Dresses as triggers.

It's Easter and I'm waiting in the driveway for my parents. We're going to church. I'm smashing at the snow that remains on the side of the pavement to melt it by breaking it up faster than the sun will do it. It's freezing cold but I'm in my thin spring coat, new spring dress and new shoes. My hair is pinned back. It's so long but since it's cold I asked my mom not to braid it like usual. Ten-year-olds have weird little autonomies they don't even recognize as such. Give them a little control and they become monsters.

Caleb comes out of his house across the street and down four. I wave but he doesn't see me. He's in dress pants, dress shoes and a shirt with buttons. His hair is combed. Cole comes out briefly, whipping a snowball at the car that Caleb just started to warm up for his parents. Caleb is eighteen now and home for Easter weekend. He gets out and sees me at last and waves, walking up the street.

Nice dress. 

Thank you! It's new for Easter. You look nice too. When do you have to go back to school? 

Monday night. 

How is it? 

Great. I have a room I share with a guy from Ontario, and we both like jazz so it's great. I'm taking law and commerce.

Good, I say. I don't know what those are. Do you miss it? 

Miss what?

Being home?

Only the people. And he smiles at me as I think what people? before he clarifies. I miss you a lot. 

Really? Why?

Because you're funny and you're always around so when you're not it's too quiet. How is grade five?

Good. I have to finish a book report on The Return of the Great Brain. 

Did you like the book?

Yes. It reminded me of Lochlan. 

Why? 

Because he's smart too. 

Caleb laughs and lights a cigarette. That's great. Your hair has gotten long. 

You're just used to seeing it braided. 

Yeah. I like it. 

Why? I am suspicious now.

It makes you look older. 

Really?

But then the door opens across the street and Lochlan comes out in a white shirt, dress pants and a jacket. He is fifteen and still not allowed to start the truck before church but he can shovel the walk. I take off running the minute I see him and forget that Caleb came over to talk to me specifically. Three-quarters of the way I remember and slow down to turn back to wave goodbye but he's already disappeared back into his house. My smooth shoes hit ice on the road and down I go.

My hands get scraped up and my knee rips a hole in my new dress. Lochlan picks me up and puts me on my feet, blowing on my hands to get rid of the grit and because they sting now. Gotta get those battle scars, Bridge. You'll be okay. I hear holey dresses are in now. 

My eyes fill but I'm brave because he's here. I nod and he looks into my eyes kindly. That's my girl. 

The approval sends me reeling with happiness. His girl. The brain's girl. Happily so even though I am lightyears from it. He kisses my hands and tells me to run inside and get fixed up and maybe we'll sit together if I'm allowed. I turn and start to run and he yells,

WALK, Bridget. Jesus. Don't fall again. But I don't hear the last part and go down again on the slippery stones of my front walk. I spring up like a jack in the box though. I don't feel a thing except the weird butterflies inside my chest.

A thousand steps to nowhere.

We sat in the waiting room, starting, stopping the conversation multiple times after what seemed like an endless silence. Not a busy place this morning as waiting rooms are wont to be, because I make appointments early so as not to have to think about things and rather get them over with. I am profoundly grateful that Caleb came with us this morning. Henry was in the exam room, just having a checkup after a minor surgery earlier last month and though Lochlan legally is Henry's father and Jacob his biological father, his de facto Dad? It's Caleb.

Why must you report on every transgression I make? I'm trying here and now you're dredging up a couple of party weekends in which we may have used some illicit drugs-

I'd like to see how you spin the rest of history, Diabhal. 

Going to detail all of it? 

What if I do? 

I'll sue you and take back everything.

From prison? 

Neamhchiontach-

How about we just leave sleeping dogs lie for now?

Because if I have to live under your threats you can live under mine. 

I already do from the random violence you still dole out to try and keep your control over me-

Is that what you think I'm doing? 

I don't think it. It's a fact.

Jesus Christ, Bridget.

We don't have a good history, Cale-

We can change it.

It's too late.

Not through love but through revenge (I don't want to do this anymore).

I told Sam this morning that I was incredibly heartened that he used the term we yesterday to describe being left here. We were left here alone. I wasn't. I have company. I have help. Sometimes Sam's words are the best words but most often they're better when he's just being himself and not a messenger from God.

Boy look at you, looking at me
I know you don't understand
You could be a bad motherfucker
But that don't make you a man
Now you're just another one of my problems
Because you got out of hand
We won't survive
We're sinking into the sand

All I wanna do is get high by the beach
Get high by the beach, get high
All I wanna do is get by by the beach
Get by baby, baby, bye, bye

The truth is I never
Bought into your bullshit
When you would pay tribute to me
'Cause I know that
All I wanted to do was get high by the beach
Get high baby, baby, bye, bye

I also found a song that I love that Caleb absolutely HATES. Glory bee, it's fun to piss him off. You'd think he'd be happy that I climbed out of my little black hole at last but no.

Turn that off, Bridget. He tightens his hands around the steering wheel.

Hell, no. I think I've found my theme song.

This isn't amusing.

Yes it is. This is great.

He reaches out and turns off the stereo. For a man who used to take eighteen-year-old me to Vegas, hold me down and shoot me full of fun (every chance he got) this is a complete surprise.

Too close to home is it?

Neamhchiontach, stop talking or I'm just going to drive off a cliff and blame my broken heart.

I text PJ. If he kills us it was intentional

PJ returns almost instantly. WTF Where are you

Who are you talking to?, Caleb orders.

PJ. 

He relaxes, visibly, and that makes me sad in a whole different way.

Grief doesn't have an Instagram filter. Sorry.

This is what real life is like sometimes. Am I supposed to apologize for it? Move on if you don't like it.

I don't belong here
I gotta move on dear
Escape from this afterlife
'Cause this time I'm right
To move on and on
Far away from here

We got to church exceedingly early, me carpooling with Sam, his favourite assistant on a day that sees everyone else magically busy. It's cold inside and nothing is ready so he drops his coat on the pew, not even taking the time to open his office and rushes off to prepare. He tells me to stay put (wonder where he gets that from) and then I can't hear whatever else he says. I don't wear my hearing aids in the hole. It's easier to keep everything muted, underwater, unintelligible.

I take his coat and pull it over me like a blanket, lying down. I close my eyes and then I hear him yell my name, alarmed, clear as day. I bolt upright and his face relaxes instantly.

I thought you left.

No, just tired.

Here. Drink this. He puts a hot cup of coffee in my hands, wrapping them around the cup for warmth. The heat should spool up now. It'll be fine in a few minutes.

Got nothing against you
And surely I'll miss you

I can't turn my brain off and so I close my eyes and the cup wobbles dangerously. Sam stares at me, his concern boring right through my face, infiltrating my brain. I don't want him in there, it's not a day for this, I don't want the memory thief taking all that I have left.

Instead he just walks around, closing doors, opening the blinds to let in the sun while he gently speaks but a born orator, he can throw his voice so I hear him perfectly. As long as I concentrate.

His words are a life raft in a sea of unwelcome waves, safety in the face of danger, and I won't even tell you what they are. He moves his coat to wrap it around my shoulders and then sits down beside me. Then he jumps back up and walks out quickly but is back in an instant, his own cup of coffee in hand. He puts an arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder.

Sometimes I really miss him, Sam. Tears squeeze out of my eyes, fall off my chin, landing in my cup.

Me, too. He wraps his arm around me tighter still, kissing the top of my head. I didn't think we'd be left here but here we are.

This place full of peace and light
And I'd hope you might
Take me back inside when the time is right

There you go. Everything's going great and then I fall into a hole and I can't get out of it. 

Sure you can. Just take my hand. Caleb's eyes glitter in the waning light and I pull my hands in against my chest instead, shaking my head. I think I'll stay where I am. 

Fine. But just remember, instead of helping you navigate life post-Preacher, August likes to keep you sick, Bridget. He's no different from the rest of us.

Hey, how long.

We've become disillusioned
So we run towards anything glimmering

Time to put the silicon obsession down
Take a look around, find a way in the silence
Lie supine away with your back to the ground
Dis- and re-connect to the resonance now
You were never an island

Working out the notes to Disillusioned as the house wakes up slowly, the sun winning the race along with me, the rest loathe to catch up. It's Friday, it's sunny and I just came home, choosing the ghosts, headphones never leaving my skull, feeding it words, any words as long as they don't have to be on my own. Flat on my back underneath history, measured breathing matching effort, hands all over, brain broken on purpose in order to block the thoughts as they barge in, unwelcome interlopers ruining everything. Unwilling to hear the accent, unwilling to look into the pale eyes, unwilling to reach out and touch the closest thing I can find to him, but needing him all the same. I want to show him this song. I want to show him this life. I want him to break up the acrimony, rip up the habits, hollow out the routines, keep the peace, find the souls and sort them back into their places instead of this. I want him to come back and hold me, come back and smile at me. I want to feel safe. I want to feel peace. I want things to change. But I don't want to be the person who says that out loud and so I just keep fucking it all up trying to kill time dead in case that's the only thing keeping him from coming back.

I'm a really good sugar baby, though.

Happy International Women's Day.

I live in a house full of men, there is zero equality here and I don't even get to stand up to pee so I'm not sure what I'm celebrating because I definitely get the short end of the st- er, dick, I guess.

(But really, no I don't.)

(Snort.)

Supposedly I am supposed to be celebrating my rights today. Let's break it down:

My right to work? Unofficially not allowed, actually (but they cover it nicely by fashioning me into a much in-demand executive assistant for both Caleb and Batman, on call twenty-four seven with lovely renumeration to boot.)

My autonomy? Ahahahaha. 

I can own property! This one works but is in direct contravention to my right to be free from sexual violence, which is...uh...how I keep the property.

My right to education: I am your friendly neighbourhood college dropout through circumstances far beyond my control (surprise!).

I have voted before though. Do I get flowers now?

Wednesday gold.

It's a crime you let it happen to me
Never mind, I'll let it happen to you
Out of mind, forget it, there's nothing to lose
But my mind and all the things I wanted

I'm singing at the top of my lungs, in a t-shirt that's slightly too small and my underwear while I stand on a chair putting longer screws into the curtain rod bracket because when I whipped the curtains open this morning the whole thing came crashing down on my head (hence the outfit). The drywall here is made of cotton candy. Put a nail in the wall and it will inch its way down in the space of a heartbeat. Put a screw in and a week later you can just pull it out with your fingers. Use a drywall anchor and that will pull out too. This house cost enough, things should stay where I put them.

Jesus have mercy. Ben says it with gusto. Think he likes the view. He could have done this without the chair but he's claiming it's for my own good, to be able to do basic repairs. It's a confidence prop, since I can already do a lot of home repair, roofing, tire and oil changes, plumbing, electrical and cosmetic, a little appliance work and anything else you can throw at me as long as it's not computer-related. I just despise it so I play the little-lady card every chance I get, stubborn and determined as I always am to be one of the boys.

It isn't working though and I put my screwdriver down. Be right back. I add pajama pants and head down and outside to the garage, back in minutes while Ben patiently waits. He's so amused. The pajama pants come off, back I go up on the chair to enact my brutal solution. Longer wood screws right into the stud that was blocking the larger anchors.

If these come out I'm giving up and taping tinfoil over the windows like Cole and I had in the bedroom of our first apartment. It faced east, which meant every morning the sun blazed into the room like a dragon breathing fire. Cole liked to sleep til noon. We had no money for curtains. God how the tides have turned.

Wouldn't toggle bolts have been better?

Do we have any left?

Good question.

Besides, the screws are covered by the brackets, hardware stays with the house if we ever sell so if you're worried about show ready condition I've still made the grade.

Can you just stay up there for a little while so I can look at you?

No. I'm done. Help me with the rod. I give a yank to the side of my underwear. The hips have rolled down and I'm dangerous close to nude home improvement here but honestly I'm more concerned that Ben will eat the screwdriver bits as a snack while he watches me.

Got it. He lifts it up over my head and sets it into the grooves on each bracket. My underwear slides down even further as I reach up to tighten the screw and Ben reaches over and pulls them down to my knees.

Now that's a look.

Boy, is it. Lochlan comes in with coffee, surprising me. I step back into thin air and drop into Ben's arms. He turns me upside down and whips the underwear up over my feet and off, holding me out to Lochlan.

First dibs? He wags me back and forth. I scream-laugh and Lochlan breaks out laughing too.

Put me down!

Okay. Ben starts to lower me to the floor headfirst. I scream again.

No! Jesus Ben, pull me up.

But he fancies himself an Olympic figure skater now and so he twirls in a circle first. The screams continue until my shirt falls, covering my face.

Great, I point out, my voice muffled.

Ben starts laughing and puts me gently down headfirst on the bed. I sit up and pull my shirt down and remind him I asked him to stop doing that. Why does he continue?

Because of him. The sound of you laughing and screaming with fun and excitement is something he's missed dearly your entire adult life.

And he points at Lochlan who is smiling with tears in his eyes.

Very cranky when I hurt.

A grade 1 abductor strain means my only chores are lots of time in the sauna and the hot tub this week. Except yeah. Not going out there, because Ransom is doing exterior carpentry (or I guess his team is, because honestly I don't believe he even knows which end of a hammer is the bonky part) and then when the weather warms a little they will begin inside.

Because I couldn't put it off forever. 

Or we could move. Gosh, I whine. I hate mess. 

Jesus, Bridge. You're going to love it. And he turns out to be the best choice for the job. Christian is here today filling in for Lochlan who. has. to. work.

There must be a thousand contractors here. The mainland is all new development. Can't we find someone-

Just keep away from him. 

I plan to. 

That lasted ten whole minutes, not even enough time for me to finish my coffee and Ransom is in my kitchen. Jesus. Can we just lock a door or something? 

Mrs. Macintosh, he smiles at me like he's waiting for me to offer him coffee. I do nothing of the kind. I don't like him at all. 

And you are? Apologies if we've met before. Watching his face fall as he realizes he's failed to charm me is better than any pain relief I've had thus far. Sometimes I get why people chose to be evil. It's weirdly utterly satisfying. 

Ransom _________. We met before Christmas? I'm overseeing the improvements to your beautiful property. 

Did we? Well it's lovely to see you again. I go back to Lochlan's ipad which he left on the counter and I don't look up again even though I know damn well PJ is biting his fist trying not to laugh, bending deep at the knees on the other side of the counter for the shit I just pulled, which is something I hardly ever do so that's when you know something isn't right.  I get up to leave, albeit slowly. If Ransom is here I don't plan to be.

Batman comes in and sees me moving gingerly. Bridge. What's up? 

Waiting on the meds to kick in. 

Are you sick? Ransom interjects. He needs to be whacked with the blunt end of a boundary here. Jesus. 

No, I've aggravated an old leg injury. I'll be fine. 

How did that happen?

Sex, obviously. Have a nice day. I turn and take the ipad and head up the steps. Fuck my life. There's nine people watching me limp slightly so I turn and glare back at them. At least Ben is upstairs sleeping still so I can curl up with him and lick my wounds. Later I'll call Caleb and ask if he can just fuck me like a normal man for once ever but he's going to laugh and tell me not in this lifetime. I know it. 

I hope Lochlan comes home soon so I don't have to burn this place down. 

Love, hate, love.

You told me I'm the only one
Sweet little angel you should have run

Some decidedly glarey, unceremonious cheese toast and the Devil has gone home at last. I think Lochlan took a day and a half to sober up and realized he had sold his soul and probably handed off mine on the weekend too and now he's done with all again, even though by early church time on Sunday morning they were shaking on their new grand plan to let the water flow under the Bridget, that what's yours is mine and mine is yours and time is too short not to love everyone the way everyone loves me.

I think Lochlan gave it a good try but if he has to be shitfaced to deal then he's going to go down a road I already went and dragged him back from once (or five times) and that's not going to happen again.

And Caleb is sober now so let's just say we'll have to live with him mean because he's on medications that shouldn't see him drinking because they react funny and he really went one for one with someone who can usually outdrink him and everyone else before and after him. That's a bad idea.

It was nice while it lasted though. I like it when they let their guards down. I like it when they're silly. When they get along. When things are good. But I'm a child waiting for approval, trying to fix things, trying to be the little peacemaker so no one is unhappy with me. I couldn't tell you no if I tried. Did I? Maybe I did. Maybe I just waited him out. Maybe I punished him. Maybe I tried to preserve myself.

Whatever way you spin it, things are different today. We left our March secrets in our quilts and our armour on the floor and we greet this new aftermath naked and brave.