But seriously. I'm okay.

My car came out of storage today. To celebrate I came out to go for the first drive of the season, and glitter blew out the vents and...got in my eyes. The boys didn't know that I use cosmetic and sometimes even food-grade glitter to protect people from exactly that but there you have it. No permanent damage, life goes on, I won't accept any apologies for something they didn't know about in the first place and also I don't have to make dinner now.

It was fucking funny though. 

Yesssssss! Maple Leafs shut out the Habs 4-0! Keep it going boys! Yea!

Monsters have feelings too. I keep forgetting this part.

Caleb's having an ego day, a day where he licks his perceived fatal wounds at the decided lack of mention of him in the last post, good or bad.

It wasn't a 'Bridget's Deepest and Darkest Secrets' list, it was just a stupid flighty collection of random things about me. People like that, or so I thought and now I wake up to find that everyone is disappointed and bored. Remind me not to waste my time again. 

The only person truly happy with that list today is PJ, I think. 

Yeah, probably. I laugh.

What's amusing? 

You are. What did you want me to say about you? 

Oh, I don't know, Bridget. Maybe something about my skill or my steadfastness or my consistency in your life. Maybe something about how hard I worked to see that you and by default all of our friends have everything they'll ever need. Instead I get to read an exhaustive list of things everyone already knows.

Do your own writing then. Grandstand. Or better yet, take the advice I give to everyone who complains about my content: DON'T READ. 

Or you could make another list of all the things you love about each one of us. 

I don't see that happening. Besides, if someone has a particular feature or trait I adore I tell them to their face. I'm not shy about crowing my appreciation for my friends. 

You've never said things to me. 

You're different. My voice drops to a bare whisper. You're my monster. 

His whole face softens with grief as he nods. This is what we have to fix. I don't care what else happens. I'm not going to spend my entire life in that role for you. 

100 things (you probably didn't know).

Just because PJ still dares me to try this stuff years later and with a cash offer if I can pull it off, why wouldn't I? Besides, he'll never know what's true or false (hint: it's all true).

(I started this post in 2005 and some of it might seem off because I've moved a bit, changed a bit. You know.)

1. I hate crepes. They seem like thin soggy pancakes to me. Pancake-fails. So people dress them up and call it 'dessert'. No thank you.
2. I had the lyrics to Still Remains by Stone Temple Pilots tattooed in the center of a large cameo on my back. I had them removed (mostly) a few years back The cameo is all but empty now and I don't know what to do there. I have my wings above it now and I just don't feel like getting any more tattoos. 
3. I am addicted to affection, lip gloss and security. Blame Lochlan for all of it.
4. I'm allergic to food coloring and the sun, sunscreen, nail polish, fabric softener, shellfish, hair color and everything from LUSH, suddenly. Boo. Also cats I don't know well and my own sweat. Go figure.
5. I don't like shrimp, or fish with bones. Not big on clams but I do love biting the legs off tiny little deep fried octopi. Oysters aren't great either.
6. I grow sunflowers but the sun is a rarity and it's tough.
7. I actually don't like it here very much. Sure it's pretty. Well, some of it is. 
8. The things I miss the most about home (Nova Scotia) are the people, the donairs and oceans without tankers.
9. I still consider myself the world's most fragile mermaid. Not a great swimmer. 
10. I love to paint skulls. LOVE IT. Have dozens of them up now.
11. One of my monikers in the freakshow was Firebaby. There. Google that. No, wait, don't. Actually it's fine. Thank God for life before Internet.
12. I was a vegetarian for over twenty years but it's only been the past few that I can actually take a bite of a chicken wing without putting it on a plate and pulling the bones out first. 
13. I love turnip. Mashed turnip with real butter and salt.
14. I think I'm crazy but certain things keep me grounded enough to deal with life without flying right off or curling up like a Swedish fish: writing, running, sex, sleep and bourbon. 
15. I'm afraid of bicycles, blooming teas, undomesticated electricity and revolving doors. Escalators, elevators and morgues.
16. Sometimes I'm afraid of Christian but only because it's sort of like being accepted by the cool kid and then wondering when they're going to drop you. I don't get it, he doesn't either. 
17. I steal Daniel's shirts and then lie and blame it on Schuyler/John/Andrew, insisting they must be in the wash/wrong closet when they're in my bed. I like to sleep in them. They're warm and not as big as the others. 
18. I've grown so comfortable with black bears that when I see one I take out my phone and try and capture it's soul with the camera. Then I just shoo it away. 
19. I hate shoes. Jake, you were right.
20. I'm a raging minimalist, except for handbags and bracelets.
21. I don't actually wear a lot of jewelry considering how much I have.
22. I forgot to empty the steam cleaner last month and OH MY FUCK. GROSS.
23. I have to have knee surgery. 
24. I had adenoid surgery once.
25. Caleb has offered me plastic surgery. Whatever I want. I know what he would choose to have done on me but it varies wildly with what I would chose. 
26. I have never and would never actually have plastic surgery.
27. Batman's really freaking famous. People scream out loud when they recognize him. 
28. Ben is not so famous unless he's in his stage clothes. Surprise. You wouldn't actually recognize him unless you're a superfan or a stalker. No, he's not in Gwar.
29. Loch actually had groupies at one point. They were the other people who worked the show though. Everyone loves him.
30. We once stole the whole cash box and ran. 
31. We once slept outside on a hillside in Romania because we couldn't afford a room. With goats.
32. I used to fear being killed by gypsies. Or goats.
33. I sleep with my doors locked now but my windows open.
34. I'm astounded that you can't buy actual Marshmallow Fluff countrywide.
35. I can't each as much candy as I used to be able to because I get canker sores in my mouth when I do.
36. I slept with PJ. A few times now. He's quite a powerhouse of a guy.
37. I refused drugs for the first ten hours of labor with Ruth. On Labour Day. Thirty-seven hours from water breaking to the emergency c-section. Fun times. A week in the NICU.
38. I used to figure skate competitively in regional competitions. 
39. Batman had a painting of me hanging in his public office. He would tell people it's his late wife. 
40. Once I got so scared of the dark that I just closed my eyes and cried until Lochlan came back. I was eleven. Then I did it again when I was thirty-eight.
41. I'm a damned good aerialist.
42. I'm a better freak. 
43. My hearing aids are amazing but I'm still overwhelmed by things like clocks and wind in the trees.
44.  I think every 'caught on tape' is a staged prank but believe every conspiracy theory around. 
45. I love scarves. Big pashminas. They make me happy. Over the years they have doubled as blankets, tablecloths, bags, legwarmers and truck bed liners. 
46. I put honey on my toast. Raised by hobbyist beekeepers.
47. I still can't drink from a can and never finish a can of pop. The metal makes my teeth hurt. 
48. I sneezed in the middle of a video shoot once for a band during A Very Big Scene which involved traffic and angel wings and pyrotechnics. That sneeze cost twelve thousand dollars. They had to start over.
49. I can't sit in the back seat of a moving vehicle or I throw up within eight minutes flat.
50. My makeup routine has been condensed to mascara and lipgloss and nothing else. Fuck it. I'm done with most of that crap. Strangely enough my Sephora VIP Rouge membership is good through like 2028 thanks to the boys with long hair and all the spendy hair products and man perfumes I buy them. 
51. I spend the odd weekend with Schuyler and Daniel. We don't get out of bed. I get hooked on things like Spanish General Hospital reruns and chai tea. 
52. I eat ringalos by loading them on my fingers until I look like the Thing from Fantastic Four and then I gnaw them off my knuckles one by one. 
53. I eat onion rings the same way. It's messier though. 
54. I have no patience for shitty music production. 
55. I have a tiny Pandora bracelet addiction that took over from the Cartier bracelet one. I've been collecting charms for almost four years. I have dozens.
56.  Every professional photograph of me ever produced (except for the ones Cole took) has been missing the checkmark scar under my nose that some kind editor has airbrushed out. I send them back to have it returned to me. 
57. I'm slow to warm up. Case in point, I resisted Cormac McCarthy's writings for the first several decades of my life and now I can't get enough. 
58. Batman was the first sugar daddy and the most consistent. A long time ago he hired Cole to do some work for him and asked for me as well. It was a hell of a lot of money involved. We kept it pretty quiet. 
59. My favorite season would be thought to be summer, with its promise of no school, lax rules and warm weather but instead it's fall because everyone always disappeared from the beach and it became all mine again. 
60. I use three emojis virtually all of the time. The monkeys. The see no evil, speak no evil and hear no evil ones on the apple keyboard. 
61. I used to wear earplugs to listen to Ben's former band. Not to protect what's left of my hearing but because otherwise I would visibly flinch. They're very loud.
62. When I get up I turn on the stove first to boil water for coffee. Then I let the dog out. 
63. If a horror movie takes place in the woods then I want to see it.
64.  I will watch any horror movie though. Even bad ones.
65. My fetishes included being held down/up and hockey players in their arrival suits.
66. When I go into a really fancy restaurant I still wonder if I'm supposed to work to impress the staff and fear they might reject me as a customer because it's for adults only. 
67. Morphine has no effect on me whatsoever. Ditto valium. Disco drugs work well though.
68. I'm a narcoleptic. Hi!
69. If I'm awake after ten at night it's usually a special occasion.
70. I don't like mint anything. Even toothpaste.
71. I really really tremendously dislike the song Fairytale of New York. Someone told me if you're of Irish descent and you love Christmas it's a given. Well it's not.
72. Don't ask me about hard drugs.
73. If you say 'tats' or 'ink' with regards to tattoos I'll probably roll my eyes and correct you.
74. I let my children swear. Always have. I know. Horrible mother, right?
75. I still can't pronounce 'library' without pausing to think it through. My mouth says liberry and then just keeps on running.
76. I'm allergic to Costco. No, really, I'm sure I am. I hate it. I hate crowds. I hate bulk purchasing. I hate the very idea of the place and I had a membership once. I hated it.
77.  I have a perpetual headache and a lovely frown line that runs directly between my eyebrows because when I'm not grinning or crying I frown like the dickens. 
78. I can do the entire Thriller dance. Yes, still.
79. I would have been a Juggalette, but I'm not and I wasn't and camping at music festivals isn't my thing.
80. I can eat about eighteen thousand grapes in one sitting. Ditto McDonalds french fries. Ditto licorice. Ditto Pixy Stix. Scallops. Glasses of bourbon. I'm like a bird with rice at a wedding. You never know, I might explode.
81. I wish I had blue eyes. Always have. As much as I love my greens, I wanted blue. The grass is always greener, isn't it? Or in this case, bluer. 
82. I love the smell of hospitals, bandaids, iodine, gasoline, grass, peat and yeast. I don't know if there's a word for that. Gross, maybe?
83. I will never visit the Canadian territories thanks to 30 Days of Night. I think it was filmed in Winnipeg though. I'll check and get back to you.
84. Mosh pits make me jealous. They look like SO MUCH FUN but then violence and shoving.
85. I want to crowd surf but then I'll probably get molested and raped. What if I wore an inflatable sumo-suit? That's my answer for everything now. 
86. I'm suddenly very concerned about what tapioca pearls are made of because no one has given me a straight answer so I figure it's cadmium and/or lead.
87. My favorite bowling ball is a big-ass size '12er with three holes. I can barely lift it but it does a very good job and rolls very slowly without a twist or a slice. My bowling score remains under forty. No worries, it's even lower if I use a ball for someone my size.
88. I read four books a year. I love books. I love reading. It's fantastic but I just have to touch the cover and I fall asleep. I think books are like some sort of Pavlov's Dog experiment for me. Ditto buying movie tickets now. I pay twelve bucks for a nap.
89. August had me hooked on Kombucha. It's 16 grams of sugar and it has a host or a mother or something floating at the bottom. I didn't understand but it's like a spicy vitamin water only fancier and way more expensive.
90. If I could only have one food on a desert island it would be Keema Naan. At least this week it would. Next week it will probably been something else. (Because bird.) (POOF.)
91.  I want to spray-paint a freight train.
92. I used to be a Suicide Girl. Now I hate at least eighty percent of my tattoos.
93. Glitter is a huge part of my life. It's a decoration, a beauty routine, a sport, a prank and a weapon all rolled into one. Usually it's food-grade around here, just for safety's sake.
94. I would be a greater minimalist, miser, squeezer of coins if only they would let me. 
95. I don't like owning new cars. It's a worry with the digs and the lemons and the risk. It's much easier to me to drive an ancient yet mechanically sound piece of crap and park next to a Ferrari.
96. I burn incense constantly. Mostly nag champa or patchouli but also some christmas campfire blend I got at the Vancouver German Christmas market that everyone loves and I didn't stock up on this year so I hope I can make it last. 
97. I'm lactose intolerant but mildly so one milk product a day is fine but two will destroy me. So if I have cheese toast I can't have yogurt or ice cream later. Not a big deal. I don't run screaming from dairy but I'm amazed at what havoc it wreaks.
98. I'm double-jointed, I'm a witch. I'm a Taurus. I'm a natural redhead.
99. I grieve for him every single day, you know.
100. I finished it. PJ owes me five thousand dollars now. Oh yeah. I love to make it rain. It's been engineered once and it's about to happen again. I danced for money once. Alright it was a few times. 

Have a great day. This may not be up for long. Too much information. Not useable, just personal, I mean.

Cave periculum, quod non ultra Martias Idus proferretur.

I’m not gonna let you become a martyr
I’m not gonna let you pickup the gun
I’m gonna make this a whole lot harder
Won’t make it easy for you to run

Don’t go and blow it all, it’s bad enough baby
I don’t wanna hear you saying it’s not you, it’s me
If there’s blood on my hands, you should let me know
If you’re done with a dance, you should let me go
Oh, baby you said it all,
There’s nothing you can say to break my fall

The disasters are here, sewn into the seams of the blanket I pull over me to keep them close, sewn with double stitching, thread made of tragedy and heartbreak, material consisting of one hundred percent contempt as I turn away from you, away from the light, and suffocate myself when all I had to do was listen harder. I can't hear you. The noise inside my skull is always too loud. I always want to be somewhere else. I always want to be someone else. Just let me sleep.

Please.

No. Get up, Peanut. It's Thursday. 

What's today again? 

What do you want it to be? 

I flip the blanket right off the bed, letting contempt smother grief instead. I want it to be a happy day. 

And what would make you happy? 

Eggs BENEDICT! 

What else? 

An extra cup of coffee after the first one. Like one to wake me up and then one to savour. 

What else?

I don't want to see the Devil today. 

Easy. Okay. Let's go find that coffee. What about for the afternoon?

Let's lament the Canucks not making it into the playoffs. JUST KIDDING. We knew that would happen.

We didn't know you would be so gleeful about it. 

It's just one more chance for the Leafs, if you ask me. 

The Leafs aren't going to make it eith-

DON'T RUIN MY DAY.

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.

A fondness, a hatred.

My soft spot is so squishy that if you touch it you'll poke a hole right through me, leaving a mark that won't heal. I'm swiss-cheese girl. The waffle. The sweetheart. The Fragile Little Miss Bee.

I'm also exhausted and was exempted from church by Jesus himself in the form of Sam, with his now-empty coffee cup, badly-knotted tie and barely combed curls who caught of glimpse of me this morning and swore, telling me to go back to bed.

That's the least restful place in this house, I told him and he frowned. He didn't even have to ask because he knows me well enough by now.

I'll do my penance another day.

Can't stay away from the Devil.

(Fuck Lent. Fuck everything.)

(Or maybe it's too late to say that.)

Caleb's issue is craving me. Mine is craving him right back.

The table reduced to three late last night, long after the words from their speeches had grown cold. Lochlan was scowling, one arm slung over the back of my chair, four whiskeys deep and up to his knees in no good. Caleb was already pie-lit by then too, I couldn't even keep track of his drinks.

Fucking yarling. She's beautiful but she's not all yours.

Happy Birthday, you bastard. Don't let your jealousy age you prematurely.

When their eyes shine and their hands are steady they connect again, best friends who remember how they started before I ruined everything. I just want to make up for that and so I brought Caleb upstairs with us and I didn't ask permission and I didn't offer apologies and Lochlan didn't need to stand before a promise he didn't even need to make in the first place.

He didn't. I should have, but I didn't either.

I was held against the door while Loch stared into the fire, hating me, hating Caleb, hating himself most of all. I pleaded with him not to (one not to put me up against the door, one not to hate everything) and they listened. Old habits die hard. Hard dyes old habits dark, staining them with the inky night and it took until the sun came up over the ocean to tame them both, to bring Lochlan back around to loving everyone, to make Caleb see that this is what he will forever have to beg me for.

Lá breithe sásta, Diabhal.

Oh, but I didn't beg, Neamhchiontach. You offered.

Stilettos all weekend. Kill me now.

Oh my God. It's almost two in the afternoon (maybe I just got up but last night was so late I contemplated staying up) and I'm hosting a birthday dinner in four hours with twenty guests. A home-cooked dinner, no less, including a birthday cake baked by me as is tradition. Caleb called me both capricious and interminable when I went over to tell him the times and I thanked him and rushed back out the door. Everyone is to arrive at six sharp for drinks and talk, dinner is at seven. It's not that difficult, actually. The cake itself will take more time to cool than to bake or decorate, and dinner is pasta with mussels and garlic, and cheese bread on the side. One of Caleb's favourite dishes that I learned to make a long time ago, requested for tonight much to my relief as I didn't want to make a big heavy pot roast (one of his other favourites).

First order is to dispatch PJ to our seafood guy and then John to the liquor store. I didn't leave it til the last minute but yesterday was uncharacteristically packed and today is almost slow-motion in comparison. And it won't be too late, usually birthday dinners wrap up in three hours or less from passing oven-warmed plates down the line at the table to the last speech (by the birthday person) and last bite of cake, then hugs all around.

In a way I'm looking forward to the dinner itself but maybe not the aftermath. It's difficult to celebrate such a sacred day when the only gift the person asked for isn't one you can freely give this time around.

Wish me luck.

On my way downtown for the evening, don't have time for this.

Questions I have right now:

1. Why do stilettos hurt so fucking much now?
2. Why does makeup feel weird these days? My face HURTS. OW. Get it off. 
3. Why do things start so late? 
4. Is there food?
5. Can I stay home?

I'm sort of kidding. I go through this in some form or another every time I leave my house.

But seriously. Half the time I want to leave and then when I have to leave I don't want to. Bridget, why are you like this?

A promise so empty it echoed when I yelled into it.

You’re fired up and you say you want it
No don’t ever lose your will to fight
Or wane when you think upon it
It’s hard work but it will be worth it
When we see smoke filling up the sky
We’ll burn it down but we’ll build upon it

When I opened my eyes this morning there was a fire already popping and crackling gently in the fireplace, there was sweet coffee in my favourite mug on the table near the bed and Lochlan's head was between my legs, arms looped up around my hips, holding my hands tightly in his own. I took a deep breath and squeezed his hands and he let go so I could anchor my fingers in his curls as I lifted my hips to meet his soft smile.

Good morning, Beautiful.

Is it ever.

He laughed. (No. No, don't talk. Not right now.) I'm already halfway to the moon and I wasn't even aware of it until he broke contact. But he doesn't make me wait and my knees flex against his shoulders so hard I think I might have sprained something important. But I didn't. I swing around the moon and catch him on the wave back and he smiles a little wider. Thought you might need a little release.

He climbs back up and drops his weight without preamble, inside me, arms tight, pulling me up close against him, dropping his head down against my shoulder, our heads pressed together as we greet the morning with muffled sounds of..of...absolute joy.

Okay, maybe it was I who needed that release.

When he let me go the second time I pinched myself. I didn't even realize I did it until he chuckled and asked if waking up like that is all it's supposed to be.

Yes. I grin back. Please do that every day for the rest of my life.

The first clouds muscle in to replace the sun in his eyes. It's come up quietly, ambient day to replace our endless blissful night. If you let me, I'd be happy to. 

I think I need to plan a birthday dinner for here, in this house. Then we can send the Devil home and keep him at arms length until he figures it out and chews my fucking arm right off in order to get to me.

Lochlan nods and I haven't even said anything out loud. Yeah. Yeah. That's what we'll do. But I won't let him get to you. Not this time. 

“I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be?” ~J.M. Barrie

Last evening PJ tried to block me from taking the recycling bin out. I can do it, he said. Go relax.

PJ doesn't micromanage me unless there's a reas- 

Move, PJ. I push backwards against the bin he's now holding but he's squared himself in the doorway, filling it.

Ben is with them. It's fine. Let them deal with it and don't put yourself in the way. Also, what gets into Lochlan? I thought he was cool with you doing you and was going to back off. 

Oh, he's fine with me doing me as long as no one else does me. He wanes between confidence and total paranoia though. Like I do. It's called being human, PJ, you should try i-

HEY. Don't shoot the messenger. I just want to know which side of him to stay on. Not like I haven't been in Caleb's position. 

Are you going to move so I can go manage my life?

Hell, no. 

Then I'll go out the front door. I take off running up the stairs and through the kitchen and out the front door, down the walk, down the steps and to the left toward the boathouse and there's...PJ. Who put down the bin, walked through the side door and waited for me. He cages out with both arms and dares me to try and get through him.

God. I've never hosed on a dare in my life so I run straight at him. The plan is to vault his shoulders if I can get enough speed but he closes his arms like a vise around me, my feet off the ground.

FUCK, PJ! 

Hush. Making scenes is his thing. I follow PJ's gaze and Caleb, Lochlan and Ben are at the top of the stairs coming down from Caleb's.

Lochlan shoves past both of them. The fuck, Padraig. He pulls me out of PJ's arms and tucks me in against his chest with one arm. Ben's face is completely unreadable. Caleb turns without a word and goes back into the boathouse.

PJ takes the bin to the garage.

Party's over, I guess.

What did you do, Locket? The question is soft. I don't even hear myself ask him.

Don't worry about it. 

Ben heads inside too and Lochlan turns to me, wrapping his arms around my head, sighing. Remember when you were following me? That first night you went into the woods, Bridge?

I nod. That was the beginning of everything. He asked me to trust him. Told me to listen to him. I've followed him around ever since.

Go back, Bridgie. 

I can't. It's dark and I'm scared. 

Then why did you follow me?

I wanted to see where you were going. 

Why? 

Because I want to be there. 

What do you mean?

Where you are. I want to be where you are. 

He accepted that answer, nodded and turned to keep walking into the dark, never questioning his little shadow again. I didn't actually know that he was Peter Pan then, leader of the lost boys, none of whom would ever grow up. I do now.

Why won't you do that anymore? 

I shrug under the weight of his arms. I don't know. 

That didn't matter when you were little. 

It's harder now. Everything is more complicated.

Then make it simple. 

What about Caleb? 

He's prepared to wait and see what you do. 

Did you threaten him?

I reasoned with him.  He pushed away and left me there, heading inside.

And I followed.

Feels wrong.

I look at them when they talk. The way their hands express their positions, the set of their mouths, the way their emotions play across their eyes like a silent film. I look at the way it all comes together into a watershed of feelings, be it desperation or rage. I watch it and I soak it all up like a sponge and I drag it around with me on top of everything I have within, becoming crushed and forgotten beneath a tidal wave of responsibilities, holding their dreams out in the palm of my hand. An offering, a plea for help.

I don't even hear the words sometimes. Sometimes they're holding my face, covering my ears and then I just get muffled sounds and swooshing from the movements. Sometimes I feel Caleb's words come out in a numbingly painful torrent that hits me like a blunt instrument. Or Lochlan's longing as a keen ache, easily projected on everything for a thousand yards, his face open, no attempt to bury his needs underneath ritual or circumstance. Or propriety. He never was one to worry about the complications, the expectations of marriage until he put himself in their position.

And now suddenly, it's important. 

And I can't handle the avalanche of this weird flitting panic that's pinging back and forth between us. It's a tennis ball coated in poison, cupping into our skin as it hits us, leaving a bruise and then a death sentence as we absorb the blows.

He said I could bring you. I finally say it. I didn't want to say it. I hate suggesting that but I'm trapped, here. I have no choice but does he?

What?

You can come, too. 

I don't want to. 

Then stay here. 

Not without you. 

Then you're coming. 

And I don't know what gets into him but he sits down and puts his head in his hands. It's a gesture you make when you need to think, when you're out of ideas and hoping one will come to you magically, eventually. I watch that too and I soak it all up like a sponge and I hope that in my next life I don't know him either so I can spare this feeling he has.

A word typed too many times.

It's got the be the first time we ever sounded like a bickering sitcom-era nuclear couple. Like Lucy and Desi. Archie and...and Doris Edith? Anyone. I can't think of any more right now.  Fighting softly at first. Lots of joking and then we're rocketed back to the beginning before being slung-shot right back to this moment. Back to where we always end up.

So help me if you go there this weekend, I'll...I'll-

You'll what?!

I'll make all kinds of trouble for you. That's what! 

I burst out laughing. Okay then. So we're clear. 

So we're clear, Bridget, I don't care if it's his fucking Bar Mitzvah.  You're not going. 

Did you get one?

What? 

A Bar Mitzvah?

I'm not Jewish. 

Oh. I get it. So I should stop waiting for my Quincearena. 

Depends. Are you Mexican?

I may as well be. I eat enough of their food. 

True. But you're not Mexican, you're Irish as they fucking come, and you're. not. going. Understood?

No. I smile at him softly. Those aren't the rules.

They are today. 

You're stringing me along. 

I'm trying to keep you safe. 

No. You're trying to keep me from him. 

In my next life I really hope I don't know you so that I'll finally be able to sleep at night. 

Take that back! Tears sting my eyes from the low blow.

I will when you promise you're not going, Birthday or not.

It's a stalemate. 

Do you even know what a stalemate is, Bridgie?

Yes, it's when your friend is stinky. I plug my nose and squinch up my whole face. Lochlan has just walked all the way back from town in the heat. He's sweaty and warm. His shirt, his hands are wet but he's got our groceries and a now-warm half can left of Rootbeer for me.

No, it's when you can't agree on something, no matter what. 

Then what happens? If you can't agree, I mean?

If no one is willing to change their mind then you have to walk away. 

But that doesn't help anyone. 

No, it doesn't. It's much better if people learn to compromise. 

Isn't that when you give a prize to someone who didn't actually win?

No, that's 'comping a prize' Compromise is different. It means you maybe give up fighting for something in order to keep the peace. Whoever the fight is most important to sometimes should get their way or can figure out a way to get their way this time in exchange for giving up their way next time. 

Comp-

Com-pro-mise. 

Compromise. Like a common promise!

He smiles.

So can I have candy for dinner?

Hell no. 

If I give you a kiss will you comprom..comprize for me? 

He laughs. Yeah, okay. If you promise to brush your teeth twice tonight. 

I nod. Hey. We had a comprompromise! 

Compromise. 

Right. Whatever! 

But as I look at him now I have no idea who this fight is more important to. Me or him.

Jesus tension.

Now that you see he's getting better are you heading out? Church is over and Matt helped me clean up from a rather well-attended lunch here at home. Nice of him.

I may stay for a few more days.

You need to ask me to do that.

Sam lives here too. I used to live here, Bridget.

You were offered a place here and you turned all of us down. Sam included. You broke his heart.

He seems happy to have me here.

He was feverish and delusional.

Bridget, I asked you to stay out of our way.

And I asked you to stay out of my house.

Sam comes in. Bridget-

Lochlan covers my face with his hand, lifts me up and physically carries me out of the room. He doesn't let go until we're out of earshot and then he puts me down.

I need to protect my friend-

Sam is a grown man.

He's got a broken heart too. If you knew what that felt like-

Jesus Christ, Bridget! I do!

Oh. Well. I'm rocked because he left.

You think you're the only one? This whole house is full of broken people. Matt included. So if he and Sam can find happiness or get back together or just have a few days to become human you better than anyone else should understand that and leave them be!

Which part broke your heart?

What?

Which part. I need to know.

All of it. From '83 right up until last night. You think you're tougher than you look then you need to look in front of you.

You love me that much?

That much and more. His voice breaks and my heart goes with it. Again.

Christ, Locket.

Yeah. Christ, Bridget.

55 in 7.

Next weekend is mine, Dollface. He uses an old nickname loaded with bad memories but when I look at his face there's no malevolence in it, just hope. He's sure that by commanding me to appear that I might consider it, that I may fulfill his birthday wishes with my submission to his gentle orders.

I nod noncommittally. I'm busy watching the figure skating. We just got home from a snowy, empty before-lunch showing of Black Panther and I'm still thinking about what a great movie it was, from the light humour to the crazy action, future tech and gorgeous clothing. I'd like to go see it again.

And now my brain is filled with twizzles, jumps and bright lights as the gala is on live television right now and we watched every single figure skating program throughout the past two weeks and I loved every second of it. So this is a thing for me, just me and isn't about the boys and so I resent Caleb's intrusion demanding time and promises right this second but I'm trying to be kind nonetheless.

It's a date. I'll let Lochlan know. 

I will. Please. It's a warning. If Caleb crows maybe I'll change my mind.

Fine. Have him confirm with me. 

I'm a timeshare. Classy.

I'll see you later. I stare him down. There's a Russian couple skating that I barely remember.

He kisses me. Indeed. I have some great plans for us. 

On the point, I hope. 

Of course. 

No surprise trips. Henry needs me. He's having a tough week, health-wise too and I like to give him extra support and everything else can kiss my ass.

No surprise trips. I understand. Caleb still feels responsible for Henry and agrees . Enjoy your...whatever they're doing. 

It's the gala exhibition skate. They get to do whatever they want. Let loose after all of the competition is complete. 

Ah. I see. 

You're not a sports-person. 

I play hockey. 

Right. You're not a sports-person. I wink at him. Get out so I can watch my show. It's live! 

Love you, Bridget. 

I bite my tongue.

S N O W D A Y

We won't talk about hockey today. No sir.

Let's talk about Dalton.

You know, Teflon Jesus. 

Who sent me a text this morning with  SNOW DAY surrounded by all of the snowflake, snowman and skiing emojis even though he doesn't ski and has never sent an emoji in his life. I put the black heart at the end of every single text I send but grown men don't use those things, I think, hardly ever.

Dalton texts me from bed fairly often. He is quintessentially lazy and will conduct all of his business from his bed and who is going to stop him? He works hard when he works and hardly works when he doesn't have to and if he's home he's embracing just being home. They try to teach me how to live in the moment but I am rigid and uptight, resistant to the best advice. I'm enthusiastic to a fault, however, breathless in my still flu-addled head here so I'm game for everything and so I text him back.

We should have waffles in the sauna

Ew, Bridge

But it would be going from warm to cold to hot to cold to warm. It would be amazing

No one eats in the sauna

We'll be the first then. Pioneers! Gastrosauna-ites. We can write a cookbook! Oh My GOD. Hot rock cooking and the ultimate busy person's guide to multitasking while relaxing!

You're insane

Yes but what does that have to do with anything?

How about waffles in the kitchen?

If that's my consolation prize I'm okay with that

Meet you in 15 :)

k :)

(You thought I was going to talk about something else Dalton-related, didn't you?)

Gold medal game spoilers. If you haven't seen the replay skip this.

Omg. What an amazing game last night. But can we please just stop deciding games with shoot-outs, taking away all of the technical skill and boiling a whole three hours of exciting gameplay and amazing plays and saves into a goaltender competition? Can we just have a tie instead? I would have happily shared our impending gold with the United States in the event of a tie. It would make a lot more sense than this.

But alas, we got silver, I think for the first time in twenty years, and there you have it. See you in 2022 in Beijing and we'll have this discussion all over again.

Now it's up to the men. Semifinals tonight. I'm ready.  I loved the crack in the paper: "there are no NHL players participating in the Olympics, this is the first non-NHL tournament in twenty-four years".  And yet our team has a (combined) score of 2140 NHL points. In contrast, if it comes down to it, the US has half that (1216) so all my hopes are on you guys now.

This is not a cry for help though it's probably the most pathetic thing I've ever written.

Got nothing against you and surely I'll miss you
This place full of peace and light, and I'd hoped you might
Take me back inside, when the time is right

(Guess what's stuck in my head now? On a loop. Just the chorus. That's the good part.)

Guess who showed up last night with flowers and a care package for Sam, who's fever broke around noon and Lochlan finally let go of him, and we realized I'm not the only one afraid of death around here, but probably the only one who freely admits it? Since my heart exists on my sleeve most of the time it serves as a loudspeaker, broadcasting my feelings to my little corner of the universe and sometimes to strangers too, as it did earlier in the day when the kind pharmacist asked me if I was okay, and I turned and looked up at him and said No, thank you and he frowned with concern as I walked away.

There was nothing in the store that could make Sam better. We've got a well-stocked medicine cabinet but our main uplink to God goes down and we're toast. 

He feels better though. Where my cold and sore throat persists endlessly, his cold turned straight into the flu and after two days of sleep he hit the boredom wall and wants to do things. If I could sleep for more than four hours ever I might be better faster too but I'm not a sleeper, I'm a maniac.

So yeah, guess who gets the orange juice, Nyquil (HA OMG STOP ALREADY) and humidifier and a Lochlan all to herself once again, since Matt is here again and Sam brightened up like a goddamned sunrise?

Hex.

It's dark when I wake up but he is yelling in his sleep, my memory thief unconscious, feverish and pale. His skin is cold but sweating, his hands grasp at nothing and he's calling my name. I put my hands on his face holding his nose to mine.

Wake up, Sam. Please. Wake up.  

His eyes fly open and he startles so hard I hear his elbows crack. It looked like that feeling just as you're falling asleep when you actually feel as though you are falling through space unchecked.

What's wrong?! He is delirious, shaking and confused.

We need to take your temperature.

I'm fine. Go back to sleep and get better, Bridget. I'll stay with you. 

(Lord. Why did you send me this loyal soul?)

Shhhhhhhh. He runs his trembling fingers down my cheek. His skin is almost sizzling and Lochlan gets up, swearing, and heads for the first aid kit. There's an old fashioned thermometer in it, the one we use after a error thrown by a digital one with low batteries. I need all the lights on to read it, however, so having your temperature taken around here is a miserable five minutes of blinding light and people confirming the obvious.

He comes back with a forehead thermal sticker. Use this. Oh, good. But then I got out the mercury thermometer anyway. It just seemed so high.

103.

Okay. Not the end of the world. I give Sam some ibuprofen and a huge glass of cold water and Lochlan wrings out a cold cloth to put against his forehead. No one's been this sick yet. Even I've barely run a fever, still flitting around from one moment to the next like a furious bumblebee. Sam is a wet noodle, draped weakly under the sheets, without strength or sense.

Is there any juice? 

Of course there is. What kind would you like?

Orange, if you have it. 

We do. I'll be right back. 

I tiptoe through the house and return in moments with his juice, his favorite blue hobnail glass in hand.

But when I come back he is already asleep again, spooned in Lochlan's arms with Lochlan's hand around his forehead, holding the cold cloth in place. Lochlan is already asleep too so I drink the juice and crawl back in. We can burn the bed later. Lochlan's an expert on that.

Bray for me.

Bridget-

It's just a cold!

You said that like two weeks ago. I'm calling the doctor. 

No! But it came out strangled, squeaked through a sore throat that only hurts when I stop moving and don't you know, I refuse to do that because then I'll be admitting weakness and no one does that around here. I have to keep up with the boys even though I'm half their size, half their weights and clearly one-quarter portion of their immune systems.

Bridget, plea-

Unless I can get those Hollywood vitamin-shot things then nevermind. They just give me those giant disgusting antibiotics and then I feel worse. 

I'm bouncing up and down as I explain myself. This is why they give me Nyquil with my dinner though I made it through all of the Olympic coverage and watched all five flights of the dance short program last night. See if I can do it again. I had a glass of ginger-ale, a glass of orange juice, a mug of hot chocolate and then a glass of whiskey and ginger-ale. Then a bowl of cereal at ten pm. My dreams were incredibly weird.

Must be the Rice Crispies, I told Lochlan sagely as he tried to pin me down long enough to take my temperature. We were naked, and going to see this play, only instead of seats they had bunkbeds and they wouldn't let men and women sit together-

Fever dream. He laughed. You should go back to bed. 

Instead I went grocery-shopping with PJ and when we got home Ben yelled at PJ for letting me outside and then at me for going outside. I muttered At least I had clothes on, considering in my dream I stripped down pretty fast. I really wanted to see that play.

PJ gave Ben a hearty middle finger and laughed. PJ knows you've got to get out the tranquilizer dart out to slow me down because some creatures move too fast and I'm one of them.

Ben frowned his scowly, scary frown and asked if I would take it easy this afternoon so now he and I are lying on the big sectional couch in the kitchen (great room combo, hard to explain) watching bobsleigh replays and I'm painting my nails with Sally Hansen polish in 'Expresso'. Ben said it was tongue-colored and has been making sick jokes all afternoon since. He put on my leg warmers. He said he was going to become a figure skater next winter but it's simply too late to start training now because the Olympics will be over by the time he's ready.

And I sound like a donkey when I laugh.

Just fangirling, look away if you must.

Not in church today. Damn. Too sick, too tired, too fucking GOBSMACKED from last night to make the effort. Ruth even drove Henry to work today. I don't know how he's doing it since he rocked his FACE off last night with his friends and I'm so proud.

Bullet for my Valentine was tight. Very incredible musicianship, great drumming (holy cow) and they seemed so surprised the crowd was ready in place to receive them. A good show all round.
I was actually crying with excitement though by the time they turned on the little Breaking Benjamin logos on the big steel boxes with two songs by BFMV to go.  I was wearing the hoodie I bought at merch (no giant eyeballs! HUZZAH!) since they didn't have the shirt I wanted. Wings! Jesus! I wanted that shirt so bad but the sizing was all fucked up. The hoodie fits perfectly.

And then Breaking Benjamin came on and ripped through eleven songs and yes they are indeed heavier live though they skipped playing anything off the new album that is upcoming because Benjamin Burnley was sick too (imagine that. The flu in Canada in February is like a rite of passage and then a regular curse, I'm afraid) so I think he had a hell of a lot of help from the band. The guitar player  (Keith! Not my Keith) sounds a lot like him, carrying one whole song on his own! He's also handed off the dirty vocals to Aaron on bass. And Damnnnnnnnnnnnn.

They were so good.

The Star Wars bit in the middle was so good. The nerdiness and heavy rock and then at the end the lights went up and Benjamin (not my Benjamin!) thanked the crowds and talked a little about being so thrilled and thankful to promote music in general and he charmed the everloving shit out of everyone with his humble awe and yeah, I was done.

They played Breath. Second only to Deathbed by Relient K for songs I've always wanted to hear live and now I have.

God, it was so good. Only missing Red Cold River off the setlists I've seen floating about it really was something I'm glad I crawled my way too because it was so worth it. So, so worth it.

Kudos to the VPD for crowd monitoring and the crowd for the lack of meaningful weed smoke and orderly lineups and fun chats in merch lines. Bathrooms with no lineups and White Spot for food! And some of Henry's friends going back for more t-shirts. We treated them all to one each, but only if it was BB.

Kudos to Avenged Sevenfold for bringing Breaking Benjamin along. And for playing Afterlife super early, before we left. Because we left pretty early and we don't do that often but we made it home before the snow got heavy and I'm really glad we did, since half the kids weren't ours but we were responsible for them.

What a great night.

That was a better bucket list item checked off than the naked midnight motorcycle ride and making it rain combined.

89, 90, 91.

Right.

So remember the story I've told a few times of how going to a concert when you're deathly ill is one of life's finer ironies, since you buy tickets so far in advance God only knows what shape you'll be in by the time it rolls around? (AKA We saw the Red Hot Chili Peppers in 2006 and I was so sick I leaned against some strange boy the whole time because he was on my side facing the stage? But that's still not as gross a story as the one about the strange boy beside me with the copious nosebleed through the entire Tool show or the story about the very drunk man behind me at Roger Waters last summer that poured his entire new ice cold beer down my back and Jesus, maybe I should stay home from now on?

No, thank you. I was raised in Halifax. Concerts were like Catholic visions. They hardly ever happened. Here we're turning shit down left and right for lack of time, if you can believe it.)

And also the story of the irony of how I really don't like Avenged Sevenfold at all?

So guess what I'm doing tonight!

Yeah. I'm going to see Avenged Sevenfold's The Stage world tour, having seen them a little over six months ago when they opened for Metallica!

Why?

Oh I dunno.

Please.

BREAKING BENJAMIN is opening. And that has been a fifteen-year bucket-list band for me and I don't care if I have to lie down in my seat, I will be there with bells on and my smudged eyeliner since it's raining/snowing quite hard now and I'm taking Henry and his friends but I'm going to quiz them on the drive in (they're all HUGE Breaking Benjamin fans) and if no one wants to stay for Avenged we can leave early.

Cross your fingers that I don't die because so far I feel like I might.

Also cross your fingers that BB have merch other than the new giant-eyeball Ember album cover designs. I don't think I'll look good with a huge third eye on my chest. Then again, maybe I will.

Sons of anergy.

Caleb isn't going to meetings, naw. He told Ben he's near perfect, but sometimes he slides and he'll just stop drinking but be nice too because some people have willpower.

Ben said good luck with that, ducking out from under the shade thrown like a dagger and came home unscathed. Caleb later messaged Ben to apologize and as far as I know it's still unread. That's one of the great tics of the Devil that we've discovered. If you don't open his messages he gets crazy. Ben said he must be hitting the bottle again already to be so sweet and then Ben left his phone on the dresser and hasn't touched it since.

They both said brunch and company were great though. So there's that. There's just a little love lost between them, both of them harboring some slick grudges that sometimes skid away under the furniture and sometimes set it on fire but they get along honestly and without very much posturing, if you can believe it.

I know. It doesn't sound like it, does it?

I'm getting better today. This was a long week of illness and not feeling up to anything at all. I still did as much as I could, and I'll probably pay for that, but the day is looking up already. The sun came out and so PJ served lunch outside. Lemonade, hot chocolate and Hawaiian-flavored pizza pops because we eat like orphaned fifteen-year-olds if left to our own devices, and now I'm back inside with my runny nose and freshly-burned tongue to kill time until Henry gets home from school.

You can tell when he's coming up the stairs, all six-foot-one of him, ducking to get through the door, throwing his backpack on the floor. He'll ask what the smell is.

Burned cheese and the candle I got last week (Coal & Canary's 'Wood Stoves and Fine Merlots' scented one that has a wooden wick that pops and crackles while it burns and I love it. It's like a fire in my pocket though I can't burn it while it's in there because that would be mighty hazardous). Pizza pops for lunch.

Are there any left? Even though he ate lunch two hours ago. He'll always come back for a second meal of equal size. Just like his father.

Sure. Go find PJ. He'll start them for you. 

Thanks, mom. And I smile at him and think, wow. He needs a shave.

Of course I still love you.

And after this world is out of reach
Sober and silent, faded and violent
Hopeless, I fight to fall between
Never surrender, out of the embers
So save a space inside for me

Maybe I didn't say this because it wasn't my place but everyone seems hellbent on trying find out why Caleb went back to being himself instead of the jovial, agreeable man he somehow became over the summer last year, into the fall with very little hint of who he was before that.

It's his nature, his innate self, muted smooth by alcohol, quashed by an endless buzz and once again this is somehow my fault because I didn't blow the whistle on him either.

Would you have?

I didn't think so.

I like him half-lit, honestly. I like him slow and silly and a little bit more enthusiastic, a little more loveable. I like him kind and soft and friendly. I like that fact that his bright intensity was visible without needing something to shield your eyes with before looking.

He decided somewhere at the end of last week to quit, to teetotal, to go dry in order to smarten up, He's very disciplined, very dedicated, very healthy save for that endless drunk and it's more like him to stop then it was to start, frankly. It's not a sustainable existence as we learn over and over again.

I didn't know he stopped cold. He just didn't say or do anything except revert back to being Mr. Intensity, as I said and I thought I had done something wrong. Why do I take the blame for his moods? Years and years of conditioning, grooming to want to please him, that's why.

Ben made the observation before the rest of us saw a thing. Ben's good at this. Ben's taken Caleb out for brunch this morning so they can talk. Would I ever love to be a fly on the wall today. I don't think Ben is in a position to sponsor Caleb of all people but we have to do something to help Caleb as that's what you do when someone asks for it.

Even when they're being a jerk to you.

Blackened fingerprints and Valentine's Day.

A little peptalk from Lochlan and Benjamin and Caleb already made his apologies and joined us for the service this morning so Sam could paint ashes on our foreheads, a reminder that we need to live our lives the best way we know how. We get one chance, use it well and wisely. I rolled my eyes a little in the line as Sam drew a filthy cross on my face, sticking my tongue out at him. He wiped his fingers on it as payback, leaving me coughing and sputtering and licking the arm of Lochlan's peacoat to get the taste out of my mouth for the remainder of the service.

Can't take me anywhere except right to the brink of death and then and only then am I more alive than I've ever been.

Caleb accepted his ashes with a stern look from Sam and was appropriately serious, this time actually repentant, heavy. Jealousy cancels out every ounce of common sense he has. It's always been this way for the two brothers only Caleb is the only one left to carry out this legacy of misery as Cole checked out so spectacularly already.

Sam attempts not to let his amusement distract the congregation from this very major Wednesday service. The room isn't even half-full but he's in his season here and we need to let him bloom. And bloom he has, weirdly pleased, surprised and curious to see Caleb sitting on the other side of Ben. The story they told is that Ben saved Caleb from going over the railing in a fit of desperation but what that means is that as usual, Lochlan did all the talking while Ben held Caleb over that rail threatening to let go.

Because he (Caleb) won't let go.

And I'm fine with that because the brain damage was actually in place a long time ago and I wasn't worried. Love through violence, decades of conditioning, threats and promises and he's done more hurt than any lack of oxygen would ever create. He's done all of this and instead of figuring out how to help me live with it he barges in with his own issues. He wanted to run the world. Lochlan isn't about to let him. In his listening moments he understands the arrangement we made to keep the peace; on days such as yesterday he can't remember shit and runs on fear and feelings.

We're more alike than most people realize, I guess.

But I don't want to live with those threats. I can live with him physically getting out of hand when he's riled up but if he comes to me wearing the vestiges of his former self I can't deal with it. I'm afraid I might blink and when I open my eyes Cole will be behind him. Or be there instead of him. As if Caleb can't be frightening enough on his own.

Instead today I'm surrounded by love. It's Valentine's Day and Lochlan is determined to celebrate love and I'll be right there with him. Ben celebrates love every day, somehow aware of how fleeting life is in a way only I can understand, and I love him for that too. I just can't seem to get any kisses now, as they all saw Sam wipe his fingers on my tongue.

Pancakes and death.

Bury me in this cold light

That line reminds me of Cole. So does this man, shifting from a fury in which he pushed my head underwater yesterday to this repentant, grief-filled and rueful man, average in every way except for any of them, thanks to his good looks and greater fortune which give him a pass far too often, honestly.

When your killer becomes your savior before your very eyes there isn't much left that you're going to trust throughout the run of that day, is there?

Give me up for Lent and I'll make sure I finish the job, Neamhchiontach.

I look at his medium blues. I know you won't.

I can ensure enough brain damage that they wouldn't want you anymore and then you'd wish I had.

Oh. You're back. I was wondering where you went. 

Ruefulness is not Caleb's strong suit, nor does he ever play the sympathy card long enough for me to feel it at all.

Don't deny me, he sang (It's getting better, baby).

The Devil's greatest trick actually wasn't convincing the world he didn't exist.

I remember the smell of your skin
I remember everything
I remember all your moves
I remember you
I remember the nights, you know I still do

So if you're feeling lonely—don't
You're the only one I ever want
I only want to make it good
So if I love you a little more than I should

It's in the way he uses Lochlan's habits (she can be soothed with music) and tries to pass them off as his. Tries to blur the edges. Tries to bend my brain into shapes that hurt now, shapes it no longer bends into.

I put my arms up around my head to protect it, sinking to my knees into the wet sand. It's cold. So cold. My skin pulls in his direction and my heart throws itself into the sea. Blackness, death is better than this feeling but this feeling is exactly what he wants.

I'm not giving it to him.

Not today.

Bridget-

His voice draws me closer still. His hand outstretched, waiting to bring me to him. Waiting to lift me up. Waiting to take credit for saving me or maybe for destroying me. His mouth is turned up, a beautiful, devastating line setting the tone for his face.

Come, now. 

I shake my head and keel forward until I taste grit and salt. I turn my head so my cheek rests against the sand. I make myself into a ball. Maybe I can roll underneath the tide, never to be seen again. Dramatic sure but escape is escape and you don't know this man like I do.

And now he's put Bryan Adams in my head and I can't get him out. So the whole mess is set to a host of beautiful ballads from my formative years in which they raised me only to tear me down, putting the pieces into their pockets, only to spend the rest of their lives fighting over an equal share.

Help me, I ask Jake but his reflection breaks in the surf.

Bryan will help me, if only he'd put down his microphone.

Shouts from beyond my hearing tell me if I wait, if I stay put, everything will be fine.

But in the meantime.

Here it comes.

A wave of cold threats, a promise of death crashes over my head, pulling my knees out from my chest, rolling me into the Pacific only to find she doesn't like the taste and so she spits me back out.

Jesus. Help me, I order Cole, who never helped me a day in his life and isn't about to start. His reflection fades into Caleb's and I scream.

Are you finished? His face is an inch from my own. He isn't an apparition. Too bad.

I wish, I tell him and close my eyes as another wave crashes over us both.

North.

I was about to write but SCORE! Women's hockey just opened up the game against the Russians with their first goal and I can't focus on words because I am glued to the Olympics.

I mean, who wouldn't be? Canada is eating everyone for breakfast and stealing their hearts besides. I always forget the sort of reverence the world seems to have for us out in the wild as I rarely leave the country these days save for quick trips down the coast to Malibu or Tahoe or to New York.

Wow, that sounded precious, didn't it?

Sorry.

I'm actually home sick today so Ben volunteered to shepherd me through the morning instead of God. Sam feels bad because he made me sick with his kisses, clearly. He doesn't kiss anyone else. They're all fine so I can blame him with confidence.

So hockey is on the big screen and Lochlan is making breakfast. He'll insist that I finish my juice even though I hate apple juice and love orange juice but I think we're out because there wasn't any yesterday, unless someone ran out to pick some things up but groceries are my job so probably not.

AHHHHH. We just scored AGAIN! 2-0!

Maybe I will dispatch a list or pop out later during my high point. Or maybe not. The figure skating starts again after lunch and we've had it streaming nonstop. Everyone has dropped what they're doing to watch and we've been blown away. I'm looking forward to the Bobsleigh too and will catch up on snowboarding and freestyle skiing in between. I've got my Olympic mittens on and everything. This is amazing.

Update: HA. Ben knows me well. Canada won in a shutout. 5-0! Which he already knew, as it was the replay of the game played earlier (overnight here, technically) and not live, as he said it was when he turned it on but he also knew I wouldn't stay home even though I was too sick to go to church unless I had a really good distraction. Hockey's always going to be a first pick for me, and I'm glad he didn't spoil the game. He counters that it's as much entertainment for him watching me yell hoarsely at the screen as playing so he got something out of it too.

Also there is Orange Juice. Sam said Jesus loves me. Yes he does.

Asking for so little.

When I woke up this morning Lochlan was tracing flames across his fingertips, his pyrokinetic soul awake just before his physical form. Flat on his back, arms up, he plays with fire the way the most of us will unconsciously trace patterns onto any frosted window we encounter. With flair.

He turns his head. You're awake.

I nod. So sleepy. Yeah. What time is it?

Nine. Sorry if I woke you.

You didn't. 

Last night he called me heaven in his hands, a rare openness that he doesn't show in case I think he's not going to be parental and judgemental and hard on me. He's not worried about spoiling me to cause favoritism, he's just the way he always is until he drops his guard and simply can't pick it up fast enough to keep himself from saying those things that he usually doesn't say. He's affectionate to beyond usual human levels but he's never generous with his words unless he's drunk or caught thoroughly by surprise, and he wasn't drunk last night.

Good, he says. He rubs his hands together and then rolls to his side to pull me in close. Morning breath and wild hair is all the rage these days, and we never have worried much about either. What do you want to do today?

Watch the skating on TV. Maybe get a pizza.

Sounds like heaven. 

That's the second time you've used that word in a single day, Loch.

Because that's what life is these days and I wouldn't trade it for anything. There's only one thing I want still that I haven't really gotten. 

For me to stay put?

Yeah. For you to stay put. He grins and licks my nose. 

I would post but I died of exposure.

Time to go, Bridge, has become the battle cry. Said softly at first and then later on with gusto and even glee as they threw their energy behind it, a healthy way to teach me to temper my reactions to separations with lots of them, announced at regular intervals to the point where instead of crying I either cling with all my might or worse, I simply won't believe you.

Because Rome wasn't built in a day and we all know by now it takes decades (or longer) to fix a Bridget once you break her, and she'll never work quite as well as before, just so it's very clear.

Ben tried to go to a meeting and I climbed all over him to get him to stay. Sam announced our talk was finished and I wanted to lock the library door, and keep him my prisoner. Lochlan had to go chat with Batman for a minute but I wouldn't let go of him. My feet were off the ground and he finally handed me off to PJ bodily with a plea to find August because this isn't working. 

Boy, it sure isn't. If they know anything about me they know that repeated prolonged manifestations of something I can't manage only serves to pound me deeper into the ground and then I'm buried and then I'm basically dead anyway so I tend to retreat to the ghosts altogether. Then it's an even bigger mess than before.

What would have worked? What I requested. Tell me when we'll be back together again. All Schuyler had to say is See you at dinner. All Lochlan has to say is Be home at three or so. All Caleb has to say is Of course you can go home.

(Wait, that last one is a different thing altogether and no, he's not working on it.)

I want promises that you're not gone. That you'll be back. That you won't leave me here alone. That you're still alive.

It's not a healthy way to cope with fear, Bridget. I'm staring in the mirror clinging to myself here. I don't want to hear that from August.

Maybe it is. Depends on who you ask. 

People who are trained to manage and support getting you better. Like me.

Then they and you don't know me at all. 

Maybe we know you better than you think. 

But as I look at the deep black pockets under my eyes that hold the ocean of tears I've cried before they breach and spill into my world, drowning me and everyone around me, I feel like I'm fairly certain they don't.