Catching the Saturday train.

Because I left my Train CD in the player overnight, I get weekend breakfast karaoke from Jacob, who loves this song and has played it for two days straight now.

    Now that shes back in the atmosphere
    With drops of Jupiter in her hair
    She acts like summer and walks like rain
    Reminds me that there's time to change
    Since the return from her stay on the moon
    She listens like spring and she talks like June

    Tell me did you sail across the sun
    Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded
    And that heaven is overrated

    Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
    One without a permanent scar
    And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there

    Now that she's back from that soul vacation
    Tracing her way through the constellation
    She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo
    Reminds me that there's time to grow

    Now that she's back in the atmosphere
    I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain old jane
    Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land

    Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
    Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
    And head back to the milky way

    And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
    Was it everything you wanted to find
    And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

    Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
    Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong
    Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone conversation
    The best soy latte that you ever had
    And me

Which is really good, had he decided to give a performance earlier in the week he might have wound up singing Buckcherry's Crazy Bitch.

Nine-oh.

Celebrating ninety days of marriage, because we would do that.

A small handwritten book of over a dozen short stories, all clocking in at around one page in length, an episodic pseudo-comic novel in which the brave hero of our stories is a man named Jake, who travels the world in search of adventure and excitement, encountering risk and danger with every choice he makes, yet always emerging with fortitude, victorious and intact! Complete with pictures from his real life travels that coordinate with those of his character. Because everyone needs a heroic alter ego.

Jacob loved it. He loved it. He took it to work with him. He called his father to tell him about it before he left.

A resplendent vintage pearl necklace. Knots in between, in a glorious glowing pink hue that managed to match her ring to perfection. With exactly ninety pearls. He called it 'opera length' and told her that someday he would take her to the opera, whenever they found themselves in a city that had an opera. In the meantime she could wear it to the movie theatre.

I didn't believe him in my surprise. And we counted the pearls together. He said he maybe has counted all the pearls in every good antique store in the city and that he possibly needs glasses now or a vacation but that I just might possibly be worth the effort. I'm simply astonished by Jacob's perseverance, taken aback by his commitment to my happiness.

I don't think I could ever actually deserve what I've been given, but Jacob told me one more smile from me would make him run out and buy me Jupiter. Or maybe even possibly the sun.

We laughed hard and kissed even harder, with a promise that tonight when he gets home we'll have ninety minutes of slow dancing in the darkened dining room after the children have gone to sleep.

Another kiss left him running behind, and late for work.

When I closed the front door behind him I pinched myself so hard that this time I left a mark.

    Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
    Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
    And head back to the milky way
    And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
    Was it everything you wanted to find
    And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

Hungry.

I'll apologize in advance to no one in particular for the thoughts running amok through my brain right this moment. Whenever I write the word 'hungry', I think of sex. I'm not sure why. Well, I'm sure I know why, it's a euphemism to me. Right now I'm hungry. Oh, no...well okay, sure, sex would be great but the kids are home right now from school and Jacob is covered with grease.

Yes, that sounds dirty. Hmm. No, shhh!

I really meant I need to start dinner now.

We were downstairs in the basement earlier this afternoon, all six feet four inches of Jacob's muck and muscle wedged between the foundation wall and the back of the very temperamental dryer, fixing the squeaking sounds that have begun anew. I was passing him tools and keeping him company, sitting wrapped in a blanket on the toboggan that is still downstairs because the summer toys are in the closet upstairs, I haven't had time to switch them yet.

Jake was looking into the inner sanctum of the dryer with a perplexed expression and I had just said something about possibly needing bindings for my snowboard when he abruptly sat back on his knees and looked at me.

You do know that this right here is exactly what we fought for, don't you?
We smiled at each other like blooming idiots.

Yup. Sure did.

Cool. Just checking.

On never going to bed angry.

He was playing devil's advocate and I didn't like it one bit, we had reached the end of another soul-eroding argument and we were tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being so tired.

Why me, Bridge? Hey? How did you end up here with me?

I didn't even try to lower my guard. I looked back over my shoulder, meeting his eyes, one hand consciously twirling a lock of my hair. My eyebrow arched in measured surprise. I spoke softly, the smoldering acrimony heating up the blood in my veins too slowly for my taste. His question highlighted his own frustrations, his need to be cruel suddenly in pointing out our differences, how the two of us ended up together. Fine, I can answer that as expected.

Ask for familiar territory and familiar territory is what I'll give you. I should write a book about us. I'll call it The Reverend and the Whore.

It's simple, Jake. I liked you better.

My voice came out in a whispery low-pitched ember, burning with defiance. Fuck, I hate being sick. He stared at me with his customary mixture of disappointment and fascination written all over his face. It's a look I know well, an expression I seek out to elicit from him when I feel like offering up half of my angst. I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes because when we argue we bring everything to the table now. All of it. Getting that look achieves my goal of bringing him to his knees when I know I can't win. I hate myself for doing it. I'm ashamed of it and then I go and do it anyway. It generally works to a fault but on this night he only wavered for the moment it took me to recognize that expression. Then it was gone.

Don't do that, Bridge.

I shook my head.

You don't need to be cold like that. Not with me. I didn't mean it like that.

Then don't ask when you know the reasons, Jake.

Reassurance is as necessary for me as it is for anyone, princess.

I should be asking you the same question, Jacob. Why me? f I'm the last person who should have been able to take your heart then why are you here with me now?

Ironically, Bridget, it was because of the bond we had from the very first moment, when you trusted me right away, even though you struggle with it now and you don't have to. Because of our instant intimacy. Because you're so beautiful I never want to take my eyes off you. Ever. Because you are so tiny and delicate and yet so fierce I want to save your life even when I don't need to. Because you make it impossible for me not to love you. Because of your unfailing commitment to me, and to getting both of us through the hard parts when you don't want to hurt. A risk that you know you need to take. Like now. Do I need to keep going because I can talk all night about the reasons that I will love you for the rest of my life, whether you want me to or not, princess.

Oh, damn. He's better than I at this. I can't wage a verbal counterinsurgency with the true master of devoted reasoning. I surrendered first, figuratively on my knees for his acceptance of my efforts to pull him down with me and choosing to defy me instead with syllogism.

My God. No words at all. Sometimes I still pinch myself and yet he's proven to me time and time again that I might be, no, I am the luckiest girl on earth. Also the ugliest, drippiest crying one. Someone save me from myself. Wait, that position has been permanently filled.

He kissed my forehead. He won't kiss anything else lately, so that he doesn't get sick too.

You're running a fever again.

I nodded, I feel like hell. I'm worn the fuck out.

It explains the delirium, Bridget. You hardly ever run out of words anymore.

I'm sorry.

Don't be. Trust me, for someone who's as sick as you are, that was a mighty powerful little display of defiant sexuality. I almost pulled you down on the floor right there.

Oh. You should have. I shook my head at him before thrusting my lower lip out. Then I ruined the pout with an obnoxious and to my dismay, overly productive sneeze.

See, I would have, princess, but the whole snot thing this time around isn't nearly as cute as it was last spring.

Take that back.

Oh, princess, I would but I just can't. I'm sorry. He started laughing.

You? You suck.

Still out of words, I see. My God, you're so funny. It's adorable.

Suck. With a capital 'S'.

Give up, princess.

Goodnight, Jacob.
Goodnight Bridget. I love you.

I love you. I'm going to snot all over you after you fall asleep, you know.

It's okay, I'm getting used to it. You've been doing it every night anyway.

Did I mention you suck?

The princess won't be in today.

I was all set to sit down this morning and write of the latest news, but instead I packed up the kids early and took all three of us to the doctor. Because we've all hit the end of our ropes with the nighttime coughing. I figured the doctor would give me some ideas, or hell, a script for some better cough medicine for them, because there has been no sleep. None. The only reason I don't care about the sleep is that the medications I'm already on give me an emotional free pass on so many things it's practically criminal. Instead we left with scripts for antibiotics and a diagnosis of bacterial pneumonia.

Now tell me how special that is.

I'm the opposite of a hypochondriac, which is how I somehow let weeks of this coughing slip past us. Everyone feels pretty good during the day and so it became easy to put off. We figure we were all so rundown anyhow and then the hospital stay/trips at the beginning of October brought something to us that we had nothing left to fight back with. Tell me about it.

At least Jake is fine. He is rarely sick. I have no idea what that must be like but I bet it's just great. Me? I'm going to go make another pot of tea and watch a movie. And milk this whole lethargy thing while I can.

Hope is not in what I know.

It's difficult to stay centered today. I'm being thrown off kilter by this day, out for revenge for so many warmly-lit, extravagant nights in Jacob's arms. In any case, the jealous lover I name as daylight rips me from Jacob's grasp and turns the sky grey in retaliation. A bitter foe of all things signifying comfort, he stalks me, a dangerous game I must now play of outrunning the rotation of the planet. My futile, bitter marathon begins anew.

It's snowing heavily. We could see the storm approaching from the west for hundreds of miles, something you learn to watch and wait for, living here on the flatlands. The wind has blown our corner the world into an ominous ball of ice, bare tree branches scratching their protest against the cold onto an unrelenting canvas of frigid air. The ground is frozen, impenetrable, and unforgiving underneath my boots.

This morning we rushed down the sidewalk, under those same bare branches and past the orange and black decorations clutching the outside of each house along our path. Our hats pulled low, mittens shoved hard into the bottom of pockets that failed to keep out the cold. It was the first day I walked the kids to school alone, and so on the way home I put my headphones on to listen to Snow Patrol, which usually cheers me, and walked slowly home. When I got to the end of the street I crossed the empty field that runs the length of the neighborhood and stood watching the sky, watching the morning freight train as it slowly wove around the perimeter of the city, names painted on the sides of the grain cars, a colorful rainbow of proof that we were here. A moment in time seized and celebrated. A simple tag succeeds in its attempt to add life to a monotonous line of black and brown tin cars rolling across this endless landscape.

    Get up, get out, get away from these liars
    Because they don't get your soul or your fire
    Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
    And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time

    Every minute from this minute now
    We can do what we like anywhere
    I want so much to open your eyes
    Because I need you to look into mine

A brief pall of homesickness seized me then, for this will be the first winter here without Cole. Cole, who used to remind me that winter meant sports and Christmas and snowball fights and snowmen. Cole, who used to embrace the low temperatures and proclaim his hardiness, impervious to the plunging, ludicrous temperatures, hanging Christmas lights outside wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Cole who insisted we buy an electric blanket and who encouraged me to turn the heat up higher because he said he'd just work a little more to pay the higher gas bill. Cole who said the early darkness of the nights meant morning would come sooner and I believed him because it was all I had left.

For one moment that froze the bottom of my heart into a sheet of ice as thin as glass. I missed him desperately. Then the illusion of the glass was shattered and I was standing alone again, my destructive thoughts swept away by the gales. And Cole is still dead. Dead and gone, never to return. Kind of like last summer. Except next year there will be another summer but there will never be another Cole. Maybe time does work it's magic in keeping the good parts and blurring the bad ones. Time will answer that for me, just not yet. I'm not sure I'm done vilifying him inside my head, while my heart has softened to his memory and moved on.

I turned, pulling up my hood again, and walked back to our street, returning to the relative safety of the concrete sidewalk to walk under the branches that shelter my soul. Through the curtains I could see lights on inside the house, our imaginary protection against the bleakness of the winter season, and I went up the steps and into the porch. When I shrugged out of my coat I was greeted with a hot cup of coffee and an invitation to return to the arms of my Jacob, both of which I took with gratitude. Leading with my heart while my head tries to navigate its own version of a long cold winter.

There is so much to look forward to.

Splinter.

I'm so very very tired this morning. Here, some more conversations.

    The sound in my mouth
    It gets so loud
    It gets so loud
    The little words can't slip out
    Words like sorry
    I'm so sorry

    Where would you find yourself
    Without love
    Give love to someone else
    Is that enough
    If love is to find yourself
    Are you fighting love
    Or are you picking sides?


Ben fell off the wagon with a resounding thump last night, hopefully banging his head with enough force to knock some sense back into it.

One of the most difficult things about this dissolution of a long close friendship has now settled on the fact that he keeps trying to mend the fences that he summarily destroyed into matchsticks. I can't change my cellphone number again. Ruth and Henry have a hard enough time remembering this new number, after I was forced to change it back in May because of the order against Cole. I always have my phone with me and my kids being able to reach me when they're not with me is a lifeline that for some reason helps me sleep at night, even if it means receiving drunken apologies at 2 in the morning. If that's what Ben thought he was doing.

Hey.

Princess, don't hang up on me.

What do you need, Ben?

I need to tell you some things.

Start with how much you've had to drink and where you are.

I'm home. Too much. I'm alone.

Are you okay?

I'm peachy. I just need to talk to you for a little while.

No. Here, talk to Jacob instead. I can't do this, Ben.

I put Ben on speakerphone and passed it to Jake.

Ben?

I need to talk to Bridget.

Ben, maybe you need to get some sleep.

Let Bridget talk. You never understood me, preacher man.

She doesn't want to talk to you. Please don't call her anymore.

Let her tell me.

She has, Ben. Many times.

Oh. I get it. It's been a while though.

It's only been a month, Ben. Bridget has been through enough. Let her be.

You let her be. It's all your fault.

Goodnight Ben. Next time call Rob.

Yeah. Fuck you too, preacher man.

Right. Bye.

We returned to the warmth beneath the blanket. I could sense Jacob's mind churning with fresh doubts. He breathes deeply, differently when he's getting upset.

Don't do it, Jacob.

Do what?

Let him inside your head.

Maybe he's got a point, Bridge. If I had waited, things would have been so much easier for you.

Do you hear yourself, Jacob? I'm glad everyone got a chance to see who Cole really was before he died. He finally left a mark people could see. Are you telling me that you would have wanted me to go through three more months with Cole so that you would have some sort of peace of mind borne out of ignorance?

Don't say that, princess.

Besides, you didn't know for sure I would leave him, since I never had before. And no one can predict the future.

I could have done things differently. You would have been safer, somehow..

Jacob, where are we right now?

Under the quilts, in our bed. In our house together, kids and cat are asleep. It's dark. Safe. But does the end justify the means?

In this case, it does. No one promised that life would be easy. Don't let Ben of all people cast a pall on our lives together.

Since when did you become so optimistic?

Well, I met this amazing man and he changed me forever.

In a good way, I hope.

In an exemplary way, Jacob.

Oh, now, there you go with all those big words again, piglet.

Piglet? I thought I was the princess.

I'm thinking there's been too many people using that nickname and maybe you need a new one, Bridget.

I think since you gave it to me, it stands. Besides, piglet? What the hell is that?

Well I thought it was cute.

It's not cute.

At least it isn't perverted.

Oh I could make it perverted, Jake.

I give up.

The great hundred acre wood cellphone quote-off.

Hey.

Hullo, Bridget.

Hullo, Jacob.

It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"

I have it ready whenever you get home, coincidentally.

Oh, bother.

Jacob, why are you talking like Winnie the Pooh?

Because I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, and long words bother me.

I see. Winnie?

Yes?

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave.

There she goes! Good one, Bridge.

So are you coming home to dip into the honey pot or what?

Some people care too much, I think it's called love. And the honey pot remark is just begging for one of your dirty comments to follow it, you know that, don't you, Bridget?

Of course. It goes without saying.

Caleb (ties that bind).

Caleb is gone. I can pull the chopsticks out of my ears and see if the self-induced lobotomy is reversible at all. Jacob can take a deep breath. Onward, Bridget. Momentum.

Caleb is (was? No, still is) Cole's older brother. He's 43 now, so he was off in college when Cole and I got together as teenagers and he's mostly been an absent brother save for small moments. He knew little of our lives and tribulations, preferring instead to take his yearly trips south to warm beaches and hardly ever calling the house. He and Cole emailed each other maybe once a month but overall, they weren't close. Caleb was similar to a third parent in Cole's mind. Someone to resent, someone who's shadow he had to walk in. And be compared to. There's a suit and tie mentality where I'm from that speaks of wearing the clothes and having a good (corporate) career. Artists don't get that kind of respect, even though few of them in this day and age can make a living of it the way Cole could.

I finally felt strong enough to call Caleb and let him know I was going to be shipping him several boxes of Cole's belongings, things I thought he might like to have. He surprised me and said he would fly out for a couple of days, if I could recommend a good hotel. I did and I asked him not to come but Caleb arrived on Thursday morning. When I met him at the airport he told me I looked beautiful. Too thin, but beautiful. He wanted to swing by the hotel and check in and change before coming for lunch, so we went there first. He invited me up. I sat at the table in his room and we made very awkward small talk while he hung up his clothes and even more awkward conversation on the drive to my house, the house I once shared with his baby brother.



It felt weird. Really really weird.

Jacob had picked up the kids at school and was making lunch when we came in. Caleb and Jacob have met on several occasions but have zero common interests and understandably things would be strange between them. Lunch was perfunctory, quiet and stilted, the kids chewing slowly and watching their uncle with wide eyes because they don't see him much. After lunch Jacob took Ruth back to school and took Henry to work with him so that I could sort through the boxes with Caleb. We made tea and sat on the floor comparing memories, looking at pictures. Caleb wanted to know about Cole's final projects, how he and Jake had gotten along when it came to the kids, and what our plans were for the future. We argued over little things and big things alike. It turned into a long, difficult visit.

Dinner that night and lunch yesterday went much the same way. Polite, strained, pleasant even, slightly weird in that the brothers shared so many unconscious mannerisms, and even hold their forks the same unique way. Several times I would look up and find Caleb watching me with curiosity, a slight frown on his face. Possibly because he knows it's the end of our connection in a way, not because he stops being the kids' uncle or my brother in law, we've agreed to leave everything as it was, but because maybe he's happy I'm not alone, because he knew of the problems I had, Cole had confided in him superficially more than once that our marriage wasn't so wonderful. But Caleb knows I tried and I stayed as long as I could. He knows I loved his brother. He probably hates my guts and thinks I'm responsible for driving Cole to an early grave. Hell, half the time I do, why wouldn't he?

At the airport last night we stood together checking the monitor for Caleb's flight out and he turned to me and smiled sadly.

Bridget, when you wrote in your journal that you still loved Cole, were you telling the truth?

I just stood there and nodded with my jaw on the floor as he kissed my cheek and turned to pick up his bags. Shock set in.

Caleb? How did you know about my journal?

The answer surprised me.

Cole sent me your link a long time ago. He was so proud of you and your writing. He said it was that good that I should read it. He was right. I've been reading it every day since. Because your words come out exactly the way you are in real life, Bridget: unbelievably fragile and yet strong and so determined. Untouchable and intimidatingly frail but hopeful for the future. It's contagious. It's addictive, like you were to my brother, Bridget. And as much as my brother hurt you, he really did love you. Never doubt that for a second. He loved you so much, and I know you wanted me out of your life, but I don't want to leave it. 

And with that, Caleb turned and walked through the doors, leaving me standing there stunned by his words, so kind and gentle when they didn't have to be. Letting me off the hook for my guilt. Leaving me whispering softly, under my breath.

I know.

Quietus.

He moved in close to her, sliding one hand under her shoulders and the other slowly up her thigh. She started to tremble slightly as he kissed her urgently. As she caught her breath he bent his head to taste her skin. He kissed all the way up her throat and bit her earring briefly, making her laugh. Smiling down at her he pulled her legs apart and she felt his hardness against her. She shook her head and he quieted her with his capable reassurances that he would not harm her. He entered her in one brutal push and then paused, assessing her response, looking for the confirmations he needed to progress. She gasped and locked her arms around his neck, preparing herself for his physical onslaught. He smiled and tried to moderate his own breathing, the fever of her warm skin fueling his lust for her anew, taking it to a place he didn't know existed. He began to thrust into her, gently at first, rapidly losing his control, wanting to possess her, make her scream and writhe beneath him. Wanting to make her his forever. She whispered to him that she wanted him, harder, faster, more. She dug her nails into the damp brawn of his shoulders and his heart soared with a grateful leap. He reached underneath her to cup her ass forcibly against his groin, grinding into her fiercely, forcing her to remain pinned against him while he rode her, so that she would climax with him from the stimulation he created. She cried out to him to slow down, to wait for her, but it was too late. He couldn't hear her as the ecstasy exploded instead his head, dulling his senses momentarily, his entire being rocked with his orgasm, flooding into her as she reverberated in kind, feeling the tremors pass through both of them as they lay, still connected, now spent by their exploits.

He raised his hand, combing his fingers into her hair, cradling her head in his hand and kissing her lightly on the mouth while he worked his strong fingers on her, bringing her with him to that place where she couldn't catch her breath. He felt her tighten around him and she started to cry out, and he whispered to her softly to stay still. She fluttered her hands on his head as she came, the waves of euphoria crashing over her, enveloping her in their sweet rhythm, taking away her thoughts for the moment. He felt her body relax once again but he kept her in his arms, positioning her well within his embrace while they lay together in the dark hours of the early dawn, their breathing lulled, basking in the luminosity of the sunrise. Daybreak came slowly that morning, the uninvited sun pouring into the windows while they drifted in and out of a sleep replete with affirmations of their devotion to one another, content at long last.

(Today's writing will be unexplained. Call it whatever you want. I'm not saying a word.)