight. I asked how the champagne was and he said they were saving it for tonight because tonight will be so much more relaxing than last night.

Then he asked if his laundry was ready because boys. No one has taken this chore off my hands after five years of living within this collective, while they all stand here with their arms crossed and tell me I need a break.

Right.

I'm going to start a chore chart.

Yes, that will work.

*cross fingers*

Get on my level.

Matt is coming home.

I would have sent Luke to collect all of this things from his rental condo and arrange for cleaning and for the paperwork to be forwarded here but Matt said he could look after it all and would wrap everything up by the end of this week. I only let him because boundaries, I am trying to learn some.

Further to that we are spending the next few days playing musical rooms. I do that anyway but PJ so very generously offered to trade wings so that Sam and Matt could be afforded the privacy they need. Should have done this a while ago but I like to spoil PJ because he spoils me so I made sure he had a space that was just his. I'm there all the time anyway, now I just won't have to go as far.

Sam and Matt's wing was a bedroom, den, hallway and bathroom just off the front hall. Lochlan's former space, remember? Their door locked but that isn't privacy for two people. PJ's apartment, in contrast, is two bedrooms, plus a den, bathroom, full kitchen and walkout patio. Not sure he used most of it. It is the only actual living space downstairs, the rest of that floor being home to the movie theatre, Ben's studio and the biggest laundry room you ever saw. The door is lockable too and the whole basement is understandably soundproof because we're a loud family.

It's going to be perfect for Matt and Sam. They never have to come upstairs if they so choose.

(Here's where I point out that yes, I do the laundry for the whole house. Yes even Gage. Even Duncan. Even August who lives in the gatehouse/garage/whatever we call it, though I like gatehouse. I can cartwheel through the laundry room. It's very necessarily huge. I spend my life hanging up flannel shirts on a rack so they don't shrink and untwisting sheets from the dryer. And convincing whoever is in the kitchen to come downstairs and bring up the baskets pleeeeeease. It's so fun! Not.)

At least there are eight strong guys here to move furniture! At this rate they'll be switched in half an hour.

Better hide your porn collection, PJ. 

No worries, it's all on my computer now. This is the golden age of porn, Bridget. 

Duncan has magazines. 

Duncan's a retro hipster. It's a image thing for him. 

So your image is that of a tech wizard? 

Yes. Yes, I totally look like a tech wizard, don't I? 

Yeah but at least now you won't be a basement-dwelling tech wizard. I hear that's the demographic that gets picked on most. 

It is. Right behind self-important sexpot pseudo-princesses. 

Ouch, PJ. 

If the shoe fits. 

Is that a porn euphemism? 

Somewhere it is, yes. 

Okay, I don't want to see those movies. 

And I don't want to show them to you, so we're good.

Surprisingly, I'm happy PJ will be even closer to us. He's the glue, the keeper of this castle. He's my wingman. Actually I think I'm his. Though I won't be touching his computer anymore.

I'm gonna save your life.

Lying in bed this morning in our cage listening to the furnace and the rain take turns filling my broken ears with glorious noise, Lochlan conjured up memories in the dark, memories of sailing through the air to be caught by his hands, memories of falling into the net and cracking my fear-set face into a rigid smile for the crowd, recollections of people that would see us in town after the week or after they had been to a show and being surprised we were lovers, but then exclaiming that they just knew we were because we had a bond, a chemistry that was so tangible, even to the audience. No one is that good of a performer otherwise.

We would smile and pose for pictures sometimes. Mostly we would wearily grin and tell them to come back and see us again, briefly slipping into barker-lite. Briefly hawking the board with no loyalties past the paycheque. There was never a reason to let the rubes see the downsides, they just wanted the magic, the wistfulness of wondering what life is like when you actually run away and join the circus.

Who am I to tell them it's not what they expect? Who am I to burst all the bubbles you can blow? Who am I to under-romanticize the one thing that requires no help at all in being the ultimate escapist daydream shared by so many people?

It changes people. It stretches them too. I became worse for it and better for it too. I learned my true capabilities and the extent of my courage. I learned what I will and won't put up with in life. I learned who I was. Everyone is always talking of finding yourself. Join the circus. Get out while you're still alive and look in the mirror now. There. That's who you are. Shoulders back. Smile fixed. Nails caked with chalk. Cheeks caked with soot. Feet blistered and cramped. Stomach rumbling, brain expanded along with your pupils because there's always some bad shit around on your day off and scary rich men trying to buy you as a novelty for their own amusement.

Oh, wait, nevermind the 'trying' part of that analysis.

Everyone wants a pet freak. Absolutely everyone. It's second in daydreams only to the escape ones. If you can't run away you should lock away someone else and then you won't feel so alone.

Just ask the Devil. I'm sure that's exactly what it was like for him. Only instead of a habitat we have a whole point to be contained in.

Matt was in church when we all arrived.

They are talking right now. I'm hopeful. So hopeful.

Alphadog.

Sam cancelled my coffee date with Matt (on my behalf) and then didn't tell me in order to...

1) Make Matt look bad.
2) Waste my time.
3) Cause everyone else to jump in and cheer me up because being stood up is the worst and nobody puts Bridget in the corner! 

Wait, I mean..it's just shitty all around. It's shittier still when you've crossed a bridge and sat in traffic and it took until this morning to find out exactly who crossed a Bridge, indeed.

Why, Sam?

I need you to not get involved. 

I wasn't. He invited me. 

I don't want you to pick sides. 

This has nothing to do with picking sides. I want to support both of you and your marriage. I love you both. 

Burning building? Pick one of us.

The dog. I'm saving the dog because I'm sick of my loyalties being traded like currency. 

Wow. You're going to save a seven-year old arthritic dog?

YUP. I'll die trying. I'm leaving everything to him anyway. He never complains. 

I didn't want to complain. 

What are you hiding then?

Depends. If you're going to leave that chip on your shoulder while we talk then nevermind. 

God will absorb the chip. Start talking. 

It's my fault. 

I knew that. 

How did you know?

Sam, I've lived with you for years now. You're me with a penis. This isn't rocket science.

Now all I can picture is you with a penis. Great. 

It would be! I've said this many times! 

I'm sorry, Bridget. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. 

Then apologize to your husband. And you owe me a coffee date!

We can go right now if you like. 

I'll get my things.