Sunday 31 July 2016

Part I: The top hat on the bedpost (The most gloriously sweet cliffhanger ever*).

(Ben said Do this right, Brother and Lochlan told him he was way ahead of him. The best changing of the guard ever, and the only step we missed in all this love, all this time.)

In the dim light left over from sunset he pulled me out into the water. I thought maybe we would just stand in the surf up to our knees, make a mess that would mean clearing the back hall of people long enough to strip out of our wet things outside on the steps and make it up to our room in only skin without tracking salt and sand through the whole house, but no. He had other plans. Baptism by saltwater.

We walked until the water was up over my shoulders and then he pulled me under with him. We surfaced in a kiss, in the dark and then he pulled us back to where we could stand comfortably. It wasn't cold, surprisingly. It wasn't uncomfortable and it wasn't frightening. I didn't notice any of it save for him.

Lochlan wrapped one arm around me to keep me close and with the other he held my face up to his so that I would pay attention. And then he started to talk. He talked about everything while we went numb in the Pacific together, not caring. He talked about his feelings from the time he was thirteen to now. He told me all of things that paralyzed him. All of the things he hated about himself. All of the things he wanted for me and then for us and then for me again. He talked about his regrets and his shortcomings. His flaws and his gifts and what he wanted to give to me. He talked about love and what it means to him and what it isn't and what he thinks it should be.

These are the sorts of words that take years, even decades to formulate. As he talked I could feel my heart.  He keeps doing this to me. All of the broken, blackened, stapled and taped together pieces of it swelled and burst one by one, only to melt together in a slick cohesive red plush before exploding again. Over and over again it did this, at the end of just about every second sentence until it made a mighty gasp and started to beat really hard as one organ instead of the remains of my loves. Whole, rebuilt on promises that I don't doubt for a moment for the first time since I was little and believed that it would be easy to keep a promise. You just promise to keep it and you're good.

He spent his life in anticipation of this moment where he could tell me everything and here it is and by golly he earned the spotlight tonight. This is the greatest show on earth. One night only.

In the moonlight my blood turned to gold again and he took a shuddering breath and laughed, his forehead pressed down against mine as I finally start to shiver. He asks me what I'm thinking as we finally wade back in toward shore.

I couldn't find any words. It makes sense now. Everything works out. Everything explained. Everything resolved. Everything is better. Everything will be okay. Everything is turning out better than I had hoped. Everything is right here. Right now. But my brain couldn't operate my mouth and I nodded and shivered and cried and he cried and goddamn it, we'll figure it out.

I could regret the time it took for him to say these things, and the stony silence for so long when he refused to explain himself and instead took up last place when he should have been first in line but it makes sense now. I could regret all the times I've tried to hurt him for that silence, or tried to pay him back for turning his back on me, or begrudge all the wasted time and heartache we've endured for each other but then he holds his hand out, waiting for mine.

Everything happens for a reason, right, Peanut? Maybe we just had to be sure. And if we're not sure right this minute then I don't think we ever will be. 

Then he got down on one knee in the crashing surf and fumbled for a box. My head aches from the cold and my hands are numb. I can't imagine what his feel like but he has a deathgrip on the box.

A wave almost knocks him down and he grabs for my hands. Oh, that's good. I can't save you, stupid.

I really want this to be spectacular but I fear I may die down here, he says from his knees.

It will be spectacular wherever, I remind him.

Okay, pretend you didn't see this. He gets up and we head back up to the house but instead of heading to the house we head to the camper that is still parked by the cliff. He wraps me (shivering mightily by now) in a quilt, tells me the usual order to stay put before making a roaring bonfire. Then he joins me in the quilt, his arms around me, his head tucked over mine. Our teeth are making such a collective chatter I can barely hear his words.

Bridgie, I'm going to cry and ruin this. I've waited so long to do this properly and everyone keeps beating me to it. 

*(Part II will be a few days from now because we won't have wifi where we'll be. See you soon!)

Saturday 30 July 2016

Stained glass.

There's a huge ornate glass jar by the patio doors and every time I come in from the beach I empty my pockets into it. It's half full of seaglass now with the odd perfect shell or tiny driftwood sculpture in for good measure. I beachcomb like other people breathe, constantly turning over rocks, checking in the same spots day in day out and waiting without patience for the ocean to bring me new treasures.

Wish it was gold, Lochlan says as I unearth this morning's handful of glass from our walk, dumping it into the jar.

It is! It's worth more than gold. Each piece marks a moment of time spent at the shore. 

That jar represents half my life, staring at the top of your little sunburnt skull while you take fifty years to sift through every grain of sand until you've got everything you can find and then I still have to pull you away. 

I'm trying to figure out if this is a good thing or a bad thing to you.

I can just buy you a big bag of beach glass from the craft store. 

BLASPHEMER.

It would free up our entire future though. Imagine how much free time you'll have, Peanut. 

You can have all the free time you like. I'll take Sam with me. 

Naw, I'm good. Same time tomorrow? 

We smile at each other. The bickering never ends. He'll never be slow enough for me and I'll never be fast enough for him, but somehow we keep pace.

Friday 29 July 2016

The pop-ups and towables turned out to be such a pain we switched to motorhomes and never looked back.

Due to the sunburn I slept with a huge floor fan pointing straight up the centre of the bed. I slept on top of the covers without pajamas and when I woke up my ears hurt from the wind and I could have sworn I was in the back of Lochlan's pickup truck the morning he tried to surprise me when our ticket came up for a campsite. He tried to move the truck and trailer before I woke up but if you've ever slept in the bed of a pickup with a pop-up camper trailer towed behind it you know there's no way to sleep through all that clanking around. I remember thinking he was still beside me because I was tightly packed into the centre, surrounded by soft things and I couldn't get my bearings. I thought the truck had been stolen so I screamed and he lurched to a halt and jumped out of the cab and saw me and swore and then yelled that he thought I fell out and not to do that.

Where were you going? I asked. I was afraid now he was going to hit the highway with me in the back (legal back then, no actual worries but I was ten. I worried about..well, I still worry about everything. Sigh.)

We got our spot. He grinned. The waitlist was days and days and that was our first night in the truck since we couldn't set up. We got lucky.

Which spot?

Oceanfrontage. 

Can we stay there forever?

What? No! Six nights and then we're gone anyway. 

But it's OCEANFRONTAGE.

I know, Baby. Someday we'll live on the ocean. 

Promise?

I promise. In the meantime we are the carny kings. 

Thursday 28 July 2016

The surface of THE SUN. JESUS CHRIST.

I'm certain that Duncan is at this point plotting to fill the hot tub with sunscreen so I can be dip-screened and he won't have to yell at me while I shriek and complain that he's spraying it unevenly/on my face/not on my skin at all.

And I'm allergic to it so I'm going to get a rash and a weird sunburn, but only in places. He gives up and gives the can to Sam and says You deal with her. I like her better when she doesn't talk. Sam laughs and suggests regular/nonspray sunscreen.

See how fast they all come out here when you try to rub that all over me.

I'll do your back. You can do the rest.

Well, that's no fun.

Hush, Bridge. You're killing me here.

I plant a big huge sloppy kiss on his cheek and let him off the hook. Ben can do this. Besides, his hands are like tennis rackets. He can probably have me covered in one minute flat with one pass.

Then I pass the torch to him. Though it's a sad day, because I was enjoying you being too much for Duncan but just enough for me.

Told you, you're my favorite.

And you are mine.

Love you, Sam. 

But the SPF 60 Waterproof sunblock was no actual match for the Irish and I burned to a crisp inside of eight minutes. It was no match today for anyone else either and we have rechristened this to be Pink Point because now we all look like Lochlan after a day in the sun. Sweaty, ruddy and pink. He swears and says it means a day of hard work and I said that it means I am never going outdoors again, so someone needs to make it an indoor pool, and maybe an indoor beach since we probably have the money, and I'd like the stars and the moon inside too if you please and maybe-

Maybe just keep to the covered chaise, Peanut, because really you can't tan. But you shouldn't anyway so it's just as well. 

I think part of me is still outside. Does this look melted to you? I hold up one elbow. I feel broiled and skinned and miserably fried.

Yup, maybe a bit. I'll send someone out to scrape up the leftover bits. Maybe we should make room in the fridge for you. 

Oh, that's a great idea, yes, let's do that. 

Wednesday 27 July 2016

Mother of invention.

What he couldn't do via brute strength, he accomplished with magic and so it was in the early evening hours when he appeared with his top hat in place, torches lit, eyes flashing in the firelight.

Let's go, he said, and everyone followed suit, taking a torch up behind me. Off we went, down into the depths of my mind, dodging doors with huge creatures locked behind them, skirting dark corners we didn't want to investigate further, until the air grew cold and the light came up and the telltale crunch of leaves could be heard underfoot.

Almost there? He asks me. His free hand has mine tucked inside it tightly. Close behind us still is my beloved army.

Almost, I whisper. I don't want to bring everyone here. I don't want to be here.

We get to the door and he opens it but Ben steps through first. The light is on but no one's home. They're not here. See, Bridge?

I nod. It's so empty. Our voices echo.

He's not calling you, it's just your mind playing tricks on you.

This isn't the kind of magic I like.

Then let's go back home, Lochlan reaches down behind my ear and brings his hand back, holding up a house key in front of my face. I take it.

I tell Ben to leave the door open. Like I left it before, I tell him by way of explanation.

Sure thing, Bumblebee, he says, and swings it wide, letting it rest against the outside wall.

We make our way back quickly into the dark and then back through into the light. They're gone for real. It was my mind. Everything is okay. It was just a dream.

Lochlan looks pale when he finishes safely stowing away the torches and hanging his hat back on the hook. You always had such a vivid imagination, Peanut and I tried to foster it as much as possible over the years but I wasn't expecting that. Fully constructed rooms. Traps. Dark passages that couldn't hold an echo. Amazing. 

It isn't. It's terrifying. 

That's why we're fixing it. All of us. Together. For you. 

Ben said I had to fix it myself. 

I didn't know what we were up against, Bee, Ben says abruptly. I made a mistake. 

Tuesday 26 July 2016

Fifty to zero.

Woke up screaming. Jake was calling my name, his voice breaking over and over, a sound so lonely it curdled my blood as I slept fitfully between Ben and Loch and finally I sat bolt-upright, shrieking for him and he wasn't there. In the firelight Loch held me close and told me it was just my brain adjusting to the changes, that Jake is safe in heaven and he's not at risk. He can't be hurt and he can't get back to me because I released him to a better place finally. Ben nods on top of my head, squeezing both of us, barely awake but alarmed at the sudden outburst.

But I'm not having this. He's still there. I fight my way out of the bed, them grabbing for me and I start shrugging into my clothes, Ben tackles me against the wall, half-dressed, half-crazed. He's not there and you're not going there. It's just stress. Come and sleep, Baby.

But that isn't possible and within the hour half the household is awake and in the kitchen, tea steeping, lights blazing, Joel holding court with five o'clock casting a shadow over the room, wired and tired, attempting to explain what my brain is actually doing (processing. Grieving. Thinking TOO DAMN MUCH, everything hair-triggered by such an intense few weeks). I am given a sedative and sent back to bed. No dreams. No Jake. No memory of walking back up to our rooms. No desire to get out of bed today except that Ben forced me to. I whined and pushed against him as he physically pulled me out of the bed and stood me up against the closet door.

This is payback for me putting my faith into Lochlan making it through this intact, isn't it?
Yesterday I called Lochlan the hero. Every day we fall a little more back into the love we used to have and every day Ben becomes a little more of a stranger.

He stands back and looks at me with irritation. No, Bridget, this is me wanting to take you out for breakfast because I keep venturing off into my own world when you need me in yours. And for the record, he's the hero in my story too. Tights and all. 

He doesn't wear tights. 

He should. He has nice legs. Now get dressed and let's go before they switch the menu over to lunch.

Monday 25 July 2016

Stockholm syndrome for two.

I want to have a gin and tonic and watch Captain Fantastic. Can't find any takers except Rocket-Locket but he's working and three hours out from getting home. I want to lie in the sun and not die from it, withering into dust under a gaze so intense it cooks you from the inside out and I want to call the shots.

All of them.

I want them to be lethal.

I want the devil to understand that the days of his quiet coercion are over. I wasn't made aware that these last couple of years I wasn't even his primary victim anymore in his own special brand of threats and promises, which are frightening and too believable for comfort, for easy dismissal. I didn't think he would stoop that low, and I didn't think Lochlan would remain quiet, failing to say a word when all this time he's been allowing himself to be crushed under the weight of Caleb's efforts to find a way to destroy us, any way he can. Loch wasn't going to be a rat but he's not going to be a martyr either. Not anymore.

While it was a soul-crushing revelation, thankfully I don't have a soul so it's also liberating. Game-changing. A relief for Lochlan now, a lesser burden spread amongst the rest of us. For that I am grateful. I'm also so much tougher than I look after all and for that I'm oddly thrilled about that. Out of the two of us I turned out to be the strong one? Yes, me, the littlest one who stood there and cried when she dropped her ice cream in the mud because it was dinner and it cost our last two dollars for those ice creams and Lochlan gave me his, saying he wasn't hungry, but his growling stomach kept me up all night that night and the next day I worked double time conning hearts (and stealing wallets) until we had enough money for food for a week. Then I could sleep. Then, so could he.

Now I'm going to make my drink and snooze in the shade while I wait for him to finish up, reaping the spoils of my war with this hollow materialistic victory of decadence. At least that's what Caleb calls it. I call it bullshit because I didn't ask for this, and Lochlan doesn't deserve to be punished for it. All the pools and expensive tile floors and big electric gates in the world can't make up for what the devil has done to us.

Fuck it all anyways. Claus leaves today. He said it's not going to happen until I make changes and find boundaries. He said what we've done is striking, touching and incredible nonetheless and if I'm going to lose my mind this will be the safest place in which to do it. He said Lochlan's tougher than I give him credit for, which I hope against hope is true in the end, because I want him to be, I don't want him to be hurt by Caleb any more, I don't want him to be second best and I don't want him to be hungry. I believe he's going to be the hero of this story and I don't believe it's over yet.

Sunday 24 July 2016

Um.... (yum!)

I fell in love with a sandwich today. It was on pumpernickel bread. Mustard, Swiss cheese, black forest ham, tomatoes, lettuce and bean sprouts. Sandwiches are second only to cake to me but frankly they're way more filling and they travel much better in a handbag than cake does. Also no one looks at you funny if you eat a sandwich while you're driving. Try that with cake. Try eating cake with your hands. Try eating cake and not having any dishes to wash.

Sorry, cake, I think you just dropped to second place. This was a really really good sandwich.

Saturday 23 July 2016

Fix one thing, break another.

So the mess is drawing forces
Outside I hear them say
Just come out with your hands up
So we can blow you away
And I walk out the door
Get blown wide open
By the things I put away
And I wasn't even warned
Just blown wide open
Now the mess is where I lay
Caleb is being as attentive in absentia as he possibly could. His ears must be fire. His life is not going to be the same from here on in. He called a few times but Claus has been working with us and the phones have been left upstairs on their chargers. He messaged and I finally had a moment and messaged him back late this afternoon. I'm sure he was expecting Miss you too or maybe You should come home sooner. 

Instead I wrote Maybe you should plan to move there permanently. I hit sent and I put the phone back on the charger and I went to join the barbecue. We're doing ribs, zucchini slices and endless chicken wings, with watermelon and homemade potato salad. Delicious. Later than I wanted to eat but better later than never. Like everything.

Friday 22 July 2016

I forgot who was here this morning and came down late to breakfast in my customary and probably completely inappropriate bedhead, skintight baby blue lycra boyshorts and a fitted green t-shirt that says Pint-Sized Sex Machine on it. Saw Sam, August, Claus and Joel sipping tea at the island and turned around to go back up.

Good morning, Bridget, Claus said without looking up from the newspaper. Eyes shot all around the room.

Good morning, I tell the room as I decide to own it. This is my house. I head to the coffee pot and contemplate third degree burns to take the focus off my skin burning from Joel's eyes. I can feel them. But when I look back at them only Sam is staring at me like he's never seen a girl before. I'm not sure how to take that so I leave it.

Later, during a break Joel asked me if I dress like that all the time around the house. I frowned at him and said, Of course not. We have a pool now. Usually I just wear a bikini. 

Claus, for the record, has a military-issue poker face. Iron fucking clad. I want lessons.

***

Russian doctor today too. Double-bonus. Anyone else want to come visit me? I put on actual clothes because I don't need any more comments from him about how he can fix whatever he deems wrong with me via plastic surgery. My blood pressure is up a little but not enough for anyone to be sounding alarms and I've already stopped taking the anti-convulsants for my headaches. I gave them three months and fuck it all to hell. Debilitating migraines are a cakewalk compared to the side effects of the medicine, which were supposed to go away but steadily got worse.

I'm running out of ideas here.

Claus thinks if I 'reduce stress' the headaches would go away.

(here's. the. eye. roll. yup. do. it. slow.)

I just stared at him until he admitted he knew that it sounded ludicrous. I'm anxious by nature. Which puts it so mildly it's laughable, I'm a worry-knot of the highest order. Pills don't help. Booze helps but I'm not going to give myself more problems or stick a band-aid on a open fracture. Fuck it all. At least sex works. For now it's the only thing that works.

Hence the t-shirt this morning.

And I'm not sorry.