My hand and wrist hurt like the dickens and are useless and my skin is molting. Apparently this is normal but it looks and feels almost worse. The doctor was so very proud that I didn't saw it off over the summer or charm someone else to.
I must be losing my powers, along with my mind.
Ended up buying a huge teak bench yesterday after finding a forty percent off sale and out-talking a fast-talking owner of a little import furniture shop who was anxious to make money but also aware that if he prices things too high his inventory is going to sit.
We both came out really happy with the transaction and the house looks more West Coast and less cobbled-together prairie farmhouse every day. I'm going for a fusion of the two. I don't really actually care but am going into fall looking at shit I hate and changing it. This was for the front hallway, which has somehow had a radical makeover without actually making many changes at all. Works for me. Not like I spend any time in that room, it's just a place where I drop my keys in the wooden bowl and then kick my shoes off and leave my bag on a hook with my favourite scarf or wrap. That's it. Sometimes I need to go put shoes away or mop the floor or collect half a dozen hoodies left on hooks. But it's the first thing I see when I come inside if I use the main doors (which I never do, I come in the side door and up three steps into the back side of the kitchen, from a long hallway with a bathroom and the butler's pantry. So I want it to be homey. Case in point, the back hallway is painted a beautiful shade of burnt orange because it just needed to be warmer. I don't know but it works and it works very well. The whole area down there is natural wood trim with lots of light from very tall windows and yet it's shaded by the huge trees around the edges of the driveway.
I don't know, I like the bench, is all. And fall makes me think of reinvention in a way spring never has. Maybe if I put up new curtains this fall will be different. Maybe if this room is a different colour shit will hurt so much less. Maybe I'm coming down from these pills and feeling too much again and decorating is just a strawman topic for today.
My phone doesn't want to charge overnight anymore and I keep waking up to it on 43%. Huh. Two nights in a row. I've done some things and changed some things (and some cords) and we'll see what happens tonight.
In any case, it's a sunny Saturday and they let up a little to see what happens with me too, as I am only charging to around fifty percent and my software, well, it's fucked. I am by the pool writing, since I can't watch videos on my phone. I'm shopping on Shein, which is somewhat hilarious but it's addictive to scroll through seven hundred thousand dresses, even if they're not Valentino, which is all Caleb wants me to look at if I'm shopping. I've never chosen one proper. He picks them. He'd be horrified to know I have an account on this website but I already got a dog travel basket for the truck and a pair of gingham shorts that were a little big but very cute and breathable for the heat so a win on both counts. I think I spent twenty-five bucks.
I don't feel like swimming this morning and prefer to watch Lochlan and Dalton do backflips off the diving board, something they're not allowed to do technically but Henry-with-the-fresh-haircut (and beard trim!) is still sleeping upstairs in his room in the main house and Ruth moved out a while ago but comes over on her days off to swim and hang out and raid the pantry and see all of us, especially her little brother. They're so close, I worry for him but he seems happy and he goes with anyone and everyone who heads out to visit her. She and her fiance have a lovely huge bright apartment in town and they're so happy. It's weird but I'm getting used to it, save for a few stunning moments here or there where I feel like I can't catch my breath. I guess this is normal but it feels so strange.
It's been a pretty quiet week overall. I got sucked so hard into A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara that you might never see me again. I'm in love with the characters and it's brilliantly written so far, and I'm only fifty pages in. All of the boys read it and cried and grew closer than ever before and now I need to see this magic for myself.
So off to read and laze around and hopefully someone's ordering a pizza for supper.
For day three of the burn we retracted the whole roof of the pool enclosure in order to swim in the rain, like the old days, temperature of the water jacked to almost-bathtub appeal and every time I stop treading I fall asleep so I only lasted fifteen minutes or so. That was very early this morning.
I want to take Henry for his haircut this afternoon. He can drive. I don't even technically have to go.
I'm eating my tomatoes as fast as they ripen. Once they're orangeish I bring them in to finish to a full red on a bright windowsill somewhere. And then I just eat them. That's how good they are. The apples from our apple tree were crisp and sweet, the grapes from the vineyard are perfect and taste like Welch grape jelly. The potatoes are buttery-fresh and delicious and the pumpkins and sunflowers are HUGE. The only thing lagging now are the cucumbers which are almost dill-pickle sized and so good enough for me. I was actually worried and considered not planting any due to the fear of having to make a huge batch of pickles again this year when we don't go through all that many and I gave away so much I can't expect people to take more.
So yeah. This is manageable.
Lunch is dumpling soup from the korean place I love. If I'm awake. If not mine will get eaten. They always say they will save it for me. Then conveniently there wasn't enough.
Apparently from across the room, with music playing Hold her for a while becomes Haloperidol.
Who knew? I thought August was answering an earlier question, since I can't fucking stay awake to listen for a response anyway, he was trying to keep Lochlan in the room, as Lochlan HATES this and disappears, leaving everyone else to deal while he heads off somewhere to drink his fears away. Or maybe ponder where else he can run off to, where I might not follow, as I haven't failed to follow him yet and maybe he just wants to get away.
This city's cold and empty No one's around to judge me-
Still wondering what The Weeknd did to cash all his chips in on one old flame. What was he so ashamed of save for coming back after leaving, probably. The music industry is built on broken hearts. I should know. Speaking of which, the theory goes that I literally threw myself off a psychological cliff after watching Ben go over the side. In support. In defense. Who knows? It's happening and eventually I guess it will stop but it's an extreme stress reaction to what he's going through.
(As ever. I will side with Ben until the day I die. He's the best friend I ever had. Sorry to everyone else but you know this and you can drug me to hell and back but some things just happen.)
So I still don't have an answer from August but gosh the DREAMS. EPIC.
What are the side effects?
They've given me Haloperidol or something. It's not Ativan. I keep falling asleep and falling off a cliff in my dreams, jerking awake. Like every fifteen minutes. If that's not a side effect then I think I need something better because this sucks.
Erectile dysfunction.
Caleb's eyebrows go up and he stifles a laugh. Anything else?
Sudden death.
This sounds like a poor choice.
They do what they think is right. This is a team that Everett handpicked to try and work with my own doctor and the Russian doctors too. Since I won't leave. Asher is a hawk. When I sneezed he all but leapt out of his chair, colliding with Lochlan, who was up as I opened my eyes. He'll beat anyone at attentiveness but he's so tired he willingly gave me over to Caleb and Asher is all but a footnote in the day now as Caleb has been leaving messages for people in the know all over the world to try and see if there isn't something better/different/more expensive we can try.
Best burn ever, I point out and he smiles, medium-blues concerned but full of warmth for me. He was afraid I would leave so I didn't. Any other moment I would have run for the hills to spite him.
But not today, Satan.
Literally.
Ha.
No one's around to judge me
It's six in the morning and I have my pink poncho and jeans on but bare feet. Twelve degrees and the heater won't come on in the gazebo but I have a hot cup of really good coffee and my ipad and I'm trying to work out the piano for Blinding Lights so it sounds legit but Garage Band keeps freezing along with my fingers. I can sing but the piano is off and I want to get it sorted without cheating by looking for the music online.
Still sounds like a typical bedroom-teen girl cover though. I can't bring soul to this. Not sure I have it anymore anyway because in that moment where I thought they were going to let me go I threw it overhand to Caleb and he caught it and changed his mind when I blinded him with it. When he looked deep inside and saw that I can't go, can't be away, maybe that I am drowning in the night and I trust him for sure. Maybe the Weeknd was right.
Except this is an acoustic cover and I'm using a loose arrangement I found on Youtube. Ben had a better one but he's gone.
I see August coming across the wet grass. He has his own coffee and he's got shoes on. Guess he went to my house with his better coffee and I wasn't there because I'm here. Hope he knows the Devil is watching from his desk two floors above us, behind the glass of the Riker frame I put him in, a perfect specimen I'd like to preserve. He keeps escaping and I keep pinning him back until he realizes his place.
Lochlan is sitting in the kitchen and the patio doors are all wide open, shuttered into the pocket so the whole house is outside now, letting in the frigid air. Reminding us fall is right around the corner and soon my ghosts will be in season perfectly. Regular dead guys, now with spooky touches for the holiday, maybe with dry-ice smoke and sound effects. I don't know what would make them spookier than they are to the living. Maybe they'll surprise me more often, or something. Maybe they'll be more obvious to the boys. I don't know. Nothing surprises me anymore.
We can try medication. There have been advances-
The ghosts wait for that too. They're there but it's the goggles-effect.
What do you want us to do, Bridge?
Come listen to music with me, and forget about all of our problems for a while.
We made a promise, Bridget.
Then keep it and sit with me for a bit. This song is perfect.
(Everyone's talking at the same time here so I didn't bother trying to distinguish.)
I showed up at the meeting ready to call everyone out and they showed up with a casual intervention for me, the little girl dragging her ghosts like helium balloons down the dark path in the woods. Lost, crying, so far behind the boys because the rocks are hard to walk on in too-big, hand-me-down sandals. I couldn't keep up. The ghosts bump against the dark, bob against and underneath the lower branches, giving off a pale glow in the dim moonlight. It's a dime-moon, Lochlan said. I wished it was a penny-moon and then it would be round and full and warm. This is blue. So blue.
I got ambushed.
How about you come too? A two-for-one. You would not be treated together, of course-
I'm not an addict-
Bridget, we've discussed this at length, and furthermore we don't just treat addictions. You know this.
Can I bring them? I gesture to my balloons.
No.
Then forget it.
Bridget- Caleb looks like he might die of fright. What an exquisite expression on his beautiful face.
What, so I pack the ghosts away and head off, talk to people, agree with everything and I come back and the ghosts leak out and go right back to following me around? I'll keep my money and just stay here so they don't get mad at me for wasting all that time.
Oh my God. Lochlan buries his face in his hands.
How long has it been, Lochlan?
Lochlan stares at Everett. What are you talking about? She doesn't do this with me.
She does it with everyone. You're just not paying attention.
Ben laughs right off. Didn't even hesitate. I nod. Ben knows. Pretty sure I went first and then he threw himself off the edge after me. He's my evil twin. He's the good one. He's the only who actually gets it sometimes.
Bridget-
What? It's fine. I'm just tired. I'm just worried about Ben.
It's not going to work this time, Honey. Oh, August has woken up and is Designated Bad Guy.
What isn't?
Your daydreams. The denials. Sorry, Baby.
So what happens now?
You come home when you're strong enough.
No, I need to get my cast off in a couple weeks. Lochlan and Ruthie have birthdays and-
All of that can wait until you're home.
You think this is magically going to work.
We have to try.
It won't. I hold my chin up. Defiant. Eyes brimming but I'm not going to cry. Too angry.
It's only a month or so.
I can escape.
Actually you can't-
Can I have visitors?
At the halfway point, yes. You remember that, Bridget.
Yes.
So you're okay with this-
Nope. And just so we're all being honest, I'll be bringing them with me.
The boys?
The ghosts.
Keep her here. We'll think of something else. Caleb, oddly. First to crack.
There isn't anything else. Lochlan. My logical song.
If she's this unwilling it won't work. Remember Joel. Schuyler remembers.
Lochlan thinks for a minute. Without breaking his gaze on me. He finally starts nodding, faster and faster and then he looks at Caleb.
Yeah. No, she stays for now. I need to think.
Ben is the connection, Everett reminds them, I'm not sure if she won't end up on a waitlist if she doesn't go with us.
It's fine. Caleb has already dismissed him. Just focus on Ben.
Oddly, to my right, Asher lets out a sigh of relief. I see Duncan's shoulders drop and even August loosens up a bit. PJ won't meet anyone's eyes and Lochlan trembles. It's barely there but there. I can see it in his fingers and his chin.
Okay. Then I will deliver Ben safely back into your collective arms before Thanksgiving. Everett nods and heads out, leaving us to reel and draw back, flourish and crank.
She's not doing well enough, Loch. August says quietly. It's like I'm not even here.
I know. Lochlan says. Like I said, let me think.
Just as a fun aside, I never quite forget that rehabilitation is a business, as Everett is back, this time for Ben, having boarded a jet yesterday late morning, because the amount of money it costs means his personal plans can be easily changed so he packed and showed up and he's calm and relaxed, the exact sort of corporate mindfulness the company portrays as it makes you every promise you ask for. Without hesitation.
Personally I think for the amount of money that has been spent on getting Ben clean and keeping him that way there should be a lifetime guarantee of his squeaky-soapiness but instead I just write another cheque and off he goes.
Not that I'm complaining about the money-part. It's not my money, and I would spend every last dime for that guarantee but no one will give it to me.
Everett will spend the weekend here getting Ben organized, packed and stabilized for their flight south back to the land of five-star accommodations, nature walks and painting. Ben will gain forty pounds and remember where his place was in my fairy tale since it appears he has forgotten.
Don't worry. This is normal, they say.
There's nothing normal about this fairy tale but it's mine.
When do I get him back?
Everett smiles. This is the difference between this home and most. Most say don't come back until things are different. You set a time limit and want him back no matter if he's ready or not.
Why wouldn't he be ready to come home?
Why would he use again when he's been clean so long, Bridge? Fear. Uncertainty. It shows us where to focus this time, and maybe since Ben's brain injury it's a good time to reevaluate everything in a new light.
I nod. What else am I going to say?
Let's talk about you for a moment.
As I turn I sweep the ghosts into my shadow so Everett can't see them. Of course.
How are you doing?
Great. Never better. Just worried about Ben, that's all. My white knuckles behind my back are being squeezed so hard by Jacob I almost cry out but I manage a glassy, controlled smile to show I've got this.
(When in reality Ben and I are a team. One falls, the other falls off a cliff to help.)
Bridget, I think we should talk tonight at the meeting. Everett has agreed to attend the meeting to help steer the inevitable accusations. The blame, doubt and the weird helplessness that ends in fists and shouts. Tonight will be no different, I'm sure.
We are packing for Ben. Turns out a whole host of the boys knew he starting taking the painkillers or whatever he's on now in high doses again (the ones he said weren't necessary) and probably wasn't taking them for pain but for frustration and boredom because that's what an addict does.
They lie. (And they get people to lie for them and that's the part I'm fighting with now.)
Thanks to connections he's got a spot right away and in spite of my own and Lochlan's reluctance to be without him if he's going to go that route, setting himself back months in progress, not asking for help when he needs it and in general being too fucked up at that point to point how fucked up he was then he can go and be away.
I am really really angry. He THEY let me be scared for weeks. When we protect him from the world the reassurance from his endless doubt is what he craves and so why would he bring an end to that when it's so touching? Why would he let Daniel worry himself into migraines and sleepless nights? Why the FUCK would he want to go overseas to some stupid facility knowing his problem was as easy as showing us the wheel marks on the back of his fucking shirt?
This is the only part of Ben's addiction I can't reconcile. And I've talked to Sam, August and Schuyler, all well-versed in counselling and in being addicts. I called NOLAN. I am so fucking sad right now along with not having slept for almost thirty fucking hours which FUCKKKKKKKK.
But also relieved because Ben's broken brain is only so fixable, to a point. This is completely fixable and we keep dropping the goddamned ball.
Also there will be a family meeting tonight. Heads are going to roll. I know how charming he is but they have no excuse for not sounding the alarm.
That's why we're all fucking HERE, is it not?
You stay. And he stays too. Have them come to us. Lochlan is doing his thing where he makes the decisions for me. I'm already mentally packing, wondering what the weather will be like in Lucerne mid-autumn. Wonder if they get spooky for Halloween.
It's not Lucerne- I can almost hear Caleb's voice in my...oh, he's reading my thoughts again.
(Fuck off, Diabhal.)
Goodnight, Neamhchiontach.
That will cost four times as much, I point out to Lochlan, who loves a tight fiscal ship.
Darn. His mouth curls up on one side. Summon two groups, make it eight times.
You're awful.
I need you both here, not stuck on the other side of the world during this bullshit.
What if they can't come right away? What if he slides away worse? I am panicking now. We're not experts. This is bigger than we are. We are out of our own league here. We have been reduced to weeks now, instead of months. Ben is regressing so quickly now. He says he's just tired.
They will. Money talks, Peanut. He gives me that reassuring wink that is all teenage-boy bravado and ignorance, probably.
I'll find out.
That's my girl. Now let's get some sleep. Ben, do you want a hot bath before bed?
Yeah. That would be good.
I'll run it. Lochlan head to the bathroom and I hear the water begin to run to fill the giant tub.
Can I join? I look to Ben.
I would hope so. Ben smiles and he looks like old-Benjamin, briefly.
We'll fix things. I promise, Benny.
He nods. I know, he says, like a child suddenly. All the trust in the world. It's a familiar feeling to parent him, to take care of him because when he needs us, it's completely.
Together we can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time (all of the time)
I don't know what to do
I'm always in the dark
Living in a powder keg and giving off sparks
I really need you tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
Caleb is on the phone trying to decide whether he should take Ben to Turkey or Switzerland for a better rehab program than the Canadian one we have/had. Canadian health care is good but also famous for doing the minimum and you have to be really proactive or you can die.
That is not hyperbole. I wish it was and everyone has been great but it's not enough and so Caleb is spending cash like water to fix it.
He wants to help, bless him. Always trying to undo the permanent, life-changing shit he causes because he thinks money will fill in the gap or maybe if you make a mash with shredded bills and water, you can just paper over the cracks and no one will know we're all falling apart from the inside out and the outside in.
Ben asked me what I thought and I told him very honestly he should sue Caleb for loss of quality of life and future income and just about everything else, that he can stick it to him now if he wants and I'll back up the character requirements and maybe sue him myself and they'll probably reinstate the death penalty in this country because if anyone ever deserved less of a...what? tenth? chance here, it would be the Devil.
What will you get from that? He already gave you money.
Satisfaction. Penalty. Imagine spending your way out of your catastrophic mistakes that you made with intent. Besides, the money isn't enough to cover what he's done.
Ben laughed, inappropriately so, after a minute and asked if I thought Switzerland was a good idea. It's maybe only for a month or two and it's supposed to be good. They have therapies that retrain you from the ground up to move and think and do everything you could do before, and Ben would like that very much. Ben is shatteringly self-doubtful and this whole stupid mess a year ago today (hard to believe) just made everything worse.
He got really low and started talking about not being here anymore and that's when I lost my shit all over him. It's Thursday now and things are still raw and his skin and ears will never grow back because I ripped them off and ate them, swallowing them whole so he would see how stupid that sounds and that's when we realized the emotional part was so bad we need outside help, and that's saying a lot because some of that help lives here and it's not enough. For someone who was so angry at Jake for checking out it caused an incredible amount of fresh pain and I'm still terrified.
When do we leave? I smile at Ben. I'm going wherever he goes.
You're staying.
Hell I am.
His face breaks into a smile. My keeper Bee. Beeper. Key.
Ha. Nice. I have a huge skeleton key tattooed on one leg and a bee on the other side. He points to them as he says it. A gentle little portmanteau.
Caleb hangs up but we've already forgotten our monster is even in the room. Ben is smiling at me and I'm smiling back. Besides, he just showed me this morning how to get a super husky, whiskey-voice so I can sing Bonnie Tyler better than I do and we were having so much fun before he started sliding back off the edge of the precipice before I could grab him properly and now we're hanging by a thread and I'm screaming for help to save him and he's holding his fucking hand over my mouth again and it's not the right time for that.
Looks like Switzerland is a go. I've got tickets booked and we'll watch the state of things between now and then. Worst case is I bring them to you but hopefully we'll head there in early October. As soon as they have space for you.
I'm going- I pipe up.
No, you're not, Neamhchiontach-
Oh, yes I am. I'll look after Ben now. You're really done enough. Just get out of my way for once but leave your card so I can do whatever Ben needs.
I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for meI see no volunteers
To co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line
Ben's doing great. He doesn't want me to write a lot and so I don't/haven't but I have permission to today. The part about needing a cane has been a long time coming. He had one after the hospital but then was able to do away with it (or so we thought) through last fall to spring but this summer has shown us that he truly needs it with him for day-to-day use.
His body is super strong. Healthier than he has ever been, physically. He is clean, he can sleep through the night now and he exercises regularly to keep himself motivated or maybe to prove he is still where he wants to be.
Emotionally he isn't there, though and maybe that's the part he doesn't really like me talking about.
His brain also isn't getting the signals his body requires. Mentally he isn't strong. He remains easily frustrated, often confused, the words take forever and he's having a rough time coordinating his mind and body to work together. He's way too rough with me, way too gentle with things like closing the fridge or the truck doors, and he can't articulate what he's trying to get across without a mountain of patience from himself and whoever's listening which is not something we have, especially if it's important, timely or dangerous. If it's something funny he begins laughing so late sometimes some of us have forgotten the joke and already moved on.
He is struggling.
A lot.
His cutting wit and razor tongue have been replaced with a goofy chuckle and a soft smile. He won't roast you anymore but he'll invite you to come and sit with him and talk. It's like trading an attack doberman for a family golden retriever. He is different.
Everyone is struggling with it but honestly I love him like this. And maybe that's selfish but he finally has time for me. He finally is kind from the beginning instead of always starting off with the defence mechanism of an insult or a slam that is just harsh enough to make you briefly wonder if he even likes you before you see that you're his best friend after all, a position you'd be suddenly grateful for. You always had to brace and hold with Ben. He was honest but he would also call out your darkest flaws for all to see. Sam always said it was the program and that Ben was encouraging you to take your own inventory, never quite making the step of taking it for you.
He thinks I am pretending and that he isn't what I signed up for and it's taken all my energy every day to teach him otherwise but he is coming around, albeit slowly. Lochlan, too, has had to tell him to knock it the fuck off, that we aren't here playing any sympathy cards, that he is a part of us, because you can't spell us without three. I laughed right away. Ben laughed four minutes later but it warmed my heart so much if you rest your hand against my chest you can feel it radiating right through my skin.
That's what it feels like. I don't have to worry about being cool enough or quick enough, he is just there and happy to see me. Now his sudden declarations are things like I like watermelon (an hour after we eat it) and you're pretty (said to Duncan, not me) and it's incredible sweet.
But don't tell him I told you. He would hate it if you thought he was sweet.
I'm playing the new Need To Breathe album for Ben. Watching him absorb the music as it plays softly through the patio speakers. He's in his black track pants and an old and faded Dimmu Borgir tee that he's owned at least twenty years if not longer. He needs a haircut and a shave. He needs someone to steady his cup as he raises his coffee to sip in between stanza changes in the songs.
He's going to need a cane, for balance, soon. Now, probably but emotionally this isn't happening and so we've switched to not leaving him alone much and so de facto we become each other's watchers. I can keep him upright, he can keep me in reality.
He's always been so good at that with his incredibly global warped perspective that never lends itself to pedestrian, small shit. I know he won't resist for long. I know I'll make Caleb pay for this too. I know we're all getting old and we all have a host of strange new physical things.
He holds his cup out to the table but he's still four inches away and I reach forward and take it, setting it on the glass coaster. He won't meet my eyes when I do this.
Awfully nice to be able to look after someone else for once.
Don't, Bridge.
The cup is not the important thing here. The important thing is that you're still here and that's all I care about.
He said much the same thing to me except cup was arm when he cared for me after Trey dislocated my elbow so far the wrong way it was hanging by a muscle. Ben was just happy Trey didn't kill me in his rage.
God. It's been over fifteen years since we walked down the back lane between the weathered grey fences with their lilac trees colouring the neighbourhood a shade of lavender I would grow to love. I plated a small lilac tree here, it's now nine feet tall and it never fails to remind me of our walks in the prairies.
It's different.
How? Someone hurt you by mistake but it's permanent. That's it. Don't get hung up on details.
It's hard when you leave him and come back to us. He hurt me, he hurt you. He's hurt everyone and yet there he is.
It's complicated.
Then don't get hung up on..details, Bee. It took him a bit to find the words but then he spat them out with a frustration I never hear from Ben.
What do you want me to do?
Nothing. I don't want you to do anything. Nevermind. Just don't..let them make jokes if I have to use a cane.
They wouldn't-
Someone might. We're all bitter, Bridge. No one thinks before we talk anymore.
Since when? No one will say a word about it. You watch.
I watch everyone get away with whatever they want because I'm not a..threat anymore. He takes his cup and moves to take a sip but his other hand has to steady it first. My heart breaks. I want to shove him in a room and bar the door and keep him safe. Not something I ever thought I would think when it comes to Ben. He's not scary anymore ever. Just sweet, but then again, he's always sweet with me.
It doesn't matter. What matters is that you and I are here together. Big picture, remember? Burning building, Ben. It's you. That's never going to change.
Everything changed and I can't keep track.
I pick up my phone. Group message. Within five minutes everyone is here. Around us. In a hug. Holding Ben in a fellowship I am barely a part of for being crushed in as another subject of their support. Caleb takes a step closer and takes Ben into a fierce hug.
Tell me what I can do, he says. Tell me how to fix everything.
I don't know. Ben breaks down. I don't fucking know but you broke it good.
Four in the morning and Caleb climbs over me, pushing me down into the sheets, holding his weight, pulling me up into his arms at the last minute before crushing us both into the night. He kisses me hard, and I am awake enough to respond, giving him permission to keep going as I return the kiss while my arms scramble for purchase around his neck. He lets go soon enough and I am turned away as he pulls me back violently against him, inside and all around me, one hand around my hips, the other around my mouth. God love a fierce lover, I think and I am now wide awake and may never sleep again. The room is cool and dark and he is responsive and in charge. Every sound I make elicits a change or an adjustment for my benefit, every touch is safe and welcomed, a rare match when we are usually at odds with the level of intensity he brings versus what I would like.
But oh, the hunger in the night. The dark makes it more cloying, keening and savage. I can't deal with his sudden attention and my head explodes along with my body and then he follows soon after and he reluctantly lets go so that I can turn away and sleep a little bit longer.
You don't need ghosts, he whispers against my head. You need me.
(I'm fighting for us, but most of all for you is the refrain in my head as I make my way carefully to the back garden to check the progress and see if there are going to be table grapes for breakfast. Maybe see if there's a ghost so breakfast can be replaced by total, helpless insanity.)
Wanted to see how you were doing, Princess.
He is suddenly a familiar-stranger with that friend-you-haven't-seen-in-a-long-time vibe, a casual formality that leaves me feeling weird and hectic, a panicky-prickly feeling and I want to run to the wheel of time and roll it backwards in an applaused hurry, like on The Price is Right.
The Jake is Right.
Only he's wrong and this means I'm crazy.
But am I? I reach out and tug at his shirt sleeve. It comes with me, cool cotton poplin in that ever-present pale blue. Ironed before wearing but also rumpled in that perfect Preacher way. I want to touch his skin and I bite into my tongue to suppress the urge.
What is it?
What if you are real?
What would you change?
I let go, retreating back to a safe distant. Nothing.
Dear God in Heaven, you're so beautiful when you're stubborn. He's really got you wrapped.
Funny, he said the same thing about you once and look how long it took him to undo everything you did.
I could undo it faster if you just say the word. He rolls his bottom lip in and then out again. He's trying not to smile. Always in competition. Always blew the rest of them away with his charm that didn't exist for how blinding it is.
I nod and look out toward the sea. And then it all blows up again and I already did that once and look at what happened?
What if it didn't happen this time?
What if it did? I feel like this is our dance now. You fuck up my head and I let you and then I remember everything and I run-
-And you run. We finish at the same time.
Gotta run, Pooh. It's a whisper.
See you later, Piglet.
Oh. It hurts so bad. Why does it still hurt so bad?
I found a place where the past was forgivenWhere my mistakes met a grace I couldn't earn
And so I piled up my excuses and defenses in the night
Then I lit a match, stepped back and watched them burn
It started with me chucking a heavy notebook at Lochlan, who wouldn't give up the mood and it takes a tidal wave for me to shift from despair and frustration to anger. A literal tidal wave. I never get angry. Ever. Until I do and then look out.
I threw it overhand.
I got him right in the face.
And cut his cheek.
And the book fell apart and all of my worksheets went everywhere.
And he didn't even mind. He felt bad. He sat down and started reading. All the scenarios. All the re-dos. All the times I've tried to write Jacob right out of existence. Every single fairy tale in which Lochlan is the prince and he shows up and I turn into a princess from a frog and we live happily ever after. I chose him every single time. And the one time I do what is asked instead of writing him into everything, no matter what, he reads it and decides I've written him off.
I go and fetch the butterfly bandages. Not like we don't go through boxes of these things every year every time he throws punches with someone over something so much less important.
I get him fixed up, standing in front of him as he sits surrounded by pages on the couch and he pulls me in, resting his head against my stomach, arms tight. I can't breathe from the sea-change, blink and it's there, defocus and you'll miss it all.
I'm sorry.
Sam pokes his head in and asks if everything's okay. PJ is glowering beside him. I put up an okay sign but say nothing. They leave, mercifully. Privacy to have our meltdowns as we try to navigate life with all of these suitcases full of baggage we never packed and never planned to bring. We're Bonny and Clyde. We travel light.We need to burn it all.
Maybe we should.
Burn what?
This.
I worked so hard.
Doesn't that mean since you did that, that you can move on now?
I suppose it does.
Because I think I've read enough and I wish I had seen this all ages ago.
It's not really a sharing sort of thing.
Maybe it should be.
Only if you do it too.
I'm game for that. Whatever makes us stronger together, Peanut.
Life does.
He nods. Yeah. It does.
Sorry I cut your cheek, Locket.
Sorry I broke your heart, Peanut.
BRIDGET!
I was outside (spoiler alert: I am indeed allowed in the garage which is a bad idea since that's where the saws are and I can cut this cast off but it's also where the ice cream freezer is and that's all we eat these days) getting ice cream sandwiches (a case of them) to bring inside and I hear Lochlan's holler from there. That's how loud it was. I bring the ice cream in through the side door, I swear I can feel the cold right through the cast and Lochlan almost runs into me.
This. He holds up his phone. There's yesterday's post. What the fuck is this?
A...therapy exercise. I didn't just do it for entertainment. It was for my worksheet.
Well that's not how this story ends, I guarantee you that!
And then he's gone again and I'm there holding a box of Neapolitan bars.
***
Wish us luck. Another heat dome has arrived. Not as exciting as a pleasure dome or even a thunderdome, I pointed out to Caleb who also scowled at me, as he was reading yesterday's post too.
Funny not a single person asked who the man was in the post. I find that interesting, unless they each assume it's them.
Anyway, I'll keep those exercises in the private physical notebook from now on, just to keep the peace. I just thought that one sounded exactly like what's in my head and that's rare.
Right now the weather station on the kitchen wall by the door says 'Feels like 34.6' so far. For fucks sake.
I could see him walking up the beach. Just a blur at first, features coming into focus as he got closer to where I was watering the snow-in-summer flowers in the big grey half-barrels at the end of the walkway. The sand is blinding in the early fall chill, my favourite time of year. The beach is empty again, all mine again and I am selfish and quiet. I want to keep it this way. I want to be here by myself.
Hey. A kiss on the top of my head and then on my cheek as I stand to greet him. Crinkles around his eyes and white in his beard take my breath away as I still see us like a mirror of who we used to be.
Hungry?
I shake my head. Not yet. We can open wine though. He follows me inside. I leave my watering can and my shoes on the step and duck through the curtain that keeps the bugs out as I never close the door during the day. I like the salt air. I like the curtain. It billows out into the breeze just enough that it feels romantic and cozy to be here. Exactly like I planned.
He opens the wine, I put grapes, crackers, cheese and olives on a small plate. He likes to graze. I put on some of my favourite winter jazz cafe music and he smiles and sits back.
You don't change, Bridget.
Maybe no one does, I avoid his question.
Maybe we all would benefit from living a little outside of our comfort zones.
I tried that, remember? I smile gently. I shake my too-long bangs out of my eyes and my hoops jangle against my cheek as I pick up my newly-filled glass and clink it against his.
This life will be wasted if you're alone.
Says who? I raise my eyebrows and take a sip. It's a dry viognier. It's the only kind I'll buy now. It's easier on my body and my mind than my beloved whiskey, and it's easier to find too. Up at the tiny bottle-shop in town they don't have Lagavulin off the shelf and I wouldn't ask for it if they did. The taste reminds me of death, and time, an undercurrent of terror I don't ever wish to revisit. This is new. New for the new me, reinvented each time the tide snakes up to leave treasures on my doorstep in the sand. Why I ever left I'll never know, but I'm back and that's the important part here. This is probably the only place in the world where my brain doesn't engage in an endless distance-sprint, overclocked and overwhelmed. Here it doesn't even simmer, it just hums to itself and I haven't had to push a panic button on myself in years. Here if something breaks I just try and fix it and if I can't someone else will. Here things are different and better and the way they are supposed to be.
Says me, maybe.
Sorry, I can listen to advice but at the end of the day I do what's best for me.
It's admirable as much as I hate it. He looks out the window, smile leaving his face. I don't think it should be like this.
It needs to be. I follow his gaze. There's a sailboat way out on the horizon heading home. I may have seen it before, maybe not though, and it's really not something I focus on. The horizon is my backyard and I feel like I can breathe here.
We should start cooking. He finishes his wine. I haven't really touched mine and so I bring it as I follow him to the kitchen, bare feet on wide softwood floorboards, cool to the touch, the occasional grains of sand reminding me I am home.
After dinner (he mostly cooked, and I cleaned up and packaged up leftovers) we go outside to the big Adirondack chairs on the patio to watch the sunset, turning our chairs to the west.We slide back into our seats for the show and he reaches out with his right hand for mine. I let him take my left hand and he holds it, cool in his warmer one. He gives it an abrupt squeeze and lets go.
I'm thinking of heading somewhere warmer for winter. I'd like you to consider coming with me. Then in the spring or whenever you need to, you can come back here. My bones hurt in this cold. I guess I got used to the milder winters out west.
I nod and say nothing. I know my answer. He knows my answer.
What would it take to change your mind?
Maybe next year. I soften it with white lies, bleached from the sun, from years of use.
We don't speak any more and once the sun has set we head back inside, leaving our glasses on the weathered turquoise table, a practiced routine but never a habit. He kisses the palm of my hand and old feelings well up around the edges even as I work hard to push them down. Once in my room with the beautiful old quilt he turns back, pulling me against him, taking me up in his arms tightly so that I can scarcely breathe. He kisses me, a long familiar motion and then he takes our clothes off, putting them carefully on the back of a chair instead of leaving them on the cool floor. We remember everything for the next several hours. We lose years from our history in the dark and then as the sun begins to come back up the past comes rushing at us, a dark tunnel in front of a runaway train. A reminder that we can't go back or forward but we can remember any time we like.
That's the joy of this independence.
What if we winterize?
What do you mean?
I mean if I put in better insulation and rewrapped the cottage? Make it safe for you for winter. Then would you stay?
I would stay if you truly want me to stay.
You seem so sad.
It isn't your problem, Bridget.
Sure it is. I care for your feelings.
If you did we wouldn't be in this predicament.
What predicament?
The one where I became a drifter and you dug in and made the life you really wanted.
Everyone can change. This works for me.
It doesn't work for me.
Then you need to change it.
I will but she won't listen.
I look to the ceiling for peace. I don't want to do this. Every time he comes into my life he turns the screws and I promised myself I wouldn't let him. Ever again.
'She' made you an offer that would see you have company for the winter. That's generous but if it's not what you want then move on.
That's my cue to go. And we waste another six months when things could be different.
But maybe not necessarily better.
From your side maybe. I still say I'd rather be miserable with you than miserable alone.
I know.
Get some sleep, Princess.
I put my hand up against my chest to quell the impending lurch but it happens anyway. I will. Drive safe. Safe flight.
And he is gone, into the early morning. I watch the headlights as they disappear around the curve of the highway along the coast and the solitude crowds back in. Any regret is engineered, I tell myself. He's still trying to manipulate me emotionally. It's not exactly true but it helps me when I feel like I might bend from my convictions, sort of like the old One Day At A Time coin Ben stared at for decades. It didn't mean you will get through this one day at a time. It actually meant I will haunt you one day at a time until you give in, give up or give out.
And I refuse.
I rattle off a quick thanks for the night to his phone from mine and leave the phone on silent on the desk afterward. I pour a glass of orange juice and throw a load of laundry in the washer. Once it's done I'll hang it on the line in the front yard (the little cozy garden between the cottage and the highway) and then have a nap in the sunroom, where I'll dream of what life would have been like had I stayed.
***
Who is it? Who is the man in this?
Does it matter?
This is not what I expected when I asked you to write your future.
It wasn't what I expected either.
Caleb is smiling at me, eyes included and I'm thinking he's about to lie but instead he has a secret and he's excited to keep it from me but also wants to share it very badly.
You found a spot for our getaway next month I'm guessing?
I have. That handsome smile gets bigger and I bean him with my pillow.
Spill it.
No. I want to surprise you.
I bet I can guess.
No, for the first time I don't think you'll be able to. But just know I spent a great amount of time considering what you would like in preparation for the week and I think you'll be so pleased.
Really? Is it far?
I'm keeping the clues to myself. The flight isn't long, if you're worried. No transatlantic. Unless that is what you'd prefer. Now stop with your questions and come back and nap with me, just for one hour and then you can go.
I love the way he gives me a specific time, within which I will be excused? Released? Given back? Not even sure but I bet if I said I was going now he would refuse to allow it as he is exceedingly protective of his time with me and uses it to the fullest extent to sleep deeply and love hard and dream about a future that doesn't even belong to him unless he books it, as a time or a trip or some sort of formal or informal plan.
Or maybe I'm the one who doesn't belong and I'm an interloper into his time, into his future, or not, and I am the one formally requesting time I won't get otherwise. In any case, we end up in a weird and gratefully familiar place and I am happy to be here this morning to snuggle in to his dangerous arms in a smoky cold night that saw me not needed elsewhere for once.
Lochlan knows?
He does and he's fine with it, Bridge.
Okay.
I said if it's nice I would take us all back.
Sounds iffy.
It's not but it might be less romantic with a group. That's usually the case.
Well, sometimes it's not.
He laughs. This is true and only you could say it.
He leans his head back, closing his eyes, smile still playing on his lips. I follow his lead, putting my head down, closing my eyes.
Coffee and more rain this morning as I watch Lochlan sleep. Ben brought up breakfast in the form of three coffees and a plate of cinnamon rolls warmed with a little butter but we're not hungry yet. There's a fire in the fireplace but we're going to let it go out and all the windows are open wide to listen to the rain and it's my favourite kind of Sunday morning, having already decided that the liturgy can wait and the rest of the house can wait and life can wait just an hour.
***
Late last night I was forced to make some big changes to the blog, behind the curtain, as it were. So if your feed is broken and you don't get updates anymore when I post, well, sorry but you'll have to bookmark my blog and visit it regularly (I would suggest daily because that is mostly when I post) to see them.
I also had to turn off every sharing button I have so if you want to share a post you can do so by clicking on it's title so it's by itself on the page and then copying the URL in your address bar and sending it wherever you please. So you can still share posts with people. It's just slightly less easy. I'm not sorry. Took me forever to do this so please congratulate me on my HTML skills, as ever.
In my next life I will be returning to full luddite, I think. No laptop. Nothing. I will weave cloth and milk cows. If it has electricity I will shun it with great force. If there are strangers involved I will just turtle. It's going to be great.
It's finally raining. I was outside when the morning cracked open through the night and I'll probably be outside when the moon shoves the sun back down over the horizon to our west when it's time is up for this calendar square and it can rest until it's turn in the next one.
Duncan stares at me while I ignore him completely. I know he's doing it. I wish he would stop.
Glad you came back around.
A boomerang.
A second chance, that's all.
Did you have fun? You used to call it a mini-vacation.
I nod, in spite of my plans to be a hardass, maybe even pick a fight to lessen the hard part of leaving them. I did. Thank you for being a good host.
Bridget, you're honestly the easiest girl to talk to. You don't play headgames or look for anything more than this.
Screwed you right out of any potential relationships though. This isn't right. You're a waste of an incredible man. You're hiding out here, feasting on scraps. I never envisioned this for you. Somehow I don't think you saw yourself like this either.
So come down more often.
Poet-
Bridget, the world is opening up. Do you see me running off to engage with it? I'm so fucking happy right here. No one bothers me. I'm closer than ever to my brothers and there are no hangups to worry about. My dream was a solid, low-stress life with no baggage and thanks to you I have that and a pool.
Thanks goes to Caleb-
Who did it for you, so I'll give credit where credit is due.
I really hope you're not going to make it to the bitter end with me and tell me that you lied too.
Oh, like PJ did yesterday?
You hate the tags too?
Hate em. And my weird fears are getting electrocuted by a frayed patch cord, which can't even technically happen, and powerful women.
Ah. Then this is the perfect place for you.
Not really. You're pretty powerful in your own right. Just not at all in the way that I meant.
(Besides, I romanticized the book and not the movie so it just worked to give them all a role and they still manage to fit those roles four hundred and fifty lifetimes later.)
No, I didn't sleep with Duncan. I went to my own room and lay in the middle of the giant double-king and listened to the eight minutes of rain we got, though this morning most of the rest of the point insisted it was only about three minutes, and so the other five was most likely the white noise from the ceiling fan but I'm fairly certain my teenage dreams can turn that sound into a cascade of endless rain in the dark.
Because I don't know about you but white noise is one thing I actually can't stand, whether it's the slight hum from a guitar plugged into an amplifier, air-conditioning in a truck, the sounds the fridge makes or static from a television, I just absolutely hate it. I also hate neck-labels in shirts, wet potato skin residue on my fingers and I can't even look at frayed toothbrush bristles so there you go. I don't know what any of this means.
Add it to the raging fears of blooming teas...and what was th-
Peat fires.
Oh yes, added to the irrational fears and I would say you're probably....autistic.
Since EVERYONE has a thing or a whole list of things like that, I'm probably completely normal.
Not if they are strange, highly-specific things like that.
I have never heard of a single person on EARTH say HEY! I love those scratchy tags in the backs of my shirts! Have you?
They don't bother most people.
PJ, you're a liar.
Take a poll.
I don't have time for that. Now please stop picking on me and fix the fan so it doesn't sound like that?
Duncan and I have squared off at either end of the pool, and we're trading lines from Bruce Springsteen songs from his Greatest Hits album. Duncan's playing cool. He's been so far under the radar this summer I think he's gone into hiding and I'm determined to bring him out. He'll step in to assist in emergencies but when I'm in a perpetual bad mood or, as he calls it, a whine-machine, he tends to check out.
This is why he's single. Because his looks are definitely not a problem. Actually they can be a problem and from here, I can tell his swim shorts are slung too low to look anywhere else and gosh, I hope the water drags them right off him halfway through Thunder Road and then my teenage dreams for the day will drown in thrills along with his incredible lack of modesty ever.
Also, he might be single because he lit a cigarette once in the pool and the outcry was stunning and in that moment we realized how self-absorbed he can be. Hahahaha. He is wearing patches now, soaked with chlorine and trying his very best to quit. He doesn't think that's cool and doesn't know what to do with his hands if he isn't smoking or tucking a cigarette behind his ear like an Outsider.
Steal Bridget's licorice? Dalton says helpfully.
Hush, you. I admonish him. That's MY licorice. Also, Poet, that's whining.
Yeah but it's me so I don't mind it.
Wow. My eyes are big. What a jerk. A super-hot adorable jerk.
I duck back into the pool, keeping my arms out, inching along the side, til I can get back around to the shallower end where the steps are. Time for me to get out. My arms hurt. I don't want to hold the one heavy broken one out of the water but I don't want to get it wet anymore either since it never seems to dry and I'm honestly interested to see what's next after Springsteen season ends.
Buckingham Nicks, he says.
Oh, score. I don't have to think for the words, then. I can trade off lines in my sleep.
Hey.
Hi beautiful, he smiles so wide it puts the sun to shame. Lochlan is the sun right now. It's August. We've had no rain. No clouds. No indoor days. His hair has brightened to such an incredible pale strawberry gold I want to spin it into fine thread to sell, keeping him locked in a high tower so I can have it all. He is so striking when he lets it grow long and lets the curls go wild and it bleaches so quickly now, never quite darkening back to the brilliant dark red of deep winter's end any more. He has a little bit of permanent gold around his ears, in his eyebrows and beard. His eyes are beginning to fade ever so slightly. Not at the same rate as mine but I'm seeing him change and I think I love it, though when I look at him the very first thing I see is that obstinate thirteen-year-old Outsider with the rolled-up jeans, and t-shirt sleeves cut off, expression of total annoyance that slid so easily, charmingly into endless patience I was hooked from the first moment.
This CD is amazing. (The Code of the Flowers. Ayla Nereo. I just can't turn it off, I'm afraid)
Right?
You've got the words yet?
Mostly, yes.
Wow. He nods in amazement. I can hardly hear him for staring at all of that gold. What did you need? Or are you just here to say hi? Stay a while?
I came out to apologize.
For? There goes the smile, behind the clouds.
Now I understand what you went through with your arm. And also may we please cut this thing off? I hold up my pink mitt. I am so done with this cast. I discovered this morning that my plans to kayak are off, as I can't do it one handed. Ben offered to take me around but that's not the same. What saw can I fetch? The grinder, maybe?
I think you're stuck with it.
Oh, I'm stuck with it and so I need it off.
Peanut-
What's the worst that can happen?
You fuck up your hand forever. Leave it alone. Four more weeks. We can kayak all fall and winter. Once your hand is cleared for use.
This is maddening.
Listen to music?
That's all I do! And follow Ben around the grocery store directing. (No. Put that back. We'll need four of these. You don't want to eat that. No. No you actually don't. Jesus, Ben!) Oh and watching tv. And trying to do stuff with my left hand.
Sounds good to me.
No, it's too hard.
Remember what you told me? To let my body rest and heal? It was good advice.
You cut your cast off.
Well, I would have done it sooner but for your advice.
Hmm.
What?
Good for the goose, then it's good for the gander.
Who is who?
The male is the gander.
Then your saying is off.
It doesn't matter!
He laughs again. What can I do?
I told you. Get the grinder.
He frowns again. Guess who's not allowed in the garage for the rest of the summer.
Ben?
Jesus, Bridge. This is a first world pro-
Oh, don't even go there.
You know what you need?
A monte cristo?!
What else?
Vodka lemonade and french fries.
I can do all of this. Give me twenty minutes to clean up.
Okay. I'll be in the garage when you're ready.
No you won't. He laughs again. This is going to be a full time job, isn't it?
Wait. If I hook up the sail to my kayak I can just zoom around with the wind-
No, Bridget. It would be irresponsible to go out if you can't paddle.
If others go they can help if I get off course.
Not going to happen.
Day-drunk it is, then.
That we can do. He winks and eight-year-old me can't focus on a single thing else, ever.
I'm back. Finished my coffee, my cheese toast and my singular chore of turning on the sprinklers out front, something I do every ten days for one hour because we're trying hard to do our part and conserve water. We're changing over as much grass as we can. What remains is just moss and it's mostly golden yellow of deep summer anyway. We are surrounded by people with lush green expanses of heavily daily-watered lawns because none of our neighbours up the road give a shit, as long as it looks perfect.
Sigh.
The sun isn't setting that much earlier, I point out unhelpfully to Lochlan, who has been pointing out the harbingers of autumn all week. Soon it won't be so hot all the time. Soon the rain will come back. The leaves are already falling from the trees that got damaged by the heat dome and I am as always amused by the fact that some American regions send their kids back to school like, this week.
But it is, he smiles gently, softening the blow.
I don't miss the scramble for supplies, the clothes-shopping and lunch-treat shopping and endless homework, packing backpacks and watching the clock. Henry now enters the final six months of his program and he is pretty self-sufficient at twenty, showing up to have breakfast and then taking a late lunch, working on his school stuff from home, and then joining his friends on weekends, days off or online in the evenings to game or hang out.
I will miss Ruth living at home, as she's turning twenty-two and moving out. This is going to be a fall of huge changes here and yet does anything actually change? I wanted my garden to grow like crazy and now that it is, I wish it was done instead of staring down the fall of canning and processing and freezing. I want fall to be here. I want to wear sweaters and drink flavoured coffee and nap while it rains. I want to watch scary movies and decorate with pumpkins (they are growing now. Four HUGE ones out there at the very end of the garden by the service road, which is finished and allows for deliveries to Schuyler's house, Batman's or landscaping/construction materials, of which there will be no more because I am so done with all of it.
Matt has a different theory. You're just burnt out.
I know this. I know he's right. I don't know what to do about it, though.
Sam cancelled church today. He messaged me to see if I was going in the morning on Saturday night and I said only if everyone wore masks and he swore at me and then within thirty minutes he messaged the group chat and said he cancelled and was going to continue with zoom Jesusing because his elderly congregation is almost celebratory in their rush to get rid of masks.
So we stayed in bed with Lochlan, Daniel, Ben and Schuyler.
Sam and I did, I mean.
And Lochlan made up drunken limericks about vegetables and viruses, and Schuyler and Ben sang along with every Bollywood musical they could find (they've seen all of them, I believe, which is a huge accomplishment) and Daniel smiled sleepily and snuggled into the middle of a big crush and it was cool and peaceful and loving and warm. Lochlan and I put on a very early show on Friday night and we crushed it and the rest of them could hardly speak since. I love it.
And I don't want to leave, which is why I think Sam actually cancelled church.
Anyway. I've cancelled Monday too, in preparation for the week. Because I can.