(Edit: I did indeed mention the night with Dalton SIX fucking months ago. There hasn't been another one since. Leave me alone.)
Today I can't breathe for the petrichor, the oppressive humidity, the mood of his house. Caleb sleeps uneasily, restlessly around me while I listen to music on my headphones and study his face.
It's the face I see in nightmares. Eighty percent Cole and the other twenty something else. Kindness tinged with sadism. Vulnerability tainted with absolute power. Age blended with an unwelcome, new immortality. I would have been fine had he been the one to go, oddly but of course he didn't.
(I would have been fine had he left that night at the camper when I was ten years old instead of coming inside behind me and locking the door.)
(I would have been fine.)
The music is old Switchfoot in my ears. Beautiful heartfelt Jesus-rock, soft and honest, open and worn inside out. The way Jacob preached. The way I like it. It's just there. It (and I) don't try to convince people. I don't attempt to sway them. I just do my own thing and I don't fear or fret their judgement. God's the only judge anyway, by my reckoning.
The music is too loud and I don't hear him, zoning out briefly on a staggering bridge and snapping back when he squeezes that same elbow his brother bent the wrong way when he realized Jacob took his family. I don't think I did much right in my life but I'll never ever regret leaving Cole for Jake. Even though it resulted in not one but two bottomless absences. I wouldn't do it differently. Today, anyway.
Neamhchiontach. Cole's eyes but not the same blue and my heart thumps. Flight. I choose flight. Wait. No, I can't do that. Jacob did that and he never came back.
What are you listening to?
Learning to breathe.
Is it working? Is that a self-help podcast?
No. I refuse to engage past what I need.
Bridget, talk to me.
I turn away without throwing him the bone of a word he so desperately wants.
Please, Neamhchiontach.
You can't control everything all the time. Not even me anymore.
While you're learning to breathe, I'm learning that lesson about control every moment.
You're not learning it fast enough. Some days I still hate you.
Today I can't breathe for the petrichor, the oppressive humidity, the mood of his house. Caleb sleeps uneasily, restlessly around me while I listen to music on my headphones and study his face.
It's the face I see in nightmares. Eighty percent Cole and the other twenty something else. Kindness tinged with sadism. Vulnerability tainted with absolute power. Age blended with an unwelcome, new immortality. I would have been fine had he been the one to go, oddly but of course he didn't.
(I would have been fine had he left that night at the camper when I was ten years old instead of coming inside behind me and locking the door.)
(I would have been fine.)
The music is old Switchfoot in my ears. Beautiful heartfelt Jesus-rock, soft and honest, open and worn inside out. The way Jacob preached. The way I like it. It's just there. It (and I) don't try to convince people. I don't attempt to sway them. I just do my own thing and I don't fear or fret their judgement. God's the only judge anyway, by my reckoning.
The music is too loud and I don't hear him, zoning out briefly on a staggering bridge and snapping back when he squeezes that same elbow his brother bent the wrong way when he realized Jacob took his family. I don't think I did much right in my life but I'll never ever regret leaving Cole for Jake. Even though it resulted in not one but two bottomless absences. I wouldn't do it differently. Today, anyway.
Neamhchiontach. Cole's eyes but not the same blue and my heart thumps. Flight. I choose flight. Wait. No, I can't do that. Jacob did that and he never came back.
What are you listening to?
Learning to breathe.
Is it working? Is that a self-help podcast?
No. I refuse to engage past what I need.
Bridget, talk to me.
I turn away without throwing him the bone of a word he so desperately wants.
Please, Neamhchiontach.
You can't control everything all the time. Not even me anymore.
While you're learning to breathe, I'm learning that lesson about control every moment.
You're not learning it fast enough. Some days I still hate you.