Henry's hair is getting long. So much so that I used a half a can of hairspray this morning on him because he wanted a fauxhawk for school and his hair is heavy and reluctant and I don't keep gel in the house. I don't use it (okay, Ben would eat it if it was just sitting around). I'm certain Henry's hair will be flat again by the first bell because in a few minutes he has to put his winter hat on to go to school.
Tonight it will take several washes to get all of that out, so I'm guessing today is going to be all about make-work projects and about compulsively checking my phone in between rings to see if it is on. Does that make sense? Yes, I know. It will ring and be Duncan or Mark or Dylan on the other end and then if ten minutes goes by after I hang up I'll check status again. Do I have capital EDGE? Okay, good. Okay, no, that's bad, Bridget. Because I haven't talked to Ben this week. He moved on Saturday and that was when I spoke to him last. This place doesn't allow for cellphones. They do have nightly phone times available but he hasn't called. The last thing he said was Go away.
Maybe this journal has become about rejection. Rejecting reality, rejecting life. Rejecting Bridget. Maybe Bridget is the one who is the problem and make rejection is teaching me more about time and space and control and choices better than death, better than religion, or better than that pearl-blue western sky. Maybe I'm going about it all wrong. Maybe the clear and present temptation does nothing but allow me to fail time and time again, while time fails me.
Or just maybe I'm doing fine, and this is life and I've simply run out of luck, which is something I think I said I did in 2006 but no one listened back then because they thought I was ungrateful. I wasn't ungrateful, I was predicting the future. A future with an empty place at the dinner table where my heart is supposed to sit and an empty can of hairspray from trying to pretend everything is completely normal.
Who was I kidding, anyway?
This isn't to say I don't have hope. I don't know exactly how I feel. Maybe he'll never change and maybe he thinks I never will. I just know that I am here bookended by some of the most together, stable, handsome and caring men on the planet and all I can think about is that messed-up, unstable, handsome and completely-self-centered one who isn't here.
Maybe he feels the same way. That's my hope, anyway. And I might not be the only one with hope seeping in around the cracks, since the past couple of days, all the boys have been showing up with black-painted fingernails, a small and quiet show of support for Benjamin, who has no idea how much he is missed by everyone.
They look completely ridiculous and I love it.
I tried to save you but
I can't find the answer
I'm holding on to you
I'll never let go