There's something so romantic and chillingly sentimental about candlelight on a dark night in the city, the quiet din of glasses clinking and couples sharing secrets while the rain slides down the glass outside in rivers. It's inviting.
I waited for him under the restaurant canopy, my umbrella dripping water around me in a circle as the rain poured down upon the midnight city lights, leaving them to exude a steam laden with dust and grit from a long hot summer, now turned to icy fall days. My red raincoat was the color of blood in the darkness, the rich hue contrasting with my pale wet skin. My hair was damp, pressed against my head like golden parchment. My shoes were flimsy in this weather, my feet soaked. I heard the distant rumbling beyond the traffic noise, beyond the ebb and flow of the crowds. I checked my watch for the fifteenth time, the hands illuminated in the dim glow of the window. His meeting ran over. He was late.
Just then a yellow taxicab pulled up to the curb and he emerged from the back, unfolding into his recognizable form. His hair was tousled, his face relieved. He called out and quickly crossed the sidewalk to where I stood. He picked me up in his arms, umbrella and all, causing the water to arc out all around us in the air. He kissed me as if we hadn't just parted that morning, his damp beard brushing against my lips.
Did you wait long?
Of course not. You're right on time.
He smiled seductively, honestly.
Are you ready?
Yes, let's go inside.
We retreated in through the wide glass and mahogany doors. He put his hand on the small of my back and we stopped at the lobby to leave our wet things, and then he replaced his hand as we were led to a quiet table in a private corner of the restaurant. He pulled my chair out and waited for me to be seated and then he took a chair across from me and ordered a bottle of Masi soave, a favorite, to be brought while we perused the menu. And bread, he always likes bread with wine.
The wine was delivered, tasted and approved of, and then he took over pouring duties and smiled as I covered my glass with my hand. He chuckled and asked for water to be brought as well.
As we talked and enjoyed our dinner the rain traveled in sheets down the glass, the navy blue sky divided every now and then by a fork of white lightning. The rain made caustics dance on my skin and his too, shadows of nature at play. He reached for me once our dishes had been discreetly removed. He turned my hand over in his larger one, running the tips of his fingers around my wedding band and over the face of my watch, as if he could sense time and intent.
His eyes met mine across the table.
Hey, beautiful.
Hi, handsome.
Would you like cake tonight?
No, I think I can do without.
What next? Jazz club? Dancing? Brandy in a smoky bar?
Home.
He smiled. You sure?
I'm sure.
He gestured for the bill and we paid and left quickly. He hailed a cab easily and we bundled into the back and gave our address. The ride home was quiet and close, the smell of wet pavement and dried leaves all around us coupled with the aura of smoky air and fresh rain. His arm around me, keeping me warm, keeping me close.
By the time we pulled up to the house, the rain had stopped. The lights were burning in the front windows and we hurried inside, anxious to get out of our wet clothes and into each other's skin. We tore our coats off and and met in a blur of warm lips and frantic hands.
He smiled and blocked me into the corner. I returned his smile and put my arms around his neck. His hands traveled from my waist up to my shoulders and then to my ears, holding my face as he kissed me gently, breathing lightly, hesitantly, as if he was waiting for my response.
I tightened my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, forcing his head back, making him laugh. He wasn't going to let me control the events, and so he kissed back and I was pinned against the wall, in his arms, in his heart. His hands dropped to my hips as he gathered the hem of my dress up in his fists, raising it high, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he lifted me up and carried me upstairs to our bedroom, where the curtains billowed violently, the windows open as the remnants of the night's storm slid off the edge of the wind in the early morning sky.
The lights flickered and he smashed his hand on the switch to kill the interruption and the room plunged into blackness punctuated by the lightning strikes. He fell onto the bed with me underneath him, safe from his weight, supported by his muscled arms.
He ripped his shirt off with one hand, his tattoos visible in the electric dimness. He slid his hand up my thigh, raising my dress once more, bending his head to kiss my thigh, trailing his lips up to my hip. I sighed softly, he frowned and flipped me over onto my belly. He slid the dress up and over my head, kissing up my spine and then turned me back around to face him. We made our own stars to match the ones already beginning to show their hiding places in the sky as the clouds cleared away. We made millions of stars, our gifts to each other to remember this moment in time.
We passed the rest of the clear cold night in a warm flush of arms and legs and hair in our eyes and breath caught in our throats, need bringing out a lust that canceled everything else out. The sun rose on our bodies, now spent, exhausted, renewed and refreshed all at once. He smiled sleepily and wrapped his arms around me once more, wanting me to stay in bed longer, willing the night to return for one last round of lovemaking, for one last touch before the distractions of a new day crowded around us.
He said he was beginning to love the rain.
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Literal.
Some days being small and quick is a blessing. It means I can put on my trainers fast, grab my keys and my zen and hit the ground running, soaring across the pavement and down the sidewalk so that I can't hear him calling after me. Sometimes the best place to be is six kilometers away from everything that reminds me of who I'm supposed to be.
And then, as always, I am required to turn and come back.
Some days that part is so very very hard.
And then, as always, I am required to turn and come back.
Some days that part is so very very hard.
Monday, 10 September 2007
Free radical.
Don't act like an angel
You're falling again
You're no superhero
I found in the end
So lie to me once again
and tell me everything will be alright
lie to me once again
and ask yourself before we say goodbye
Well goodbye
Was it worth it in the end?
Cold mornings bring steaming cups of coffee and warm Lopi sweaters to my world as we greet this new day with vigor and promise. Jacob has pulled out his newsboy cap, his ears are cold. I sat outside this morning and kept him company as he split wood and stacked it beside the garage for winter. It's almost impossible to believe we're heading for another long cold prairie winter, another five month stretch of endless nights, relentless cold and neverending white snow. It's a backhanded gift as well, a full season ahead of me spending cozy nights by the fire, and passing the darkest hours snuggled deep into Jacob's strong arms for warmth. For security on so many levels. We exist in a perpetual winter, perpetual darkness from which I must defend my thoughts.
This morning as Jacob swung the ax he spoke of his plans for work and home. Sam made him an eleventh-hour offer, a generous shifting of roles and a lessening of obligations that makes for a fine balance between the politics of the church and Jacob's long love of preaching. This would fulfill everything he wants, keep him busy when he needs to be busy and free him up when he needs or wants to be free to support me, or simply spend his days with his arms around me.
Sam somehow convinced the board that a second, part-time minister is required and Jacob would be perfect to fulfill a role that he fought to have added for years already. It's ironic that they approve it now, but he had a long history of butting heads with his committees, who could never see far enough past Jacob's radical tendencies, even by Unitarian standards, to give him free reign. Sam is quiet and conservative, and it took him echoing Jacob's reasonings for them to finally cave.
And Jacob is thrilled by it.
This lets him preach a once or twice a month, it gives him a little bit of everything, but namely it gives him the perfect balance of time at home and yet he won't go insane being home twenty-four hours a day.
He jumped at the chance to go back to what he loves most without the politics (Sam gets the politics, let's see how long that lasts before Jake wades right back in) and without the time commitment. He got the call, confirmed the details and then struck a match and burned his very first bridge down and doesn't regret it for a moment.
Oddly enough, the university calmly put out the fire and wished him luck, telling him they'd love to have him contribute in a guest capacity, writing and perhaps a lecture or two if time permits in the future. A very generous reaction under the circumstances.
This means I still get to be the minister's wife. He did ask if he could keep his Viking nickname, however. I said I'd let him know.
It also means he's going to be home to run with me, which we're going to begin again every morning after we take the kids to school.
You're falling again
You're no superhero
I found in the end
So lie to me once again
and tell me everything will be alright
lie to me once again
and ask yourself before we say goodbye
Well goodbye
Was it worth it in the end?
Cold mornings bring steaming cups of coffee and warm Lopi sweaters to my world as we greet this new day with vigor and promise. Jacob has pulled out his newsboy cap, his ears are cold. I sat outside this morning and kept him company as he split wood and stacked it beside the garage for winter. It's almost impossible to believe we're heading for another long cold prairie winter, another five month stretch of endless nights, relentless cold and neverending white snow. It's a backhanded gift as well, a full season ahead of me spending cozy nights by the fire, and passing the darkest hours snuggled deep into Jacob's strong arms for warmth. For security on so many levels. We exist in a perpetual winter, perpetual darkness from which I must defend my thoughts.
This morning as Jacob swung the ax he spoke of his plans for work and home. Sam made him an eleventh-hour offer, a generous shifting of roles and a lessening of obligations that makes for a fine balance between the politics of the church and Jacob's long love of preaching. This would fulfill everything he wants, keep him busy when he needs to be busy and free him up when he needs or wants to be free to support me, or simply spend his days with his arms around me.
Sam somehow convinced the board that a second, part-time minister is required and Jacob would be perfect to fulfill a role that he fought to have added for years already. It's ironic that they approve it now, but he had a long history of butting heads with his committees, who could never see far enough past Jacob's radical tendencies, even by Unitarian standards, to give him free reign. Sam is quiet and conservative, and it took him echoing Jacob's reasonings for them to finally cave.
And Jacob is thrilled by it.
This lets him preach a once or twice a month, it gives him a little bit of everything, but namely it gives him the perfect balance of time at home and yet he won't go insane being home twenty-four hours a day.
He jumped at the chance to go back to what he loves most without the politics (Sam gets the politics, let's see how long that lasts before Jake wades right back in) and without the time commitment. He got the call, confirmed the details and then struck a match and burned his very first bridge down and doesn't regret it for a moment.
Oddly enough, the university calmly put out the fire and wished him luck, telling him they'd love to have him contribute in a guest capacity, writing and perhaps a lecture or two if time permits in the future. A very generous reaction under the circumstances.
This means I still get to be the minister's wife. He did ask if he could keep his Viking nickname, however. I said I'd let him know.
It also means he's going to be home to run with me, which we're going to begin again every morning after we take the kids to school.
Human Jukebox.
What a cheeseball. He came home from our run with his endorphins on fire and he's singing Back for Good to me. So loudly and with feeling. Leave it to Jacob to remember the cheesiest songs I've ever loved and keep them for moments like this. You can listen to it too, but who can forget Take That? Man, they were hot.
I can admit that. Few will, you know.
I can admit that. Few will, you know.
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Sunday breakfast, standing up.
The good news is that Ben didn't come after all. He told PJ he was coming, he asked Christian for a crashing space, he got all fired up and then PJ talked him into not doing anything stupid, reminding him that the last thing I need is him coming home. Possibly threats were involved. For some reason he got that message when he doesn't seem to get the others. Weird. I know I can't worry about him but I do. He's drinking heavily, he's not doing much better than I am. I'm a hypocrite. I love him to death and yet I'm supposed to turn my back on him? Where would I be if everyone had turned their backs on me? He needs as much support as I do.
The rest of my updates and and oh, boy, stories from the past week will have to wait a day or so, today we've got a family day planned here and we're about to be appallingly late for church.
The rest of my updates and and oh, boy, stories from the past week will have to wait a day or so, today we've got a family day planned here and we're about to be appallingly late for church.
Saturday, 8 September 2007
Friday, 7 September 2007
Waiting for my tea to steep.
Someone please find Ben something to do before Jacob murders him. I wrote I was home, he got on a plane and came back. If he thinks he's coming over he'll be in for a surprise.
I give up. These guys must have billions of aeroplan miles by now. And a hell of a lot of nerve.
In other news? Bailey cleared out the moment I got in, so we could have our privacy and to get back to her own family, and Erin leaves at eight tonight and may or may not help boot Ben out of the province again.
And Jacob?
Quit his brand new job on Tuesday and just told me this afternoon. People wonder why I can never catch my breath. But it's okay. I asked him to on a whim. I never thought he'd actually do it.
I give up. These guys must have billions of aeroplan miles by now. And a hell of a lot of nerve.
In other news? Bailey cleared out the moment I got in, so we could have our privacy and to get back to her own family, and Erin leaves at eight tonight and may or may not help boot Ben out of the province again.
And Jacob?
Quit his brand new job on Tuesday and just told me this afternoon. People wonder why I can never catch my breath. But it's okay. I asked him to on a whim. I never thought he'd actually do it.
Sympathy for the devil.
The rumors can stand. Guess whatever you want, imagine whatever you can. I can't possibly address everything so I'll just continue with what I need to get out here.
If you were feeling sorry for me, don't. I've been running around with my emotions fully out of control for almost two years at this point.
Don't feel sorry for me for being put on a private plane and sent to a lovely private center staffed with some of the best doctors in the world, a five-star menu and thousand thread count sheets. I never claimed not to have friends in high places and I never said they didn't enjoy using their ungodly wealth to help me, though I have paid the price for it already.
That's a long story for some quiet day when I feel like making you fall off your chair.
In any case, the fact that I was there and Jacob and the kids were here means that one large part of the changes to take place starts tomorrow. Family therapy.
To help my family deal with me.
Under a whole new diagnosis. One that fits like a glove. The others never seemed to. I was told it takes a long time to get to this point.
So that Jacob can withstand me. So that he and Ruth and Henry won't be damaged by this. As if.
I didn't help myself and I didn't get enough help and I realized late last week that oh, I needed way more help because I love Jacob and I don't want to fuck this up. He's not the kind of man to put up with someone who won't help themselves and yet he understands that this was serious and unchecked and I couldn't get where I needed to be and he's done more than admit to exploiting me too (sexually, no less. Jacob.) and he's got some issues to deal with and he needs as many tools as I do, to learn to live with Bridget.
Because the best advice out there if you're married to someone like me?
Is to run.
Far far away from them, and don't look back.
That makes me want to bury myself in a hole forever. A destroyer of souls has no place with an angel like Jacob.
But Jacob shook his head. And he choked right up and told me he's my unconditional man and that he will love me forever. Even after everything I have put him through or may put him through in the future.
It's like my hearing but emotional. I have to work so hard and I miss things anyway.
I signed over control of all of my money. All of it this time. I put all the power in Jacob's lap again and he's in control now and I'm so much happier. And there's more changes to speak of but today is only one day.
When I'm done rambling you'll be the first to know but every time I feel it start I remember his voice whispering to me.
Unconditional, Bridget.
It's my new favorite word.
We'll be okay. The road just got longer, the broken glass is spread over it seemingly endlessly. The work will be difficult. We'll do it. And here's the point in the choose your own adventure novel where you can decide if you want to come with us or stop reading and find someone less difficult to enjoy.
Because, oh boy. We all knew I was pretty messed up but who the hell knew it was this fucking spectacularly bad?
If you were feeling sorry for me, don't. I've been running around with my emotions fully out of control for almost two years at this point.
Don't feel sorry for me for being put on a private plane and sent to a lovely private center staffed with some of the best doctors in the world, a five-star menu and thousand thread count sheets. I never claimed not to have friends in high places and I never said they didn't enjoy using their ungodly wealth to help me, though I have paid the price for it already.
That's a long story for some quiet day when I feel like making you fall off your chair.
In any case, the fact that I was there and Jacob and the kids were here means that one large part of the changes to take place starts tomorrow. Family therapy.
To help my family deal with me.
Under a whole new diagnosis. One that fits like a glove. The others never seemed to. I was told it takes a long time to get to this point.
So that Jacob can withstand me. So that he and Ruth and Henry won't be damaged by this. As if.
I didn't help myself and I didn't get enough help and I realized late last week that oh, I needed way more help because I love Jacob and I don't want to fuck this up. He's not the kind of man to put up with someone who won't help themselves and yet he understands that this was serious and unchecked and I couldn't get where I needed to be and he's done more than admit to exploiting me too (sexually, no less. Jacob.) and he's got some issues to deal with and he needs as many tools as I do, to learn to live with Bridget.
Because the best advice out there if you're married to someone like me?
Is to run.
Far far away from them, and don't look back.
That makes me want to bury myself in a hole forever. A destroyer of souls has no place with an angel like Jacob.
But Jacob shook his head. And he choked right up and told me he's my unconditional man and that he will love me forever. Even after everything I have put him through or may put him through in the future.
It's like my hearing but emotional. I have to work so hard and I miss things anyway.
I signed over control of all of my money. All of it this time. I put all the power in Jacob's lap again and he's in control now and I'm so much happier. And there's more changes to speak of but today is only one day.
When I'm done rambling you'll be the first to know but every time I feel it start I remember his voice whispering to me.
Unconditional, Bridget.
It's my new favorite word.
We'll be okay. The road just got longer, the broken glass is spread over it seemingly endlessly. The work will be difficult. We'll do it. And here's the point in the choose your own adventure novel where you can decide if you want to come with us or stop reading and find someone less difficult to enjoy.
Because, oh boy. We all knew I was pretty messed up but who the hell knew it was this fucking spectacularly bad?
Post haste. Welcome back, little Bee.
I won't live your way
Won't hear what you say.
You know, five days away to get my head on straight and indulge in three differently wonderful kinds of therapy isn't always a bad thing. Getting a better handle on my emotions won't be a bad thing, and us flinging the usual fed-up ultimatums at each other tends to be the best catalyst in the world to make me move.
Because Nothing in the world could fail me now. It's tattooed on my skin. It means something to me.
I'm wonderfully fixable. Eventually.
In the meantime, don't believe a word I say, and for gosh sake's don't be surprised at my largely inappropriate behavior. Those of you long ago who sent me long letters telling me I was a certain way, well, let's just say I'm a little freaked out that the internet had me pegged long before the professionals who were close but not close enough.
More later, I'm a little hesitant today. Even though I need to get a lot of these words out, it's going to take a little bit. It's going to take even longer to get through these emails. How many of you are there? I am floored. Thank you.
I need some Jacob time now. I haven't seen him and he's home and I need to not let go of him for a little while. I'll be back.
Won't hear what you say.
You know, five days away to get my head on straight and indulge in three differently wonderful kinds of therapy isn't always a bad thing. Getting a better handle on my emotions won't be a bad thing, and us flinging the usual fed-up ultimatums at each other tends to be the best catalyst in the world to make me move.
Because Nothing in the world could fail me now. It's tattooed on my skin. It means something to me.
I'm wonderfully fixable. Eventually.
In the meantime, don't believe a word I say, and for gosh sake's don't be surprised at my largely inappropriate behavior. Those of you long ago who sent me long letters telling me I was a certain way, well, let's just say I'm a little freaked out that the internet had me pegged long before the professionals who were close but not close enough.
More later, I'm a little hesitant today. Even though I need to get a lot of these words out, it's going to take a little bit. It's going to take even longer to get through these emails. How many of you are there? I am floored. Thank you.
I need some Jacob time now. I haven't seen him and he's home and I need to not let go of him for a little while. I'll be back.
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