Lit from without, lit from within.

That's how Lochlan described himself once when I caught up with him at the lake. I was eleven, and we hadn't yet gone our adventure that year. We were busy swimming with everyone and watching Caleb roll over from teenage to adulthood, like a life odometer. Like a boss.

What's wrong with you? I asked Loch as he struggled to navigate the path to the tire swing.

I am, how do they say it? Lit from within! He announced with the typical bravado of a sixteen year old boy.

Did you drink the gas from your torches? Are you poisoned?

No, it means drunk, Bridgie. It means I've caught fire on the inside with the help of a little juice and I'm burning up. 

Juice?

Not that kind of juice, sweetheart.

***

Sunday afternoon was much fun after I greeted Lochlan with my violin roundabout noonish, playing an agonizingly slow, frightfully loud rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star but he grinned with his eyes closed and bore it, saying he slept more Saturday night than ever in his life. I wasn't sure if I get credit for that or if he was just happy to be home so I ruined the good humor of the day and asked what the fuck he meant when he told me I should have gotten it over with. He wins so he concedes first place? Wants to share his trophy out of goodwill? No longer cares? Come on, what gives?

I didn't say that. 

Yeah, you did. You said I should have done it while you were away and Ben was around, in case. It's the stupidest thing I ever heard. 

Most stupid. 

Yes, that too! 

No, I mean-nevermind. What I said was I thought you had gone and done it while I was away, and that Ben was there to protect you. That's why I came home lit from within to get through having to hear about it. The emotion was relief that you didn't, not regret that you didn't. Jesus, Peanut. What kind of monster do you take me for? You need to put your ears in. 

No, then the violin is too loud. 

But if you don't, you're going to get your feelings hurt and it will be your own fault. 

I'll think about it. 

And Caleb can wait for you for the rest of his life and then some. It's called Hell on Earth. He brought it, now he can live it. 

Oh you came back in fine form.

Actually no. I came back in shameful condition. I won't do that again. 

But it was a good trip? 

Very productive. Got my bonus. And wait until you meet Alfred. 

What?! Alfred isn't his real name, is it? 

No, but neither is Batman's, so we may as well keep with the theme. 

Monsters come in many forms.

Lochlan did make it home yesterday, alone and drunk from the plane because Batman had to stay behind and finish up and Loch was ready to leave. He drank the whole flight away to combat boredom, exhaustion and fear.

I get that. I drank on the ride to the airport.

(No, I actually did. PJ had a flask. No one tell him it's empty now, shhhhh.)

He's home now and that's all that matters, and not the fact that Caleb is now tapping his watch, reminding me I've crossed over into borrowed time and there will be interest to pay. And not the fact that Loch actually told me last night that I should have gotten it over with while he was too far away and too busy to worry about it and while Ben could bounce Cale if he crossed the line.

Wait. What??

Broke my brain, that did and so this morning I skipped church and went with Schuyler and Daniel to see 10 Cloverfield Lane. 

It was great. Really fun with perfect sound design and a breath-holding plot, the kind I like best, rooting for the heroine to see if she's tough enough to make it out alive.

(Or taking notes in case it comes to that.)

AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

LOCHLAN COMES HOME TODAY.

ALSO WE GOT TICKETS TO SEE PAUL MCCARTNEY.

Why am I yelling?

I'M SO EXCITED!!!

Keeping the peace (away from you).

(STOP FUCKING ANALYZING ME.)

I'm not one to waste my time
Searching for some silver lining
But somewhere out there past the storm
Lies the shelter
Of your heart

(I love it when a former grunge/heavy hitter quietly matures into someone who has to be one of the most prolific and under-acknowledged singer/songwriters of my time. I say this because this morning I tripped over my ears and fell in love with Chris Cornell's new album, Higher Truth. Especially Before We Disappear, but really the entire album is perfect. I've had it on repeat all day.)

Caleb, to his credit concerning yesterday simply pointed out it's been barely three months, thanks, but who's counting? 

He's a wee bit ragey that I failed to take a direct invitation and Ben and I continue to enjoy our mini-honeymoon together with fun pastimes like enabling, sabotage and demolition. Ben actually does this regularly and often and usually we ignore it because Ben is impulsive and thoughtless and a little bit removed from reality at the best of times. All things I can't actually fault him for. Whatever he didn't arrive with was taught to him by the rest of us and sometimes the idyll of a Utopia such as this is clouded by the feelings that sometimes get in the way. Sometimes we get jealous. Sometimes we get wild. I didn't say we were perfect but I'm also not going to make excuses for myself even as I make them for Ben. Ben's only endgame is sudden perfect happiness. Why do you think he's had issues with substances? He'll never understand that happiness isn't real or that if you always do what you want the rest of the world becomes a miserable place to exist and people have rules for a reason.

Bridget has rules for a reason because Lochlan tips the other end of the scale in that he always has his eye on the prize and any deviation or momentary comfort might fuck that up and so we continue to deprive ourselves for that contented almost-happiness where all truly is right with the world, or the world as we know it, I guess.

Everyone else basically went apeshit, including John, who took great offence to any real or perceived danger, in bed or otherwise and took a piece off of Ben for that. John may be slightly shorter than Ben but he has a great way about him that makes him almost scarier and God bless him for giving Ben that extra perspective.

Ben is trying to learn but again, there's that shitty impulse control that makes him so much fun. It's not like anyone actually feels sorry for me for having to put up with him, rather they give him all the sympathy and support in the world for his weird ability to put up with me.

But the true amusement of the evening is left to Sophie, who got wind (don't know how, geez. LOL) that Caleb might be..lonely...again...and managed to get her arse on a plane this morning to invent some reason to 'stop by'.

She came down the driveway as I was standing there with John (bodyguard duty until Lochlan dismisses him and no, I don't get a say). We were eating chocolate pudding, standing on the bricks with little silver spoons and everything. She got out of her car and smiled at me really fakely and crazy/excited and headed straight for the boathouse. John looked at me, spoon in mouth and raised his eyebrows in horror. I winked as I watched her come back just as fast.

Is he in your house? 

I shake my head and remove my spoon from my face. He's not home.

I can see that. Where is he? 

John's face is killing me now and I burst out laughing. I don't know. I'm not his secretary. 

She stares at me for a moment and then remembers why she came here again* and tells me she'll find him after her meeting. She gets into her rental A4 and drives out through the gate as I finish the last of my pudding. Or, you know, you could phone him.

*(Money. The answer is always money.)

Caleb calls me a half hour later. If she comes back don't open the gate, just leave it locked and pretend no one is home. 

What if we're outside?

Then pretend harder. This is something you're good at, Bridget. Don't play dumb. 

You really don't want to see her? 

I don't have time to waste on complications. 

Maybe she's as lonely as you are, Diabhal. This seems like serendipity to me. 

Then you're as impulsive and immature as your husband if you think the only interest I have in you is physical. 

All this time and it was spiritual? You actually took my soul so that it would be saved instead of destroyed? All of this to protect me? From what? But the minute I said it I knew and whatever heartless banter we were having was over.

From all of them because they don't deserve to have what should be mine. 

First of all, I'm a who, not a what and secondly, how dare you decide what another human being deserves-

I would have said more but John took the phone from me and pressed end.

Just don't get into this with nobody here. Please, Bridget. It's Friday and it would be nice to have a quiet weekend instead of a war.

Mildly Judas.

(Stranger indeed.)

It turns out my brain is the time machine, not the dishwasher, after all. It's not a matter of coming back in the future to a world full of clean dishes, but rather a matter of visiting the past to relive a memory or take something that I might need. Sometimes, like last night. When Loch is away I dream about him. I hardly have time to miss him and he'll hardly have time to sleep. But now like clockwork comes the inevitable dream. I don't even know why I'm in this one but I'm wearing a yellow t-shirt and black shorts. Lochlan was sitting outside the camper writing out our budget on the back of a payroll envelope and listening to Circus of Heaven when he asked if I liked it.

I like the slow part of this song but the Tomato album? Not honestly.

Add an R, Peanut. 

Tomator?

Not there. 

Tomarto!

Tormato, Peanut. I can't teach you classic music if your head is in the clouds. 

Where else would it be? Also that isn't classic music. Classic is Tchaikovsky and Beethoven. 

Classic rock, I mean. 

I like Zeppelin and Floyd already. You know this.

Then you're most of the way there. I'm just helping round out your knowledge base a little.

So in the future Ben will be surprised?

Who is Ben?

Exactly. Because we don't know him yet. This is how my dreams work.

At least until I am pulled right out of them, physically lifted right out of the quilts and into Ben's arms. Still mostly asleep and unable to figure out what he wants until he cradles my head against his face, waking me up with kisses before pulling me all the way down toward his dreams. I can please him in my sleep. He pulls my hair into his fist, keeping control of my head, choking me on his body, gently forcing me past my comfort levels, bringing the night right to the brink before lifting me back up into his lap for a spell. I shiver when he does this, because he throws the covers right off. It's not long before he pulls me down onto my back beneath him, because he's already pushing the limits of his self-control and doesn't want me to get hurt.

At least physically.

Do you want to take this down to Caleb's? 

What?

We don't get a lot of chances now. 

Ben-

You've held out for a really long time. You did good, Bee. No one expects you to go so long. Even Loch. 

Not so long.

Almost six months.

Almost. 

No one's going to blame you if you want to. 

I shake my head and ask him if we can go back to my dream now because we were just about to meet him.

Your dreams are right here. Everything you want. 

Ben, I can't do thi-

Don't apologize. 

I'm not. I-

Say the word, Bee-

No! 

He stops and stares at me in the dark. I don't even know what the look is but the act of convincing has stopped completely. So have all the words, apparently as he resumes his efforts in silence, making sure he goes to the other side of control where he almost has some but not really, ducks his head down against the top of mine and keeps going forever. Through the rest of the night and into the windy sunrise. I hold on to him even as I try to shut out all the bad things he wants for us, how his penchant for living in the moment does nothing but ruin lives and futures and worst of all, dreams.

In my dream I go inside for lemonade and when I come out there's a strange boy sitting at the picnic table across from Loch. He is tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed and brooding. He's in all black even though it's warm and sunny and he's sitting in the shade even though the table is in full sun. He looks at me curiously but he doesn't smile.

Bridget, meet Ben. Just be careful though. He's a bit dark and really marches to his own drummer. 

I see that. Nice to meet you, Ben. 

Do you ever feel like a freak, Bridget?

All the damned time. 

How old are you anyway?

Eleven. 

Okay, yeah, no. That's too young. What the fuck are you doing?

Long story, Loch says it but he still isn't paying attention while Ben and I stare at each other with some sort of instant bond that screams equally mutual weirdness and predilections for danger together in perfect harmony.

Yeah, well, I'm not interested in getting arrested like the rest of you so I'll be back when she's like twenty-five or something. See you around. Good luck in the show. 

Come see us when we get to Atlantic City?

You're going to Atlantic City? I've been there. 

What's it like?

It's dark. Be careful, little Bumblebee. Or wait for me. 

I nod. You won't remember me by then. 

Sure I will. How could I forget? 

You forget everything. 

No, I don't. It just means I don't agree with it if you think I forgot. 

That's a weird personality ticket to have, Ben. 

No it's not. Look at all of yours. 

They're not my fault, they're Caleb's but I don't know that yet. 

Are you from the future?

Yes. 

Then you know you're going to fail. 

At what?

The thing you want most. 

I look at Lochlan but he scribbles furiously.

No, not him. 

What do I want then?

Everything.

That's a terrible thing to tell a child. That they're bound for failure.

You said you weren't a child. You can't have it both ways. 

Yes I can. That's why we're going to join the circus. 

You should stick to the freakshow. 

You think so?

Hey. Don't discourage her. She's a child. Lochlan finally looks up and is horrified by the conversation we have damned near weekly at this point.

I know you'd like to keep her that way forever but it's too late, Brother.  She's going to go somewhere that makes her end up even darker than you. It's inevitable.

Loch sits back and stares at him. She'll be with me, thanks. She always comes with to me. 

I wouldn't put my faith in things that are so small. 

This is the biggest thing in the world. 

Then maybe you should protect it better. Her, better. Because the dark is coming for her and it's coming for you and whether you like it or not it's real and it's worse than this. 

Maybe you should come back in ten or fifteen years and we'll see. 

Done deal. Take care. 

You too. 

And I woke up again, bathed in sweat with Ben still moving against me even as the new light comes in through the windows to burn his skin. Our hair plastered to our foreheads, his hands slip on my hips, grasping tightly, painfully. He says into my ear that I don't have to fight against something that's not even there. And all I want to do is cry but I know he's only advocating for me in the best way he knows how, which is not at all.

Don't give me the silent treatment. I told you I wouldn't fix you because from where I stand, there's nothing wrong with you.

There's nothing right with me either. 

Why did he teach you to talk in circles, Bridget?

Because he knew it would be the only talent I would always have at the ready. Because it's fun to walk the tightrope or do acrobatics but in an emergency you can't pull out tricks like that. You've only got your wits. And he said I'm too much of a dreamer for even that so I am to use my words. 

Is that why you don't talk when you're upset?

Yes.

Ben gets up from the picnic table in my dream and leaves, heading straight into the bathroom where I hear the shower turn on. I roll over into the damp warmth of the sheets, pulling the nearest quilt over me, a place to hide where I can close my eyes and wish for sleep without dreams, men without preoccupation and girls without memories.

On marrying this perfect stranger.

What is wrong? 

Ben is standing in the front hall, his entire frame holding open the front door and the screen door and still managing to block out all the light. I kick at the toe of his motorcycle boots with one sock foot and he smiles so gently I wonder if he had to practice to make it look that soft. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days. I noticed because I didn't wake up razor burned nor did I go to sleep that way. He looks a tiny bit wild and a whole lot of sweet right now and he watches me frustratingly kick at his steel-covered toes and try and come up with some words that will work for him.

What if you stayed home and we hung out? 

(I'm losing my mind here. I've already made all the boys that are home lie in a circle, heads in and took their picture from the loft. They did not appreciate nor did they understand it.)

I could do that but you have to sweeten the pot. 

We could chocolate fondue things!

I'm pretty sure every tooth in my head has a cavity thanks to you. Something else?

The kids have no cavities and I only have like four so it can't be from my influence. I think you just have soft teeth. 

If I do they're the only things that are soft. 

I don't doubt it. We could...go snowshoeing. Ben loves snow like Bridget loves cake.

Needs to be sweeter. 

We could go snowshoeing...naked?

That sounds like a fine idea. Let's do it.

Wait, what? We'll get arrested. 

Not if we do it in the bedroom, Bee. 

What will we do afterwards? I try and wink salaciously at him and he's not even looking, he's taking off his boots.

Watch movies? Better yet, we'll make a movie, a documentary about naked snowshoeing in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest and then we'll send it to Loch. 

He's a terrible critic when it comes to docs, Benny.

He'll love this one because it stars us. We'll get him to facetime while he watches it so we can see his reaction to our moves.

Our moves? There are moves in snowshoeing? I thought you just walk. 

Oh, Bridget. There are so many moves in naked snowshoeing. I'm going to teach you everything I know. 

You've been snowshoeing before? 

No, but how hard can it be? I can guarantee one thing, it won't be as hard as watching you ask me if I would stay home today while you broke your toes on my boots and my heart with your eyes.

The easter egg hunt this year will take place on PJ's face (why that sounds so dirty I don't even know).

Someone left a bag of mini Cadbury Creme Eggs on the counter. They're not there now.

*Shiftily looks around*

The concert was amazing but on three hours sleep now I have the intelligence of a mashed potato, the reflexes of a manatee and not enough energy to finish words, let alone sentences.

PJ says this is nothing new so I wound up and threw a mini egg at his head. Nailed him right in the beard where the wrapped egg stuck and he said he would leave it there for a snack maybe later but then every time I saw him I would double over laughing so he finally took it out and did eat it and then went back for more.

So yes, whoever they belong to..we're...sorry? Or something. You have to guard your chocolate in this house. You just can't go around leaving it everywhere, unattended, unlabelled.

PJ says Perhaps it was a gift?

Perhaps, I repeat and smile with chocolate all over my teeth.

I actually think Lochlan left them there as a treat for me since he had to leave so early. This is why there was so little sleep. Batman and Lochlan had a last minute work trip and so we took them to the airport and I was too tired to cry, if you can believe it. Maybe that's the secret. Exhaustion. Though they say exercise and being tired is so great and I ran and ran for years and nothing changed except now my legs don't ache constantly and I buy really cheap Nikes instead of the spendy Sauconys.

Lochlan didn't want to go but it's only three nights and really Ben seems to be doing well and PJ is in charge and so now or never, I guess. Batman will be bringing home his new personal assistant (they need to be imported I guess). Loch is going to bring home British chocolate which he says will blow my tiny little mind but I reminded him that's been done and there just isn't enough left to risk so I'll make do with a tacky souvenir plate of Kate and William if he's in the mood. They should be buying plates with our faces on them, he tells me as he kisses me goodbye.

Well, fuck, NOW I'm going to cry. Great.

Kind of love it when Ben leaves the house with the rest of us and it's not for food.

My eyes are blind but I can see
The snowflakes glisten on the tree
The sun no longer sets me free
I feel the snowflakes freezing me

Let the winter sunshine on
Let me feel the frost of dawn
Build my dreams on flakes of snow
Soon I’ll feel the chilling glow

Tonight, finally, after a delay, is the Black Sabbath concert. The last one ever, as it were and so everyone is going. Everyone except the children, so that means if you see us and want to come up and say hello we really don't mind. If the children are with us we go into full Avengers Assemble-mode and it's a little scary. People sometimes get reallllly excited when around someone they kinda recognize and at this kind of event it's far more likely. Long story. Anyway, if you see us and you want to come say hi, just be gentle, LOL. We won't bite but we also don't like a big fuss.

(Caleb is even going. He'll be the inappropriately dressed one in a blazer and nice pants.)

I'm excited. I have maybe fifty pounds of eyeliner already on and am broadcasting Snowblind to the point. PJ is very appreciative of my swaying around the kitchen singing it. Or maybe it's these skinny jeans? I should probably stop before he gets a full-on metal boner but who cares?

I'm even going to break my own golden rule and drink a beer tonight.

In public.

(If the jeans can take it. They're tiiiight because metallllll.)

Because this is the End.  Goddamn it. I know I'm going to cry. But also SNOWBLIND.

 LIVE.

This is the shit dreams are made of, right here.

(I am such a boy. Eyeliner included.)

(All the destruction, it was quiet.)

All of the interesting turns of events from birthday to now and Caleb is fixated on the title of yesterday's entry as if it's a label I have put onto him, stamped across his forehead as a reminder to learn from my mistakes and grow.

But let's face it. I'm done growing. I was done at eleven or maybe ten. Maybe the Midway food stunted me or maybe Lochlan froze me in time, perfect to fit under his chin or maybe I don't learn from mistakes and therefore are doomed to repeat them over again, ad infinitum. Maybe Caleb wasn't ever a formal enough of a relationship to be considered a mistake, more of an ongoing kind of dalliance that we've never solidified into anything further, as I was always otherwise engaged. Literally engaged. Positively uninterested in ever giving a voice to a marriage of monsters.

In consideration I have thought about it many times and I often wondered if I did, if he would change. If he would be nice or at least somewhat less cruel to me. If he would be kind instead of frightening, loving instead of forceful. Sweet instead of always mean. His charm, his frailty is a mask and as long as I keep that in mind I do okay but his charm is also magnetic, dangerous and deceitful and I am no match for the Devil as I am forever frozen in a time period I would have gone back to if I could find the way. Not for the bad things but for the good and now no one seems to understand that when I write 'My Yesterday', it simply means this is how the day before today went and nothing more. It's not a proclamation or a hidden message. It's just a descriptor. A marker. A heading. It's a story.

It's a shame, is what it is and now I'm going to move on. Fifty-four is almost a year away and so I can let out a long deep breath and plan for the next catastrophe which seems to be the mystagogue in this house, who pretends to be a minister but I swear to God sometimes Sam, like August channels just enough Jake to warm my cold broken heart in the form of these men who keep me going to see what they do next. He's lying on the floor in the living room with headphones on listening to music, which would be quiet and acceptable save for the fact that he's singing so loudly he woke the whole house up.

(He found that Shooter Jennings song. Man. What an amazing fucking song.)

That's exactly what Jake used to do each early March when Lent was under full steam and we all stopped going to church regularly enough for him. He would make sure we were up and at 'em so that we wouldn't be late. We didn't all live together back then so he would drive around town knocking on doors and singing and checking his watch when they would come and open the door in pajamas, rubbing their eyes, probably hungover with no intentions of hearing his service.

And it works now like it worked then. Perfectly.

So off we go. Maybe I'll add more later. Maybe I'll go back to bed.

My yesterday.

BRIDGET.

Friday morning, 8:05. A heartbeat after the kids have left for school and the Devil has come to claim his due.

Where did you get them?

Everyone is all up in his face before he finishes the question and he struggles against them while I stand in the doorway. He's screaming at me to tell him and then in a moment of silence I shrug.

Where did I get what? 

The benzos you put in my drink.

Are you saying you think something fell in your drink?
 
It's a sad day when you feel as if you have to poison me to avoid meaningful contact. 

I didn't poison you. It must have been some kind of accident. Love how you call it 'meaningful contact' now. That's amazing. Everyone is staring at me with amusement and I have no poker face so I burst out laughing very inappropriately.

That's an extraordinary length to go to, Neamhchiontach. 

The stress of trying to hold out dissolves me and the tears come. I must look insane. I don't know what you're talking about! I thought you were tired. I was relieved, I admit. I came home. I didn't do anything to you. 

He softens just enough that they let go and those who have some manners leave the room. Bridget, I'm sorry I frighten you so much. I wanted to end my birthday the way I began it. Alone with you. 

I'm sorry. I whisper, well aware that it sounds like guilt even though I'm apologizing for leaving his house before his birthday was over.

(My inner twelve year old kicks me in the shins and scowls. Lochlan leaves the room. For fucks sakes. Social engineering is as exhausting as a birthday to me.)

Did you put something in my drink, Neamhchiontach?

No. Maybe you're just more tired than you realize. It was a long day. I smile through tears and he wipes them off my cheeks with his thumbs.

His eyes though.

Blue right through with obvious doubt.
 

Just like normal people.

Pierced your arrow through my heart
Wanted me, now want me gone
In your hiding, you’re alone
Kept your treasures with my bones

Told me lies, told me tales
Lived for bad, and hit the rails
Hate you, boy, with what I know
Picked my love up with my bones

Through the door at 10:06 pm after Caleb nodded off on the couch. I took our glasses into the kitchen, covered him with one of the fur blankets from his bed and let myself out, locking the door behind me.

When I came in the side door Lochlan came off his chair like there might be a spring underneath him. PJ had him blocked before he even registered that it was just me.

You're here! 

I told you I wouldn't be there long. We had a drink and I'm home as promised. I think he really enjoyed the day. Thank you for helping keep the peace.

His composure fought an incredible battle on the inside. I could see his expressions cycling through as he went for neutral and wound up with pain, relief, stubbornness and love all mixed up together. Then he bailed on the whole mess and just pulled me into my place, tucked under his chin, in his arms, underneath his flannel shirt, pressed against the t-shirt that is so old it feels like his heartbeat is the thrum of huge heavy butterfly wings muffled by clouds.

Three seconds later another chin lands on the back of my head and the sandwich is complete as I feel Ben's hands press to my ears. Okay then. Jesus. They painted me a reckless liar. Wait, I am one. This feels awful.

You okay? Ben's question is as weighty as Loch's relief so that I get crushed underneath my own guilt.

I'm fine. We had a drink. I'm home. 

He let you go?

He can't 'keep me'. He fell asleep. It happens. People get tired.

The Devil isn't 'people', Bridgie. 

I shrug and push myself out of the embrace. PJ checks his eyebrow raise and asks if I want tea. I shake my head and ask if we can watch a movie or something. Lochlan gently reminds me that it's late and he has to get up early so bed it is. Off we go.

Why did you stay up then?

I was holding out until PJ let his guard down and then I was going to come get you. 

Loch-

Just don't, Bridget. 

You don't trust me. 

I don't trust him. You know damn well if he wants something you can't-

Can't refuse him?

Can't fight back. He absolves me with that. He forgets the minute I am home, always. 

Sure I could. I'm tougher than I look.

He shakes his head and then pulls off his shirt and the t-shirt underneath. You think he..I don't know, do you think he's going to leave you alone? 

I don't want to ruin this perfect victory of a day, complete with cake, balloons, presents, touching speeches and self-reliance with disappointment so I just strip off all my clothes, climb into the middle of the big bed, bracelets and all and forget to kiss the boys goodnight.

Stumbling into a flat run.

Beware the bottled thoughts of angry young men
Secret compartments hide all of the skeletons
Little girl wants to make her home with him
In the middle of the shore, she wonders
'Don't know what you asked for'

Fifty-three this morning looks haunted, quietly unsettled as we take a thermos of coffee down to the beach to greet the horizon, a line cut with damp sugar. I'm teaching him to appreciate the simple life even as he attempts to appropriate the magician's rituals for his own. The coffee is a compromise. He wanted to bring champagne. Which is different than scotch but somehow still the same. It's cold and rainy this morning and the birthday boy looks at me for a very long time before I give in first, toasting him with the metal cup full of scalding black gold.

Happy Birthday, Diabhal, I've made my speech privately, ending with the expected formality of a wish, as this day holds so much more weight than any other of his year. Birthdays are sacred to the Collective and treated as such.

Which one of them is keeping you from me? Look what happened to the last two men who tried. As of today I am three years past my goal and it's further out of reach than ever.

What did you do, wake up and say this should be the day where you turn the evil up to eleven?

I need a name. If you're protecting Lochla-

It's Bridget.

Pardon me?

I'm doing this. Because I said I would and I am. If you're going to kill me please not by heights or fire. I prefer to be drowned or asphyxiated in the throes of passion. Humane, as it were. Maybe a drug overdose but make it good so I have no idea what's going on. Now if you don't mind can we not fight today? This is a very special day. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and he laughs. I peek at him with one eye all squinty and he's smiling but his eyes are still incredibly sad.

I'm not going to kill you today. It's my birthday, Neamhchiontach. And you're right. The simplest things are best and being here with you to greet this day is a gift in itself. I know you probably met a lot of resistance. I do appreciate it. 

I'm not doing you a favor. I want to be here. 

Is Pyro chained up inside or something? 

He's at work. 

He doesn't know. 

Sure he does. His spies are all over this. I point back behind my head and Duncan is casually scanning the sweet morning skyline from the telescope platform.

Okay, well then how about I go get some things done and I scoop you up at one? Since dinner is here and you've gone to so much trouble let me take you out for lunch. 

I'm game. Can we just have ice cream? 

We're having cake tonight. Don't overdo it. He indicates the candy vista stretching as far as the eye can see in glittering shades of lavender and orange over a darkened teal early sea. My legendary, unchecked instant childlike disappointment is a goddamned firestarter.

We'll see, he changes his mind when he catches my expression as it runs to hide. He smiles again, eyes still sad.

It's your birthday. You choose. But no more threats against Lochlan. He hasn't done anything to you.

That slight spark is enough to reassure my pounding heart that he is okay as the smile finally hints at his eyes until the comprehension of my words extinguishes it completely. I can't coordinate my feelings. I want to be Kevlar and I want to be comfort. I want to be somewhere else. I bite my own tongue chewing on my shoes as I attempt to change the subject before he notices what I have done.

 Are you coming back up? I see Duncan has already come down from the platform and is heading for the stairs. I have my answer.

I'm going to stay for a bit still. Give me the coffee, would you? 

He takes the thermos and walks me back carefully to the bottom of the steps, kissing my cheek hard as he lets go. As I grab the railing he heads back to the other end of the beach. He turns to see me looking back at him and holds up a finger.

Wait? Stop? Think about this for a minute? I have something else to say? Be careful? Soon? See you at one? I have one man left to destroy? I don't know what the finger means so I ignore it, turning away first, climbing the stairs slowly, hand on the rail as instructed because he just broke one of the house rules of buddies on the cliff stairs because they're fucking dangerous. Less dangerous than he is, though, I suppose, birthday or not.

Damn the dark, damn the light.

And if you don't love me now
You will never love me again
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain.

He finishes his bite and then points to my plate while he wipes his mouth on the napkin. Finish your lunch, he orders.

I am busy editing photos on my phone and my sandwich is mostly untouched.

In a minute. 

Bridget. 

Just a word. Just my name. But it's loaded with pretty much every bullet we've ever shot at each other when he says it like that.

Like a dad.

Not like a lover.

Which is where I get confused. The ten year old sits up straight, wipes her braids off her shoulders and digs in, swinging her feet until she kicks off her shoes (she hates shoes anyway) and then has to withstand five long minutes of lectures when he reaches under the table to get them and has to spend an exorbitant amount of time untangling the double knots he tied for her this morning. Then she stands up while he ties them again, back on her feet. These are new. Nikes with a blue swoosh. They're for tennis but she hates tennis. Too much running and it's boring. She writes the words to Fleetwood Mac songs along the sides with a ballpoint pen and wonders if she'll soon be old enough to have the kind of heartbreak they sing about. Then Lochlan stands up, pulls his sleeve down over his hand and wipes her whole face off.

I bet if I stood up right now he would be tempted. I should test hi-

Bridget. Come on. We've got things to do. 

He totally would.

The killing kind of love.

We're partners in crime
You got that certain something
What you give to me
Takes my breath away
Now the word out on the street
Is the devil's in your kiss
If our love goes up in flames
It's a fire I can't resist

We're making preliminary plans for when Dalton comes back that involve sending he and Duncan downstairs for a sibling-flat kind of scenario and Sam is moving up to Duncan's room. Duncan likes it. Dalton will love it.

Sam doesn't want to be down there any more. Too many memories. I get that so I'm moving heaven and earth (that would be Duncan and Dalton, respectively hahahaha) to see that he gets what he needs. If Sam's frame of mind slides anymore he's going to be at the bottom of a big hill. But I had to ask the inevitable question because it could be an issue.

What happens if Matt stays over again? 

He won't be. Hey, I gotta go. I'll be home in time to help with dinner. He kisses my forehead and he's gone.

Oh. Well, why not, Sam? I ask my blueberry pancake. PJ tries not to laugh from where he is loading the time machine.

That's a musical apartment. 

It's what it was intended for, I guess. Whoever needs it most. Maybe I should go live there.

With Duncan? PJ smirks at his cleverness and I throw my pancake at his head. It misses wildly and sticks flat against the window above the sink, sliding down the glass in a syrupy crawl like a huge tangible honey moon.

He can't help it anymore, laughing out loud. I look for something to throw next.

I think your plate is full, he reminds me as I wonder what the fuck he's talking about. My plate...is empty. I just THREW the food on it at him and missed. Oh, wait.

A figure of sp-

I know what it is! 

What are you doing about Thursday? Feed the Devil, kill the Magician? 

No, I'm going for a birthday champagne and then I'm coming home. 

Does Caleb know this? 

Yes, but he doesn't believe me.

Does Lochlan know this?

Yes, but he also doesn't believe me. 

Duncan might be the best choice in this scenario. 

I know, right? 

More about Dylan in one single post than in the last decade.

This morning very early we saw Dalton off for his whirlwind spring. I will miss him. He's my hippie, the Teflon Jesus we all know and love. He said he expects face time* every day. I don't know when that's going to happen with the time zones but we'll make it work. He's not as huge on affection as his brother so somehow it's easier to say goodbye, though I still cried. Dylan was with him. He gave me a quick hug and I swore at him because he won't let me write the oh-so-many good things I could share with you because he doesn't want to live online. Most of them don't, I don't think. They, like me, regard the Internet as a sort of instant-encyclopedia, good for looking up why the old guy in Colony looks so familiar, oh, it's Captain Brass from CSI kind of forgettable trivia we seem to fill our brains with when we should be filling them up to the brim, to overflowing with memories, just in case. Use the Internet to keep in touch? No way. That's why we live in a commune, silly.

Love you, Fidget. Be a good girl. 

I'll do nothing of the sort. You have condoms?

No, I plan to bring my raging chlamydia-infested junk home and rub it all over you. 

Hey, just no. Even Dalton is grossed out and Dalton has loved and left them all. He just did it well-wrapped.

Kidding. I love you. Take care of Benny for me and everyone else and make sure they take care of you. 

Or we'll kick their asses when we get back. Dalton is stern but holding tough so he doesn't lose it. We hate goodbyes. Hate them, hate them, hate them.

Just get back in one piece, guys. I hug them both at once. Too hard, too long. I have issues.

When they leave I wipe my eyes, pull up my underpants and head straight for the bank where I put a few thousand bucks each in their accounts just in case. Just in case they gotta eat. Just in case they need a quick flight home or an emergency room bill paid. Just in case they didn't pack condoms. Just in case there's cool merch or VIP when things swing this way. Oh, I don't know. Bail money. God forbid, think up a horror scenario and I've already imagined it, though Dalton is a well-seasoned traveler and Dylan is not my child so I should worry so much less than I do but I really love it when everyone is present and accounted for at home on the point and the gate is locked across the driveway best.

I thought Ben might have a hard time seeing them go off officially but he didn't. Duncan did that super-stoic cool lizard-king thing where he doesn't react but he's got his sunglasses on and it's cloudy so I know he worries and I hugged him and told him they will be fine and if something goes wrong we will swoop in and rescue them and he nodded and smiled and squeezed me back but he didn't say much on the ride home either. The torch has passed. The marginally-younger, unencumbered, unburdened guys are going out and the older ones in recovery or with families and tired bones are staying home. It's not a life if your thoughts are always back at home, it's just a miserable,  lonely kind of party. But they'll do well to make some decent money and gather just a few more stories to tell around the fire pit later this summer. I can wait. Or maybe I can't.

*(Back in the day when the kids were in diapers and the castle was cold, Ben would call maybe twice or three times during a whole run, because we didn't have cellphones. That was unbearable. At least now we can check in daily. Hourly, if need be. I like it a lot better.)

In which I try hashtags.

YES.

The universe has been reset. Leo got his Oscar!

#teamRevenant #finallyJackdidntletgo  #iwonalotofmoneytonight #imnotinLAkilltherumors

#exmachinaWHATTHEFUCKWHYYYYYY

Fuckit.

I drove for hours today with Sam, Loch and the horse trailer to get a horse that was needing me only when I got there she turned out to be too fragile to even transport and I had to turn her away, knowing that she will be put down before the weekend is out. I mean, I could have taken her and she might have gone just as fast. I was so hopeful that I could make her last hours beautiful and peaceful instead of noisy and dark and frightening. I can't think too much about things like bright lights and faith, dark skies and pavement, rushing nowhere. Not having tomorrows, no hope grown from yesterdays enough to see it through. No hope at all, Jake.

No horse either. Sam's gentle lead was a dead end, ironically enough.

No reward for all the work put into today only to see it end in utter defeat. I said I could handle it and I was wrong. Clearly I can't. Have a bottle of Jack Daniels and a plan to anesthetize myself into outer space where there are no horses and no ghosts either.

Defining ourselves by the things we can't live without.

All hail the siren of our time
I'm possessed when she passes by
She drains the best years of my life
She makes promises
She could never keep

This week's headaches seem to have the new feature of twisting my expressions so that the pain is visible all over my face. I never used to have this problem. Maybe the brain tumor no one admits I have is pressing on whichever part of the brain controls expressions, AKA the part I'm missing. When I walked on the beach this morning I looked for that part, as if I might be able to spot it at fifteen feet and go pick it up, dust the sand off it and put it in the pocket of my overalls. When I get back inside I'll ask Ben to crack my skull open and Sam can figure out where the part goes, precisely, because if I knew I would be stoic and cold and not crack like an egg myself when Lochlan yelled in my face last night. Though Lochlan knows the rules too and boy he sure seems to love having a full pantry and warm sheets until it comes time to pay up. Then he steals as much as he can and disappears.

We've talked about this. It just doesn't get easier. Not only do I miss the expression control but according to him my backbone is missing. If anyone had known when Caleb offered damages on this scale that it included continued damage to be done to me on a regular basis, well, we would have run. Or rather, Loch would have run. I would have stood there in the flames, sweat rolling down my skin wondering why it was so fucking hot.

It's just too late now and thankfully my small body has somehow doubled up on both stubbornness and durability so I'm good. I smile and then my crazy reveals it carries me alone because no sane person would have this sort of arrangement.

(Admit it. You are still back there on 'damages'. It's okay. I do that too. I don't tell this in order. It's easier this way, trust me. Now is not the time to show you how evil the Devil really is.)

Caleb had Henry bring me the envelope. He's getting good at getting around the fire. It's a moat of fire today, all around the house. So Henry came downstairs with one and handed it to me on his way out, saying Dad said to give this to you before I left for school.

Thanks, Bunny, I tell him as I go up in flames.

No problem. He shrugs into pack and off he goes.

But it's okay. I'm not concerned.

Everyone leaves and when I go back into the kitchen the Devil is standing there. I feed the envelope to the wood stove and his exasperated expression matches my pain one. Why do you do that?

I know what it says. Join me Thursday night, nonnegotiable, blah blah blah evil blah blah blah damnation blah blah Loch blah blah I love you. 

He laughs. Not because I was funny, but because today pain makes me brave. Bridget-

Oh, stuff it. My head hurts. 

Then why on earth are you stopping your pills?

I turn and launch a bowl at him. Overhand. I TOLD YOU WHY.

Wait a minute here. 

Just...could you fuck off for today please?

It hurts that bad? 

When did you ever care if something hurt. 

Your well-being is at the top of my list-

How long are you going to keep telling that lie? If you were concerned for my well-being you would have busted Lochlan for the lies instead of torturing him- my voice cuts out at the worst time. I have a whole huge list of things I want to yell about right now and I sound small and strangled.

I can call for something for the pain.

I have things for the pain! What I would like is for you to leave my house!

You said yourself they weren't good eno-

How about you just GET OUT? 

He closed his mouth abruptly, nodded after staring at me for a full minute and then left by the side door. I went back to the stove and opened it to put in some more wood and the envelope was sitting on top of the cinders, flames all around it and yet it is completely untouched.

Cold hearts, warm hands.

All of the dreams that you made nightmares
all of the silence, deafening stares

All of the ships who can't carry loads
you wrecked in anger, along distant shores

All of this would have been
all of this could have been yours

These days I eat, sleep and breathe petrichor, or the idea of it, anyway, since it never actually stops raining long enough to become anything close to dry. These sunny days will be shortlived, like everything good. Who needs anything else when you have this? You just scrape the moss off your skin as it grows and marvel at how your blood has been replaced with rainwater. It's inevitable. The problem is, I like my rainwater mixed with salt and sand. Grit and glory, twenty-four-seven. Keep your rainforest, I'll be in the sea.

I'm pretty sure if I were in the sea he would stand disdainfully nearby, on the drier rocks and wait for me to surface, holding one of those envelopes like a bullet, meant for my heart.

Every one he gives me Lochlan takes to burn. Every one unopened. Caleb's birthday is a week from today. He'll be fifty-three, an age I still can't comprehend as it seems like just last night he was eighteen and piggy-backing me home from the ballfield or driving me to the mall. Or saying goodbye as he packed up his room down the hall from Cole's as he went off to University a few years ahead of the rest, while I was still in grade five and unable to even spell university.

Certain dates of the year I am required to spend with him, his birthday being the most important date above the others. The second-most important date is New Years Eve. I defied him that night for reasons I can't talk about. I don't plan to do that again, in spite of Lochlan's rules, so we shall see what next week brings.

I have a plan of my own, you know.

If I were to give out envelopes they would be glitter. It would get on everything. It would be great. Maybe I should do that. Make them fight for my time instead of making me fight for theirs.

почемучка.

(Blame Loch for this too. The girl of a thousand nicknames.)

I had an early meeting this morning with the Russian doctor. The young one, in spite of my request for Senior. The young one is far creepier and knows less English. I forgot about the creepy part and offered him coffee first and he took it as an invitation to get familiar and asked me if I wanted a referral to a surgeon to have the scar under my nose fixed. And my nose if I wanted. He then refused the coffee and took my blood pressure. Probably should have done that first, as he frowned and asked if I had done anything to reduce it as promised.

I'm...trying to relax more? I smile with all my teeth.

He frowns and laughs at the same time. I think only Russians can do that, actually. You need to do it better, then. He scolds and I imaginary-roll my eyes.

I will try. 

If not, medication. 

Speaking of that-

What do you need?

I need to not take pills. 

Usually people want more pills. 

I'm not 'people'. I hate pills. 

What is wrong with pills?

They make me gain weight, sleep all the time and I have no creative spark whatsoever. I sort of don't care about anything. I'm not entirely sober on these things.

Well, you could use more sleep and more weight and less caring. Less..uh what do you call it? Less uptights. 

Right. My tights are too far up my arse.

Pardon me?

Nothing. I don't want to take the pills. 

What about headaches?

I'll have to try something else. Maybe a guillotine.

He said you were acrimonious. 

I don't even know what that means.

Gloomy. Bluesy, as it were.

I laugh. This is insane. Can I just please stop taking the pills? 

Yes, but go off slowly. One a day for the next week, then stop. 

Thank Jesus. 

Which one of them is Jesus?

No one. It's an expression. 

We have an expression too, Mrs. C______. It's Pochemuchka. It means a difficult child. 

Great. 

So what do you want to try next?

Nothing. Let's just wait and see. 

He shrugs and turns to leave. If you insist, but the first headache you have brings me back. We are all busy.

Then I'll see you soon. I smile because I'm not in any pain right now.

Pochemuchka. He shakes his head as he goes. A pain in the tights for certain.
 

This is the kind of thing that happens when you wake up at five every morning.

Who else danced naked on the beach in the dark this morning to greet the full moon + Jupiter?

Just me?

Oh well! You snooze, you lose.

When Lochlan came back (from a trip to fix the equipment left behind on the site before this one) I was on the roof of the camper, wedged in between the pop-up vent and the lexan skylight, Archie comic in one hand, halfway through the hijinks of Riverdale, the other hand holding a fistful of red licorice, taking bites in between belting out the words to Say you Love Me along with Christine McVie on the tiny transistor that we usually kept on the counter for dinner music. I'm emulating Bailey and her friends, getting a tan since I have a few hours free. That's what girls do, I think. Though my bikini isn't as spare so much as it is sturdy, because I'm eleven and didn't grow again this year so I didn't get a new suit for the summer. This is the one from when I was ten.

Lochlan climbs the ladder and smiles at me. He has oil all over his hair, face, hands and shirt. We're never going to get that out. We hand wash all of our clothes in the kitchen sink and dry them on a line strung between the front passenger mirror and the nearest tree if we don't have to move on. This is the first day in the newest location and it's on the beach, prime real estate. A decadence rarely seen in a life such as this. Usually the campers are parked behind utility buildings on the edge of a deserted industrial park or beside a run-down strip mall. This is amazing.

You look like you found something to keep you occupied. Any problems? 

Only that I'm going to run out of licorice any second now and as usual Archie can't seem to choose between Veronica and Betty. Why doesn't he pick one of them and stay with her? 

Because human beings are complicated, Peanut.

That's dumb. I'm glad I'm not complicated. 

He raises his eyebrows and descends back to the ground. He's going to change and my song is over so I scramble to collect everything in my tote bag that I then drop down over the side of the camper to the grass because I am not permitted to carry anything while climbing ladders as per Loch's rules. We have to work tonight so I need to change anyway in my midway shirt and shorts. I leave my bikini on underneath and maybe we'll be able to go for a midnight swim after work. I blow a kiss toward the water and head inside. I would love to quit and just spend the whole day down on the sand where the shore meets the sea but then we would starve and also we can't crew camp if we're not crew so Lochlan tells me to lose myself in the happiness of the fair goers and that will tide me over until we're finished for the night.

That and the ache in my stomach from eating half a bag of Twizzlers, that is. So good but not all at once and I keep making this mistake again and again. Lochlan says it's because I'm complicated after all. I smack him with a wayward licorice stick and he grabs it and eats it right out of my hand, pretending to start in on my fingers once the candy is gone, making me shriek so loud his eyes get wide for a second and then he starts to laugh.

Dumbass.

Oh, Internet. Just because I post two sentences from a week-long argument does not mean I am giving you permission to judge, advise or condemn. I do realize you'll do it anyway. Everyone I know picked a side. Most of them were with me, because as we have already covered in previous postings, Ben has made a concentrated effort to reassure me that and the others that he is essentially unemployed/retired/home for good only to pick up and run out of the blue, turning what was supposed to be a one week business trip into a years' worth of scheduling. A comeback, if you will. A favor extended. A really really stupid idea in the first place. He isn't all that strong right now, it would have been bad for his recovery, bad for his health, bad for his marriage and ridiculously awful for his friendships.

When Sam asked him what he wanted more, he didn't even hesitate before pointing to me and saying her. 

So he isn't going.

He'll have to look after the loose ends quickly then. It's the perfect time to do it, before the press, before the rumblings. before anyone puts his name on Wikipedia. I think life with these boys before the internet was easier by far but then we wouldn't have Sam and we need Sam. Sam is glue. Sam is a calm force in a roiling sea. Sam is keeping Ben to his word when not even Daniel seemed to be able to, because Daniel also picked a side and Ben felt betrayed by that for a brief moment before realizing that his brother has come along behind him picking up the slack from me for a long time now. If anything we should give Daniel a medal for honor, for bravery or for utter foolishness. Pick one, because like sides in the end it isn't important. The plans, details and drama aren't as significant as family. Daniel is blood family and the rest of us are Ben's family by choice.

I didn't even have to say a word. I stood there courageously defending my own sudden stupidity at any cost, which Lochlan later told me was somewhat terrifying to witness. Cold, apparently and more like Cole and Caleb than anything he's ever seen before. Calmly promising heartbreak and carnage quietly, on a grand scale and without remorse. He said they must have taught me well. Only they didn't teach me, I was the recipient and I know what makes the scary feelings come out best.

But I didn't do it to make Ben change his mind and stay home with us. If anything I did it to remind him, myself and everyone around us that if you stay here you will get your heart broken, there will be drama and carnage and bloodshed and tearshed and reasonshed too. I made sure to give him every reason for him to go, to get out of here so that he would have no regrets whatsoever if he didn't. That weighing the odds, if he stayed in spite of the way I am that his reasons to do so must be pretty darn good in their own right.

They are, he told me. You and Danny and Loch and PJ, everyone. You're my reasons. I'm sorry, Bee. I get caught up and then I can't escape. 

I know. 

I wasn't going to get away from you. 

Then you're stupid, because you should. 

No, you're stupid because you think I'm stupid for being here. 

Well you are stupid for thinking I'm stupid because I think you're stupid for being here. 

I don't know how to respond to that. 

I don't either. 

Love you, Little bee. 

Love you too, Benny.

Spontaneous perdition.

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell that I'm doing Fine watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go

It's snowing, I am having sunomono and black tea for breakfast and Ben is home early with one of his ridiculous ultimatums. If you don't want me to do this, I won't. Just say the word.

What is the word, exactly, Ben? Quit? Submit? Defeat? Kowtow? Bend? Surrender? Pick one, I have time. I drain the vinegar out of the noodles. My stomach hurts. This isn't so much salad as it is a cold soup and my body likes starchy warm things like bread. I'm cold too. Forgot to bring my sweater downstairs. I would borrow his hoodie, since it's on the back of one of the kitchen chairs but it smells like airplane fuel. It's very strong after someone flies but everyone else swears they smell nothing. I'm sure it has something to do with my brain, and how it picks up weird things like invisible scents and very intense, cloaked but controlled emotion. I can feel rainbows and see gasoline fumes. When someone walks into a room, they could be acting perfectly normal but if they're under duress I will feel it so hard I hit the floor. Explain? Sorry, that part of life isn't my job. I'm no brain surgeon but I will be leaving my entire being to science and they can report back to you when the time comes. In the meantime I just shrug. Lochlan dismisses it as indigo child/freak magic. But then he'll grin at the inside joke and I laugh because his grin is leprechaun-maniacal level in nature and no one witnessing it emerges unscathed. He resumes singing and playing at the table but quietly because half the house is still asleep.

We've got Ben's itinerary spread out all over the table. It doesn't look so bad, in all honesty. It's three months here and two there kind of thing but the dates are grouped in such a way that he could be home in between if they were going to be closer. But they aren't going to be close enough to make it worthwhile.

When is it not worthwhile?

When it's more hours of travel-time than home-time. 

Then they can manage without me, Bee. Just say the word.

 When I don't say anything Ben tries on some harshness. It fits, but barely. It's not as if you aren't full up of people to affect.

Another inside joke at the expense of his bitterness. We fight when he tours. It's as sure as a sunset, as predictable as clockwork and we can't seem to avoid it, hard as we try. His guilt puts him on the defensive. His defensiveness also makes my stomach hurt. No amount of insistence that he's fine to do this can dismiss the fact that it's chewing him up inside because he wants to be Ben the Walking Ego just as badly as he wants to revel in the routine of being home with no time limit or itinerary in sight. In on the joke, as it were, instead of on the outside looking in while someone else takes his place. And I would pick him in a heartbeat but if he isn't here then what do I do? I use his brother as a stand in and get all the goddamn affection I want, thank you. Or, you now, someone else.

Yes, that's right, I suppose I am pretty busy.  

He closes his eyes and escapes from me because I'm wearing my Second Best t-shirt and no one likes to have their shit called down front for all to see. But instead of remaining there he leans very far forward so his head is close to mine. He points to the shirt and says Now you know how it feels.

I would have high-fived him for such an exquisite, magnificent insult but I was too busy burning alive.

Freaks in the corner.

He slides his hands up my ribcage, thumbs tracing the bones, fingers wrapped around my flesh, a harsh touch that thrills me like nothing else from a man who generally isn't rough or anything less than gentle except for when he is tired, like tonight.

I don't know if this whole thing doesn't feel temporary but I think we need to stick with it and see how it plays out. He says this even as earlier tonight he caught me packing to run and as I took things out of drawers to put them in the suitcase he was taking them out and putting them back while we spoke in angry low tones to each other to keep it between us instead of declaring war with the entire household, or worse, the entire population of Point Despair here, where wayward bandmates go to languish and die. It's a hospice for the romantically doomed. It's a curse. It's a bleak rainy well-appointed prison. It's all mine.

It isn't his, as he points out far too regularly and I'm sorry but I used up all of my nervous energy in deciding to run. I don't have anything left with which to fight.

He was too quick to give up information. That isn't how he does things. 

He said it himself. He's getting old. 

So are we! But I gave up decades ago thinking time would make any difference. 

I know but disappearing doesn't help. 

Sure it does. It gives space and time and absence that either brings relief or brings us all to our knees. There is no happy medium here. You get extreme fulfilled joy or the most excruciating grief ever felt with no in-between and I wouldn't have it any other way.

But he isn't listening any more. He's unbuttoning my dress. He's kissing along my temple and jaw. He's delicate and rough all at the same time and involuntarily I shiver, goosebumps breaking out all over, eyes zeroing out, unfocused, breathing quick and heavy. My hands can't get purchase, can't gather him in, can't feel anything but his warm skin when my hands make contact.

I know what he means by temporary. We were supposed to play house. Just for a few years and then I would untangle myself and return to the show full time. Return to him full time. Return to my life out of a suitcase, always with a growly stomach and a wary trust. Always with a backup plan, an escape route and a stolen pair of brass knuckles hidden in the lining of my sweater though I can't throw a punch to save my soul, or I would have had it back long ago. Always a paycheck or three behind, always thrilled beyond belief with a sunrise, a book finished or a warm meal after days without one. A bubble bath or a glass of champagne were things on a movie screen and never once did I choose a bracelet in this imaginary gilded life without having a firm idea of what it will be worth when it comes time to trade it for goods on the run.

I want to see all the places I haven't seen but we're currently having a freak time-out, pretending to be people we're not in a world we don't understand or appreciate but never take for granted.

I unbutton his shirt, running my hands across his smooth chest, tracing tattoos, as many or possibly more words than the number that etch into my own flesh. We match perfectly. I start passages, he finishes them. A song finds its way into my skull and within moments he's sorting it out on guitar or piano. When he isn't here I can't find my way around, it's like my directions are gone. When he is here I want to be awake all the time so I don't miss out on a single breath that he takes, a thought that he thinks, a movement, a gesture. All the arguments in the world don't change this. They never change this.

I'm always asked if I would go back. The answer is always yes.

As you can imagine, it's been quite an adjustment but I have lots of help. My hearing aids are being replaced on Tuesday, Ben will be home by Sunday and my daydreams seem intact in spite of the rain.

Joel is suitably unreachable and August is more than a little rankled up at Lochlan, who is only doing his best to protect me in the best ways he knows how to, to shut out the real world because who needs it, first of all, and secondly it will be right where we left it when we open up again, right?

(He hasn't been wrong yet.)

And I'm not good with reality. It's a smack in the face, a slog through mud, an obstacle course when I am out of breath with broken limbs, expected to keep up always. Expected to finish just like everybody else.

Hmmph. I'm not everyone else but I'm not special either and I would much prefer if I could keep this mask on so that you can be entertained without me having to give up everything in return. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so but then again, I'm not one of you so I wouldn't know.

Beast.

I come to you this afternoon defeated, having given over control of the day very early on to Padraig, who mostly has control of me anyway, except in wardrobe considerations, after he suggested I wear his Totoro onesie for the rest of the afternoon. When I complained that it would be too warm, he said You're not supposed to wear anything underneath it, Bridget.

I checked the neck for a handling tag. When was the last time you washed it? 

It can be washed? 

We're not going to go there. Or rather, go back there. I threw it down the basement steps. Next person going can take it the rest of the way to the laundry room.

My hands are covered with eczema. There's a little patch of it under one of my eyes and behind each ear too. They say it's stress. Ha. Lochlan threw my hearing aids out of the truck yesterday so I'm muted and still. But BUT BUT BUT I strangely don't have a headache today so boy is that ever nice. PJ hands me a big cold glass of water every hour or two and I've done nothing but listen to music and follow him around all week so far trying not to be stressed out.

They won't let Ben talk to me on the phone. That's helping. Or maybe it's not helping. I don't know.

We finished the spring cleaning. We don't seem to need groceries for once and I put the kibosh on things like dental checkups and needless appointments for a little while because I really thought for sure that I would spend all of February doing taxes. Then I finished early and now what? It's too rainy out to paint the walls so I paint pictures. It's too warm and muddy for winter hiking and it's too ridiculous to shop here anymore so we're housebound and down and not saddened by it in the least.

I may walk the Duncan later if he seems restless but last I checked he was holed up in the movie theatre alone having an X-men marathon and wearing a strangely familiar onesie. I don't think I'll go there. Maybe I'll summon the headache and give Ben a call. Maybe I'll summon the ghosts and call Jake instead. Maybe the sky will fall and I'll chicken little or chicken lots. Maybe doesn't get me very far lately, does it?

You don't even know what death is, you fuckhead.

So tired this morning I dipped my paintbrush into Caleb's orange juice. He frowned and opened his mouth to say something but then thought the better of it and simply got up and took everything out to the kitchen, brush and all. He was back a few minutes later with a clean brush for me and a suggestion that I head home to see how Duncan is faring without his favorite meeting buddy to help him remember to actually attend those meetings, whether Ben is in town or not.

(Dylan has flown out to meet them. He's been recruited but I'm not allowed to talk about his life here so you didn't hear it from me.)

I'm painting with Caleb's blood today as when I arrived, sketchbooks in hand because I don't actually do any work on work-days, he laid on his relief so thickly I may mix it with the paint for a keen viscosity.

He says to me, and I quote to you now: I die when you leave, and I come back to life when you return. 

Ten years ago that would have ruined me.Thoroughly.

Today I rolled my eyes.

Why? I haven't slept. Lochlan wanted to fight instead of dream and so we waged through the night. All of our fears for inventory. All of our observations for effect. All of our insults for good measure. I came up short. Not going to kick a man while he's down but also loathe to point out his endless promise that my needs truly are not a dealbreaker for him. Because if we're going to fight and he sharpens his desire to leave then I'm running for cover while he's left threatening air.

It's not a fair fight. I can't be expected. I have no return threats, nothing I want to use that would be harmless enough. I'm not a good fighter. I'm a caver. I don't actually want to hurt him back and so I don't return what he sends across. I can't. I won't. I refuse to.

At least I have stubbornness going for me, as if that ever helped anyone at all.

This is karma, isn't it?

The only time I ever openly, purposefully defied Lochlan was the day they were short a clown, and so they asked me to fill in. The only thing I had to do is run in circles during introductions, cue the audience around me to laugh or clap when appropriate and get shot out of a cannon at the end of the clown show itself, just like the others.

I was in full costume and makeup. Lochlan was on labour/vehicle duty that day (fixing trucks, hooking up trailers and such). I didn't think he would even find out. No one had any reason to share it with him but on a break he came in and stood in the back of the big tent just as the spring platform shoved me out of the cannon at a hundred miles an hour. I shrieked as I flew through the air, hitting the net (which hurt a lot more than I would admit at the time) and fell into the horizontal net. Lochlan came around and pulled the net down, pulled me out by my ankles and told me to change and wait for him at the camper. Someone asked how he knew it was me and he said the scream was distinct. That he knows what I sound like when I fly like that, having made me fall (via LETTING GO a hundred times from the aerial bars so that I would trust the nets and now suddenly he doesn't trust the nets at all.

That's because there's force in this. Falling doesn't have the same danger.

Death is the same result. 

What kind of show shoots teenagers? Jesus Christ. I ought to call them in but we need this job. You ever keep secrets that could get you hurt again and I'll...I'll...

You'll what?

He never answered.

This morning Matt was eating breakfast in the kitchen when I came down.

No food downstairs?

Sorry. Sam doesn't shop much, does he?

No need. He eats with us most of the time now. Nice to see you home. 

It's not....

My eyebrows go up while I wait for him to trivialize his own presence here.

...not permanent. We talked late and he asked me to stay the night. 

And?

I accepted. 

BOOM. Matt flies through the air and Sam catches him in his heart and the relief sets them both back a hundred years in therapy over splitting up. Some cannon this is.

Lochlan comes down. We have a Skype with Ben in five. Oh, hey, Matt. You back?

No. Well, Maybe, I don't know yet. 

They're...talking, I tell Lochlan.

Mmmmm. I see. He lifts his eyebrows at me and says, ready? 

Yes. 

I didn't last long in the call, I'm afraid. Ben's trip extends another week and after that he's accepted a job offer to work a run with Dalton close by and he took it before he ran it by us because as he said, it was a time-sensitive thing and it's good money and better exposure and who am I to get in the way of Ben's....uh..networking? You know, that same Ben who said he was 'retired' now who suddenly is dusting off his CV and pressing flesh, playing notes, getting invites and becoming some kind of hot commodity in a genre he has zero use for anyway. One he says he hates but of course it pays better than most.

It's for less than a year, Bee.

I only hung up on him..four? Maybe five times. Tops. Okay it was eight times but no one's counting.

I climbed into the cannon since Matt was through with it and was told to hang tight. They're inspecting the net before any more runs.

I said not to bother. I'm so good I don't even need the net. Just fling me into oblivion and hopefully by the time I've found my way back here they will have learned what it means to keep their words to me and to each other. Not like I don't keep all of mine, here for the world to see.

The beautiful storm (Witness me even as I offer you this bouquet of forgeries. Believe me even as I drown in your lies.).

He's awake. Hair in flames. Fingers tracing the tip of my nose. His mouth still tastes of chocolate. Chocolate and sleep and yet his eyes are still full of dreams in the instant he opened them, before closing them again. The rainy morning persists beyond the glass but we are warm and alone and safe with the door locked, a fire blazing and the favorite (though threadbare) quilts pulled up high.

The last thing I remember is the whiskey chasing the chocolate with a clarified burn down my throat, my own eyes heavy, listening to him read aloud from a journal he kept in 1994. All of his hopes and plans and daily routines mixed with his observations of me, of us. Of the rest of the world as seen through the eyes of a man on the verge of thirty, a man with the persistent grand plan to run away and join the circus, something he did every summer without fail up until he realized, somewhat abruptly that he would have to choose eventually, between coming home for good and never coming home again.

Within a few years he was no longer coming home, keeping a small apartment in the centre of North America and seeing us at Christmas or Easter. Then he got injured and got a job as a graphic artist/web developer and bought a bed and a table for the apartment with only a couch up until that point. Then he got a fiancee too and a new baby and then that imploded because it wasn't real life, it wasn't his life because his life was here with me, waiting for him and we've been punishing each other for the past in between epic bouts of making up for lost time ever since.

We played truth or dare with the Devil last night and smartly packed it in early as it escalated far too quickly, even for a trio so bent on self-destruction as we are. They admitted that they miss each others' friendships but also that we can't go back from here, only forward. Caleb dared us to stay, we called time on the game and walked home. His face alone would have sent me running back, if not for the literal hold Lochlan had me in, aware of how easy it is for me to cave in when it comes to Caleb and how easy it is for Lochlan to cave in when it comes to me.

If behaving correctly is so wonderful then why do we feel so raw this morning, as if we are weighed down by the keen awareness of a feeling of loneliness so overwhelming it escapes the confines of the boathouse only to seep in through almost-shut windows and underneath the solid doors of where we are? Like a thick smoke only in emotional form it threatens to choke off our collective breath.

Not my problem, Lochlan mutters, landing another kiss against my top lip, right on the checkmark scar. Approved, my skin screams while the skin underneath me that I am wrapped in fades and stings from the healing burn of an effort to change history.

I know, I tell him. It isn't. But my mind has no regard for things like locks or rules or propriety or plans and it wanders back across the drive to drift outside the glass watching loneliness in Devil-form. My heart is having none of it, firmly clutching Lochlan's heart like a life preserver or a four-year-old with a favorite toy that is about to be sent to the washing machine. My heart is stubborn and stamps its feet and I give in to the tantrum, weary and warm.

It never seems to stop raining here anymore. It's as if it's a metaphor too, like us. Or a cautionary tale. Depends on the day, the genre and the audience, as usual. I close my eyes and I'm back. In a filthy leotard with my eyes on the clock, fist closed over a handful of tattered bills, Lochlan's voice against my ear telling me to give it everything so we can find a better offer from a better show than this. This isn't what we were meant for, it's just a stepping stone, a rung up overhand and hanging on for dear life before we can find safer purchase, the sort of rock and hard place we always find ourselves in.

When I wake up later the fire is out and the room is empty and it doesn't seem as if danger could lurk in a place as beautiful as this but it does and I've seen it and yet I can't tear my eyes away.

YES

Aaaaaaaaand I was able to pay my note back in less than thirty hours, as my lowly Leafs beat the Canucks tonight 5-2. The most unlikely outcome of the season and I bet it all.

Good move, me!

Ice/cubed.

He's all pewter-tipped white roses and incredulity today. All bemused smiles and french cuffs shot until I'm bleeding on the floor of the car for their charm, his thumb just under his chin, index finger over his lips as if he wants to hide that smile as he drives.

I'm disappointed that you were worried I would leave you for your lies of omission. About money? I knew damn well you kept all of it. How else did you buy that white-marble mausoleum except with more money, Cale?

Somehow I imagine few women would write someone off because they had more money instead of less. 

Oh, now, wait a minute-

Bridget, I'm merely toying with you now. I know you're not like that. Sometimes I wish you were, seeing as how you live when left to his devices.

I can be like that. It depends.

Yes, I saw that note. You need to pick a better team. 

I'll pay you back. 

Just so happens, I'm free this evening. 

I turn up the radio and sit back, leaning back against the headrest, closing my eyes and not answering him. We always get into massive amounts of trouble when Ben goes away. Why would tonight be any different? It seems as if Lochlan and Ben somehow temper each other perfectly and when one of them is missing it all goes to shit. Three is either my lucky number or my unlucky one, I never know which.

Bells and whistles and IEDs.

At six this morning Caleb barged into our bedroom and threw a folder on the bed. Lochlan sat up and swore at him and I squeezed my eyes shut and hid under the pillow. If I can't see the boogeyman, he can't see me, right?

There's the big secret you've been worried about. Remember when I told you all of my holdings were tied up in these houses and the rest was transferred to you? That wasn't quite true. Everything is mirrored. I just wasn't sure what steps you would take and didn't want them to wind up in control of everything. 

Then he left, closing the door on the way out.

Lochlan rifled through the paperwork and then looked at me. Too easy. That's not it. He passed me the folder and I looked through it too.

Wow. There's a lot here. 

We all knew he didn't sign everything over to you. He wouldn't do that. You don't have the experience and he doesn't trust the rest of us. 

Exactly. But still. Wow. It's more than I thought. 

But the more I think about it the more I realize he signed everything (or so I thought) over to me as a matter of honor and this means he isn't true to his word. That would be a huge risk, in that I might have walked away from him, hence his efforts to nail down his place in my life before I found out.

Oh.

So maybe this is it? I don't know. But it's good nonetheless because the Leafs sit in last place and I wager a lot on standings and scores and I have a significant payout to make this morning (they have 47 points. FORTY SEVEN) and so I'll be asking for some sugar anyway, if you get my drift.

Also I keep forgetting to get my key back from Caleb. I need to look after that today. Lochlan's already threatening to set trip wires and landmines.

Just to be on the safe side, he says.

Is there one? I ask him and he just stares at me.

I have a headache. It's six two with blue eyes.

We have a bunch of things to sort out so Caleb wants to go for a walk on the beach. It's truth serum. It's private. It's cold and rainy and not at all as comforting as the boathouse this morning with the fire blazing, the coffee pot just beginning to signal that it's ready and the lights on low in the living room.

I didn't think I'd be able to pull you away from the wolves this week. 

They tried their best. Ben is away this week (left yesterday :( :( :( BLAH) so everyone else has practically been sitting on me. PJ was reluctant but I reminded him I'm an adult and he's not on the hook for anything here. I don't say anything toward Caleb's observation. I just shrug.

Lochlan doesn't have any information that you don't have, in his defense. 

Since when do you defend Lochlan?

Since it favors the truth. 

Since when do you favor the truth?

If it doesn't hurt, I'm all for it. 

Then tell me whatever you haven't. 

Eventually. 

Then fuck off. 

Wow. Nice. I need to remind you that your compliance is part of the deal. 

Not if you're going to dangle secrets just out of reach. 

I never planned to do that but your dogs are digging around and they dug too deeply. 

So Batman knows. 

I haven't been asked for formal confirmation so I doubt he knows anything for certain and he hasn't shared his theories with me so your guess is as good as mine. I'm not inclined to admit there's any real secret to be shared here, if you want brutal honesty. I just want to save my place, as it were.

Except that I'm actually guessing and you have all the answers. 

Look. I just want to absolve Lochlan. 

It seems to me it would be better for you if we're at odds with each other. 

You need him. 

I do. 

I'm trying to help you here, Bridget. Trying to, as they say, do right by you. 

Well then try harder. 

Comfort and security outside of financial means isn't my forte, Neamhchiontach. 

I noticed.

Juice break.

Busy day.

This morning Sam made the cross in ashes on my forehead and repeated a verse from Genesis that ended in 'And to dust you shall return' and I burst into tears and so did he briefly before continuing on to someone else. I went to his service this morning because he's in charge even though he's a little bit harried but the alternative was Batman and he would have marked his name on my forehead under 'Property of' and we don't want to go there today. He offered me Jasper's job last evening but I was a little pancake-drunk, blood sugar through the roof so I smartly ignored him and he said big mistake to those actions but left anyway. He fancies himself a savior of sorts too and I don't have the heart to tell him he's not. Better still to let Sam mark him too and maybe he can spend the next month and a bit thinking about the things he's done wrong like the rest of us.

PJ collected me after his dentist appointment and we came home to start tackling the big list of spring cleaning, something we wouldn't even consider until April-ish in any other province but the flowers are blooming here and Ruth wore shorts out on Sunday and so tick-tock, let's get this show on the road. I would prefer to be outside in the pouring rain cleaning up the gardens but PJ said once the inside is finished we'll head outside and begin the long slog of trying to keep up with the landscaping until Halloween.

We need more people. People with stamina. PJ snorts when I say that but this house is too big for us to clean and the yard is too huge to look after on our own but since these are good problems we persist. When things get really tough the others step in but those who work outside the home get to do less in keeping. We're really old-fashioned. Housewives and breadwinners. Please stop laughing, I realize there's precisely nothing old-fashioned about living in an intentional chosen family complete with open relationships but you would be surprised at some of the standards we adhere to.

Like ashes on my forehead. Even Caleb did a double-take, asking me if the priest shouldn't have done an exorcism instead of a blessing and I stuck my tongue out at him and pointed out Sam has ashes now. He asked if they were Jake's before he could catch himself and I'm pretty much done talking to him for the week or maybe if I'm really lucky, the rest of my life and Duncan rolled his eyes and told Caleb to eat shit which was a bit lowbrow even for him and so it's probably safer to be cleaning and ignoring the lot of them, I think. Besides, we have a huge list for the next couple days. I'd better get back to it.

High Shrovetide.

I swear I just made seven hundred and twelve pancakes and five pans of sausages so we could see Shrove Tuesday out in style. Done. Then Ben ate half a loaf of banana bread because he was still hungry. I've decided for lent this year I'm giving up accepting lies as the truth. Let's see how far this gets me.

In the meantime, did you know that in 2012 High Holy Days put out an album under an independent label?? I didn't but I found five of the songs from it tonight and SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And yes, Lochlan knows whatever Caleb isn't telling me. Oh, he hasn't admitted it yet but he knows.

Drunk for thirty two years.

Come on, Lochlan! I pulled on his arm but he shook his head and laughed.

I can't feel my arms, Sweetheart. He told me. He can't focus either. Too much beer. I wish he'd drink pop like me but only the clear pop because then nobody burps too much or feels too full.

Come! On! I pull both arms and lose my footing but still he doesn't move. We're going to miss the fireworks! 

We'll catch them next year. I'm just happy this run is over. It's time to hit the road. 

What will punching the road do? Don't we have to drive on it? On the bus?

Yeah. We do. Hey, where are you going?

I'll watch the fireworks by myself. 

Come back here, bridgie. 

Can't make me.

I'm in charge. You have to listen to me. Those are the rules.

Can't be in charge when you're...you're beered up. 

I think the word you're looking for is drunk.

Drunk is the postscript of drank. I drank. He drunk. You drink.

Yes, I did and I'm sorry. Your English is fucked. 

Too many new forwords.

That's foreign words. 

I made a port hawkesbury! I put the two words together and-

It's called a portmanteau.

Oh. I get it. 

You should have a beer. It would make you sleep like a baby.

I'm not a baby!

Yes, you are. 

I give up and slide down the edge of the bed to sit on the floor. Loch was drunk that night and I never got my fireworks and he's drunk tonight and I won't get my answers.

Come on. I shake him. Help me out here. 

It serves no purpose other than to wreck things just a little more, Peanut. Things are good. You have what you need. Don't go looking for trouble. It will find you soon enough anyhow.

Functional little maniac.

I powered through and finished the taxes today and then loaded everything up and triumphantly hit file and what do you know? Netfiling is only available beginning February 15.

Huh.

I had a whole extra week to finish but look at me, I'm done. Everyone is done. Even Duncan's taxes got did because he is a procrastinator and a denier and never seemed to get anything done on time.

But yet here we are. Twenty returns, including Ruth for the first time this year and I'm finished and now I get to go out for dinner instead of cooking because I'm wound up like a top. Caleb's taxes are so complicated. Mine are so simple. Everyone in between is marginally tough but doable. My rules are simple. No receipt? No deduction. No funny business, payment expected within 10 business days of filing. Ha.

So happy that's over. Did I mention I HATE taxes?

So tonight it was an early dinner out with everyone. Short notice. Twenty minutes for a reservation for some fourteen people and maybe a few stragglers, we shall see. Got jumbled up in the planning on the way home and I ended up riding with Caleb in the R8 while Lochlan who drank more than anticipated was the charge of Christian, who didn't drink at all. We met up in the driveway and as I said goodnight, Caleb pressed a heart-shaped post-it note into my hand and a dry kiss on my forehead. Sleep well, Neamhchiontach. A twirl on his hand and I was off to dance my way to dreamland.

When I came up to change a dress for pajamas I finally looked at the note.

Roses are red
My eyes are blue
Why not ask Loch
What I'm hiding from you? 

Pretty sure I'm the only one who doesn't know, or maybe that's doesn't want to know what Caleb has up his sleeve now but I'm happy to stay in the dark, thanks so maybe everyone can just keep it to themselves. I'm trying not to kill myself with curiosity here. One slip and I might not have much choice.