Glacial Awareness.

There is nothing that I would not face
With vengeance and annihilate
Sever off the hands of fate
If it were to keep you safe
If a million reasons came my way
None of them could take your place
You will never be alone
I will never let you
Let you go

Pinned watching the old man flick his newspaper to his lap every time the young children across from him yell and run down the hall. One lady is knitting a sweater in the corner with round needles. She looks unhappy but satisfied she is using her time well enough. The young woman with her phone buzzing incessantly transmits every movement, thought and feeling into it for validation and the man beside me is wearing shoes and carrying a bag that belies his young minimalist approach to life, highlighting maybe a trust fund or merely a comfortable upbringing. You can tell a lot about a man by the shoes he wears, both size and make. I don't know why that is but I'm bored and constructing life-stories of those around me, based on flash judgements, based on nothing.Weighing as much as these clouds but no more. You can't put any effort into something so light.

My headphones are on very low. I'm listening to songs I love. I'm ignoring the words in favor of the near-dark around me. The grit and damp of early January. The cold/warm, sun/rain, wind/still sort of dirt-filter that hallmarks winter here in the rain forest. No one seems to notice how strange the sun seems after a week of heavy rain. No one notices my sketchbook or the flowers I'm drawing from memory. Not a lot has changed in my waiting in twenty-five years. I can wait for hours, weeks even, as long as I have headphones and a pencil. Lochlan once said one of those days we travelled I was going to be left behind in a bus station somewhere in New Jersey because I would tune out the world so easily. I knew that wouldn't happen because he was there to make sure I went with him when time was up.

The man to my other side shifts his legs and checks his watch. His pockets are stuffed with stolen memories. They fall out and people leave shoe-marks on them, a travesty under any circumstances. These are not his and so he pays them no mind but the person who belongs to each one would most likely ransom their own soul to have them back.

But then I remember that they are all mine, and that I have no soul to use for collateral to get them all back. In fact, Sam assures me I won't get them all back anyway and the ones that I do may be altered in order for me to be whole enough again for people to make judgements about my shoes or my waiting-style or the number of bracelets going up my left arm because that's what people do. He doesn't care that I worry about some of the bigger ones that get dented and roll away into corners and he doesn't worry that I care that he might miss something. He sits and waits with me, reading his notes, highlighter in hand, sheets of cheap paper balanced on knees. Just like Jake except for the fact that it isn't Jake, its Sam and maybe that's what he meant by changing memories. I don't hate it, exactly. It's easier even though somehow it weighs more than the other parts of the day. I guess that's part of my New Abnormal or whatever Lochlan called it last night when he told the story of the time he left me on the bench, caught up in my brain-music and drawings while he got on the bus, just to see if I would actually notice.

I didn't but he didn't take it personally either.

What if the driver had refused to stop to let me on? Sometimes they don't, you know. Sometimes they have a schedule to keep and no patience for teenage pranks.

He was an old guy, Bridge. Had pictures of his grandchildren taped up all over the sun visor. I knew he wouldn't leave a young woman in a deserted bus station late at night alone.

Risking my life with his own weightless judgements wasn't something I want to repeat, so now I make sure I look around in between each song, at the very least.

144/106

Another doctor visit, another smoothie reward from PJ, a little banking and the tiniest bit of tax filing this morning before Lochlan lost his nerve and called me in. Caleb went from looking so content to looking fierce, agitated and unamused as he escorted me out to the driveway where Loch was pretending to clean out the truck. Loch is in that sweater and his favorite jeans that hang off his butt and make him look too thin but somehow it's how I know him best and I smile as I make my way down the steps. He comes to the bottom and holds out his arms in case I go ass over teakettle again but it's too warm for the steps to be icy.

My smoothie was lunch. Breakfast was leftovers. I'd like to paint but I don't know what. I'd like to finish listening to Strawberry Swing, the song that was on when I left Caleb's house, and I'd like to have a nap in front of the fire because these pills make me a little drowsy and my blood pressure is still way too high for anyone to be happy. I was told to call immediately if I have any fluttering or pounding or faintness when I get up suddenly so I've become a little blonde turtle with my sudden movements, where before you would whip around and I'd be gone and you'd say Where's she go? It's how I managed to steal so many wallets on the midway back in the good old days. Though the ones I steal nowadays have far more money in them, that's for sure. I have to keep the boys on their toes and my own talents fresh, as it were. When we came back inside I put Caleb's wallet on the counter just inside the door. But not before taking all the money out of it.

I'm buying dinner for everybody, I think. Wow.

The Penny to his Medusa.

Last night's whiskey and courage went long past dark and into wavery, drunken, dangerous territory for some of us. Including the Devil, who watched us closely, me and Loch, proclaiming us adorable more than once. We sat quietly by the fire sometimes, and sometimes danced and sometimes laughed at the radio play on the stereo. We went outside to watch the rain and we almost gave in to his invitation to extend the night when somewhere we found a crumb of self-control (learned so recently but maybe not) and politely declined.

Tomorrow I'll come by and we can swap Henry things and look at the taxes. It's almost February. Time to do up T4s for the locals. I catch myself trying to make things up to him to soften the blow.

Or just stay on.

Sorry. Not a good idea.

On the contrary.

Nothing changes, does it?

Again, on the contrary, Lochlan is learning to roll with it if you step outside of your boundaries.

No, he isn't.

We should test him. Better yet, bring him with you.

And let you eat him alive? Never again.

Caleb shows his teeth briefly and then the levity is gone in a flash. Sam is standing behind me. I can feel it.

Bridge, come back in. Loch, you too.

I'm having a great time being talked about, Sammy. Loch is lit from within. He's in slow-motion, liquor is mud to him. It paralyzes and calms him like nothing else.

Let's go.

Ah. I should give you a stipend for being her keeper now?

If no one else is around, maybe. August and Joel have gone home. PJ made sure the kids were ready for bed and then crashed in his room. Duncan is watching TV downstairs with Ben. No one would have saved us, truth be told.

What is she worth to look the other way this evening?

Far more than you might guess. She's been working hard. Don't try and mess with it right now. The newness of it has barely worn off.

Sam, the newness of you hasn't. This is dogma. She belongs with me.

She belongs with them.

I was first. I'll be last. You shouldn't stick your nose in where it doesn't belong.

Bridget, you ready to go inside? You've got to get some sleep. You too, Loch.

We nod but continue to stare at Caleb. I always wait for the figure as he tries to buy his way in.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. He's right, Doll. I'll see you tomorrow. Get some rest.

Sam looks relieved. I reach up and kiss the Devil's cheek and burn against the stubble. Oíche mhaith, Diabhal.

Neamhchiontach, coladh sámh.

Lochlan snarls mildly at Caleb on his way past but says nothing. By the time he thought of something, he'd be upstairs anyway and saying it in a language near no one can understand. The midnight ramblings in English/Gaelic/Romanian/Scottish Outrage are usually broken and lose their efficacy quickly when pickled.

Caleb smiles. Still adorable, he tells Loch. See you both tomorrow. 

He never is happy when I'm out of his sight.

(Back to business on a Monday morning and damn. These drugs though.)

It's Robbie Burns Day which means Ben has been interrupting this day with horrifyingly regular recitals with his bagpipes out on the telescope platform and PJ and I spent half the morning procuring haggis and finally found some thanks to the creepy butcher who said he makes extra for the last minute types like us.

Huh?

I'm not last-minute. I swear I remembered just after breakfast instead of three weeks ago like I should have. I went and got some fresh scotch and some fixings to go with the haggis. Like steak because..well, haggis. It's cooking now and it smells delicious. I just don't...well, like eating the parts you're supposed to throw away. I tried to negotiate down to veal-stuffed pasta but he wouldn't budge.

Daniel and Schuyler went and offered magnificently to lead the dinner after I abandoned the procedure halfway through last years Burns Night on account of the overbearing thought of having to eat this meal when for me, eating turkey is a feat of courage only reserved for the most special of occasions, like Easter and Christmas. I also had the flu last year this time. Go figure.

But this is a special occasion, he insists. Lochlan is so excited. He put on his kilt instead of jeans first thing and is already coming up rash, more red than usual thanks to the rough wool. I won't go near him or I'll be red too but I will cook this if he wants it and organize this night to rival what I hope will be an equally exciting and revered St. Patrick's Day later this spring. The war is on.

My girl, she's airy, he begins.

Oh, shut up already.

Overwhelm.

I've reached that stage of exhaustion where it takes a supreme effort not to sit slack-jawed and vacant-eyed at the dinner table or in conversation or when I'm sitting by myself.

Nolan is gone. Claus went too. The old Russian doctor came by this morning and gave me some probably-not-a-good-idea pills for my headaches and thus it seems this week will be shrouded in fog. Even the ghosts are disappointed as the Devil is elated at how things turned out. How well I stood my ground. How well I balanced on the edge of life, good and bad, between the past and the future, between the buried and me.

Between Ben, Loch and Caleb.

I'm not sure Caleb is going anywhere. This wasn't supposed to be a magic fix, it was a beginning, a shift in the wind that might lead to a smoother existence down the road or maybe nothing will change. I don't know. Half the time I couldn't hear what anyone was saying because it rained so hard it drowned everything else out. And now both Nolan and Claus are gone again and yet Sam, Joel and August remain. I'm trying to figure out how to keep everyone happy while living within Lochlan's limits, protecting myself from the Devil and still being permitted access to my ghosts. Then they get all mixed up and I wind up living within the Devil's limits while protecting myself from the ghosts and being permitted access to Lochlan.

I do it to myself. I know that. I never said I had it all. I never said I had it all together. I never said I understood why the forbidden is so attractive or why it's so easy to ignore the danger Caleb brings but some things are just meant to be figured out over time. Even if time sometimes skips, drags and runs flat-fucking-out.

Bridget Reilly versus the world.

Sickening, weakening
Don't let another somber pariah consume your soul
You need strengthening, toughening
It takes an inner dark to rekindle the fire burning in you
Ignite the fire within you

When you think all is forsaken,
Listen to me now
You need never feel broken again
Sometimes darkness can show you the light

I'm a little overwhelmed, both at the support around me and the vehemence they share towards this collective, up close where you can see the dents the words leave in their souls. I regard their souls with such fascination, since I don't have one of my own to inspect, turning them over in my hands, exclaiming at the reflections, the imperfections, the uniqueness of each one. Each one is a work of art. Each one is so beautiful I want to cry. Each one is tethered here on chains. Each one seems completely, one-hundred-percent sure of this even on days when I say we should take it all apart again and walk the fuck away. They say it stands. No matter what.

Is this your favorite song? Ben asks on the fifteenth play through in a row.

Yes.

Fuckit.

She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

I would rather be blind than deaf.

Lying on the floor in the dark this morning protected from the torrential rains, I've actually got a studio version of Lochlan playing Hallelujah and singing along. He sounds nothing like Jeff Buckley. His voice is softer and more clipped. Deeper. Slower. Accent in force. Guitar hesitant and he messes up in three different places but it was a sound test from last week and I grabbed it before they could clear it off and do something else. I fall in love with voices before I'll even notice anything else. That was how I imprinted on Loch. He yelled first the night that stupid hockey ball knocked me down and changed my destiny. I was eight. I didn't know any better. They should have. This is a mess.

If you love someone set them free. If they come back to you, they're yours.

He didn't take the hat off until late last night when it tipped itself off his head as he bent down to kiss me, framed between his elbows, pinned by his weight. We don't like it when people pull apart our relationship, picking through the flaws in our love and judging our choices when it comes to each other. It feels too private, too invasive, as if they're right there watching as he pushes me down into the quilts and smiles softly when I bite against his lower lip, mewling against his skin. His hands are so tight, embedded in my skin, searching for my heart. When he finds it he flips the helmet down and welds it to his hands.

There. No going back now, Peanut. I said you were mine and I meant it and if this is what it takes then it's done. 

I closed my eyes and drifted along in his dream until the alarm sounded and I opened my eyes to daylight and comfortable chairs of the war office, AKA the library. Claus was asking me if I were to have a normal life, what it might entail.

Oh, dear. first of all, what in the hell is normal? Second of all, I think it would look like this. But I'm a soccer ball in a deathmatch. I'm a prize. I'm a shooting star that you wished for all night long and I'll be the biggest regret of your life. I'm Pluto, once the destination of every astronaut who ever dreamed of space, now stripped of my status and destined for obscurity. Except that they came back to me and saw that there was life. And where there is life, there is hope.

When I tried to move away from Lochlan, stretching his rules, finding my limits, it hurt. It hurt a lot and so I came back in close and remained there.

I told you that would happen. That's been the feeling I get when you leave me for the past thirty years or so.

I look up at him in surprise but he's put the hat back on and this is no longer open for discussion.

Ben sits back in his chair, resigned. For him this is a risk but when I asked him about that he only quoted me a song. Or maybe it wasn't a song but it sounded like a song to me.

Like trying to stuff an octopus into a net bag.

Don't mistake this. I'm not only spending a week trying to fix everything. The first week is just going to be a more intensive kick-start. In-house. All hands on deck. Everyone's home, everyone's here. The Devil even cleared some time to rage and glower in person. He takes this personally even as I remind him it's not about him, it's about me.

And how did you get this way? Right. It's all MY fault. 

Lochlan takes my hands and pulls me in close to him, away from Caleb. Don't listen. He'll have his chance to help. He looks up over my head at Caleb as if he expects Caleb to jump right on board and start furling sails.

Caleb nods and looks at the floor for a brief moment and then he leaves and all I can think is HE'S LONELY! LET ME GO! but I don't move. I don't say anything either. I just stand with my face pressed against the flannel of Lochlan's shirt, balling up the fabric against his back with both fists.

Once this week is done they're going to gradually step back and watch us try and implement all of their directives under our own willpower. Without ghosts and threats and drama and yeah, I don't think this is going to work either but I'm giving it a shot because I was the one who said I wanted things to change. I don't know why I said that.

Step one is to elucidate what we want.

I'm not sure I even know the answer to that.

Radio violence.

So don't talk to yourself and don't talk to me
There's the river running through it
The Devil's not my enemy
Yeah yeah

It's pouring and dim though I can see bits of blue where the sky is trying frantically to rub away at the clouds blocking her view. She'll fiercely turn her sun onto them to help disperse everything and then all will be right again but quite inconsequential because after living in a rain forest for five years where my roses bloom all year around anything save for rain looks like a stranger.

I've had three cups of tea this morning while sitting with Claus. He got in late yesterday and is absolutely incensed at my behavior yesterday and lately, overall. He's spending the week here, staying next door in the guest room at Daniel and Schuyler's. He loves it here. He doesn't understand how I can rail against everything in the face of such beauty. I tell him it comes at a price. He knows.

We're going to have a busy week, Bridget. Reinforcements arrive tomorrow. During this week there will be no drinking, no pills, no extracurricular friendships, no refusals to work harder than you've ever worked before, and no escape. Joel will be watching and learning. I am in charge of you and Nolan will take care of everyone else.We're finally going to do all of the hard work we had only just begun with Jacob's support. Sometimes I think he's the only one who was ever good for you, all told. 

If you come in here with a bias or a chip on your shoulder it's probably not going to go very well. 

If you come to the table with your continued bad habits and denial it's going to go even worse, Bridget. I'm going to begin with your relationship with Lochlan and work outward from there in a radius. I'll deal in terms you are familiar with and we'll work with learning these boundaries Joel set but didn't enforce and we'll work with everyone on this point to make sure they support you instead of sabotage your efforts to be whole. 

I don't even know what that is anymore, Claus. 

Then you'll love it when you get there. 

You're so optimistic. 

Onward and upward, Dear Bridget. 

Oh my God. He got it from you. 

Pardon me?

Jake. Jake always said that. I didn't know he got it from you. 

On the contrary. I think I took it from him. He was always so hopeful when it came to you. He wanted to give you the world but any time you get a big enough piece of it you simply throw it back. If anything, do this for him.

Against my best efforts I burst into tears. I hope his optimism is contagious. I could really use it. I may be sporadic posting this week. Just cross your fingers for me, would you, please?