Running all of it past Cole.

Bridget, would you just stop? Enough already.

What do you want?

I want you to get a grip. Jesus, he's going to cling to you even more than you do to him. I don't know who is more pathetic but it'll work if you stop trying to throw everything you can reach at it.

How do you expect me to do that?

Revert back. Reign it back in. You want to be like everyone else? Well, everyone else wants to be just like you. Go back to your sweet submissiveness, baby.

It didn't work.

Oh, like hell it didn't. Think about it for a moment.

You don't know me anymore.

Still better than anyone. Don't you kid yourself.

It won't work. It didn't work. I couldn't do it. I lost it.

I lost sight of your impulsiveness, that's all, baby. I let go just a little and I dropped you. I'm sorry.

You're not sorry. You think this is funny.

No, it isn't funny. I fucked up, baby. But there's only one thing I have left to tell you and then I'm gone. It's too crowded in here in your sweet little head. I need space and time.

What is it?

He's just like me, Bridge. I'm glad you're safe now.

Safe was a joke with you, Cole.

No, Jacob was a joke, Bridget. He was an illusion. Sure he was a good man and he lived admirably and all that shit but at the end of the day he was more fragile than you are and look what happened. I could have warned you. I wanted you to be so happy. I couldn't make you happy and I tried to overlook his problems and let you alone and I failed you.

You never wanted me to be happy.

Bridget, I wasn't smart enough to control myself when it came to you. None of us are. When are you ever going to get that through your head?

So now what?

Stop overthinking things. Watch a bunch of movies, dote on the kids and wait for Ben to come back. Forgive Ben for his issues. Get on with your life. You're driving me fucking crazy here. Everything is okay now. Accept it and live, for once. In the present. You guys will figure it out sooner rather than later.

I know.

Don't know. Just do.

Yeah.

Fucking finally. I love you so much. Be happy for once.

How do I help him be strong?

Be happy, Bridget. That's all it ever takes. If you're strong, he'll draw that from you. There's nothing else to it.

Were you always so strong?

Never. I knew I took that happiness from you and squandered it. I'm so sorry, Bridget.

Well, I win, because now you're dead.

Or maybe I win, because you're still a beautiful fucking mess.

Price of admission.

Shortly after I wrote in my journal Jacob and I made a late dinner. Quietly, resolutely we ate together. The suffocating disappointment of Friday's outcome still hanging over our heads made things tense, an unwelcome feeling for me now. Halfway through the meal I looked up only to discover Jacob was sitting there making silly faces at me. I laughed so hard. We made up. Okay, not exactly true. We made up in his dining room chair in various states of undress because going upstairs would have taken too long.

Here's where I point out when he was unzipping my dress he heard a creak. I told him it must be the cat. We continued on. That chair was fun.

Until we decided to return from heaven and we both saw Ben standing in the doorway watching us. Leaning in the doorway, because he had been standing there for a good ten minutes taking in the flesh-for-fantasy lottery. He struck Bridget gold. He saw everything. All of it.

Most people would have been embarrassed and left hastily. Ben? He stayed to watch the show. Which pretty much destroyed the already shaky ground he occupied in Jacob's good graces, because Jake hated the offhand comments Ben would make at any given opportunity. Or the lingering looks if my strap slid or the wind swirled my skirt. Jake always said that Cole and Ben were likeminded individuals.

That's part of an entry from June of 2006 published here once upon a time and now offline with the rest of my archives because I have paranoid tendencies for such a public journaler.

There are moments in life that haunt me and I am not the only one. For Ben there are two moments in our history that he would like to permanently alter and this is one of them, told to me in a waterfall confession of tears and frustration and utter despair. This one moment where he says he stood in that doorway and he simply couldn't move. He knew it was wrong and he knew he was't welcome and he was frozen to his place while his head went off-leash. He stood there and burned me to his memory forever, every last detail of what I looked like in the throes of bliss because he wanted to be the one making that memory.

This weekend he tried to take that memory from me and I won't allow it. Not to be a dealbreaker, instead he thinks he'll wear me down and he doesn't seem to hear me when I tell him he can't because the walls around those memories aren't wooden, they're forged steel and he can't make them into matchsticks, he'll only get hurt fighting to dent or scratch them.

He will get hurt and I can stand in front of him and block his path and put forth a courage I don't think I can back up but it won't serve to do anything more than make me realize that for all his reminders to live in the moment, to just be, he isn't doing it either. He is not taking his own advice and half the time, I really don't know what to do with Ben. I wouldn't hurt him, really I wouldn't, but that one moment he can't take.

There's no making up, either. In a few hours he's on a plane back to work and we have to just leave it swinging between us, dropped on both sides because we can't get around it so we'll have to resort to stepping over or ducking under for a while to come.

Makes me sad, you know. It makes me sad to think that after all this death and all this crap we've gone through, he could still be so sickeningly jealous of a ghost.

Take warning.

Inevitably ownership issues take over us all. There's no way to avoid it. You get tired of being generous. You grow weary of making allowances and having patience. You become frustrated when the memories fail to be remade in your image.

Forcing the issue will backfire. You know this and you do it anyway. I would too but I know the outcome. I'm sorry. It's been done before and there are certain places where you will walk where the grass grows tall, unbroken from being trespassed and never trampled as your path before but there will also be places where you'll weave back over onto the softer earth where the grass no longer grows at all, it's been flattened by so many steps. Looking ahead, there is no other way. You have to go that way. You just simply have to.

I don't have enough of my own strength to remind you of much more than this, for you KNOW all of this and all I can do is quietly speak to you of this inadequate analogy of a well-worn path and hope the hell you can figure out the rest before you do or say things you might regret only when you're far away and can't undo the damage.

I don't have enough courage to overlook the difficulty of your head not being here because your heart has no direction and no authority and you really just need to stop this and just hold on to what's here right now in this moment and let the other ones go.

Please. Just please.

Red covered Ordinary World.

Pride's gone out the window
Cross the rooftops
Run away
Left me in the vacuum of my heart

I woke up this morning wrapped almost twice in Ben's t-shirt. The one he wore yesterday.

Daniel called yesterday afternoon and said not to pick him up at the airport, that he had a few errands to run and he would be here around suppertime. He was indeed, sporting a genetically-matched shadow by the name of Benjamin, who arrived in the kitchen with orchids and a singing balloon, just in time for Valentine's Day.

A big cheesy smile paired with a big cheesy beautiful heart-shaped helium balloon that said Still the one and played a song to match the words. What a riot. I wasn't expecting him but since it's a holiday weekend he is all ours until Tuesday morning.

I love that he did that. I love that he knew I was getting fluttery and tired and homesick. I love that he defied instructions not to break his concentration and not to be trying to wear a steady path back and forth, wasting time when there is work to be done. I love that he needs me and he knows when I need him most. I love that he's sometimes very openly cheesy and sweet under all that focused intensity.

I love that he's here. He said this morning that he loves that I'm here. And now if you'll excuse us, we're off to spend a day attempting to resemble human velcro. Ciao.

(Title today is related to this, go listen and forgive us for still being big fans of Duran Duran. Some things can't be helped. Yes, I'll go look now for my credibility, lodged somewhere on the CD shelf between Cannibal Corpse and Tool.)

Vintage candy and the princess of persuasion.

I've been walking this road for far too long
To turn and walk away
I've been walking this road for far too long
Listen to what I say

Ben called them expiry dates, the final few nights before he flew out in which we would plan special dinners, movies, long walks, long talks, whatever we could come up with that would qualify as time together alone, stocking up so that we would each have enough to live on until he comes back at the end of the month.

So far so good.

(Good being subjective to whatever constraints you want to stand around that word, barricades against turning this day into one that is half-empty.)

I got an early Valentine's Day gift. Daniel will be home tonight and so I can send home the lumberjack (John) and replace him with my fairy godmother. Which makes me infinitely happy because Daniel is as close as Ben ever was and he calms me down and he keeps things light. John is so serious. (I still love you though, LoJack).

Daniel already called ahead and asked me to keep the afternoon clear tomorrow and we would take the kids skating at the rink with all of the old people while they blast static-Elvis through the loudspeaker and everyone must move briskly clockwise. Then he wants to shop for chocolates at 6 pm because they'll be on sale and most definitely from last year. Stale. There's a lifetime contest on to see who can bite into the most petrified ancient chocolate and live to tell about it.

So my hands may be fluttery today and this week I've taken up an old habit of listening to one song over and over again until I can hardly stand it but for now we stand at half-full with hopes of a refill even.

And I can't wait until Ben comes home so we can work on the best before dates.

Samwise.

Fading
It's over now
(Don't you know it's over now?)
Over now
(You know it's over now)
Fading
(Some kind of big surprise)
Fading out
(Don't you know your world is burning down?)
Burning down
(Your world is burning down)

I met Sam for an early breakfast this morning, a substitution for a run on a cold, snowy morning. His request, not mine, though I grew increasingly confused as he lingered over coffee, firing question after gentle question at me. How am I doing? How is Ben? Is everything okay with him gone? Is Caleb minding his boundaries? Have I talked to Lochlan? Is Seth reporting success on the away front as well? How am I really doing? How are the kids dealing with Ben being away? When does Daniel arrive?

And on and on and on until we ran out of taste for coffee and I reverted to one-word answers to try and subtley point out the elephant, that I wasn't going to bring up, so help me God, because I knew eventually Sam would for both of us. I didn't have to wait forever.

PJ is right, you know.

How's that?

You're an easy target, Bridget.

Because they saw me at the church?

No, you've always been an easy target. Ever since you left Cole. It started then. Jacob said they were relentless.

Sometimes they were.

Possbly more than you realize, Bridget. There were several who tried, at the time, to perpetuate rumors just to hurt you. Things about Jacob that weren't true.

Who? What are you talking about?

Jacob spent half his time doing damage control, trying to shut off the rumor mill before it could do harm to you. That's when he began his policy of open-door meetings and witnesses, to prevent any later misunderstandings. So many women had their eyes on him and wanted to make trouble for you.

I know. I find it funny, you saying it now.

No, it's really not, Bridget. But no matter what people say or do, they don't know and at the end of the day everyone will take what they say with a healthy degree of skepticism, I promise you that. No one is out to get you or me, just keep that in mind.

I don't care about them, I only care about you and Lisabeth. How is she?

Sad. We're both sad. But you had no part in this, short of warning us a long time ago that the church took up a lot of time. If only I had realized how right you were then. That was only part of a larger problem though. There's no single event that caused this.

I'm so sorry this is happening to you.

I'm sorry it's happening to you, too.

Don't worry about me, Sam.

I will always worry for you, Bridget.

I have been nothing but trouble for you.

You're not half as awful as you think you are. If you were I never would have kept the promise I made to Ja-

Oh, Sam. You didn't.

I didn't know with any certainty, Bridget. I suspected for a long time that he wasn't doing well, and he wouldn't get the right kind of help, the kind he sorely needed. His only concern was for you and the kids. That we look after you, together, all of us. That's why it doesn't matter what anyone thinks. It's why we don't care what anyone thinks.

What did I ever do to deserve this, Sam? What makes you all stick around for me? Tell me, because I don't get it.

I don't know, Bridget. I really don't. It's a different sort of faith, that's for certain.

So we are a cult now.

Pretty much.

Does this mean we can be pol-

Oh, don't even start with that today, okay?

I was kidding, Sam.

Yes, I know. But sometimes I wonder about you anyway, Miss Fidget.

To the choir.

PJ wants me to tell you I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, that just because Sam publicly pleaded for privacy on Sunday with regards to their formal divorce proceedings underway does not mean I am automatically the town harlot. That speculation is simply that, and I am an easy target.

The truth is I had nothing to do with Sam and Lisabeth breaking up, and those who spent last fall watching me slip into and out of the church almost daily for several months straight don't read here (really it wasn't anyone's business that I was getting grief counseling) and chose to talk about me. Then Lisabeth poured some fuel on the fire almost inadvertently by worrying aloud about me to others. Because she wasn't so sure. I've been her. I can't blame her. I wouldn't blame her.

Just like you can't blame me.

I wouldn't touch Sam. He's a friend, not a lover. Never ever ever.

So save the stakes with which you were going to burn me. When I have really and truly earned my fate, I'll go quietly, I swear. That time hasn't come.

(Now, God, could you please stop finding ways to mess with me? Thank you.)

Mmmm, pitchforks.

Word about town is that she runs a cult, a twisted, protected cult of polyamory and forced affection and no one gets out alive. That it wasn't Jacob and it isn't Sam that can be so enigmatic as leaders, oh, no.

Really?

Look down. That innocent looking one there? In the pale blue coat with the wind whipping blonde tendrils of hair into her eyes and her hands clasped in front of her, warm in her black gloves, no hint of a smile in her eyes, just many, many miles of roads travelled in order to put her in a place she can't name? That's the leader. Look out, she'll brainwash you without even opening her mouth.

And yeah, they've got a commune going on down there just west of the city proper. They all wear black and they're polite if you speak and they really seem to stick together and there are children but we wonder who they belong to and people come and go at odd hours and they're rather private. Some of them have the same tattoo.

I heard she wrecked Sam's marriage.

I heard she wrecked Jake's, too, before she married him.

I heard that she she uses sexual rewards for compliance. I heard her newest husband bites heads off small animals. I don't even know him, he's too scary-looking.

I heard she's really very sweet and down to earth and not at all like people paint her to be.

Oh, really? You must be one of them.

I heard she breaks your heart and then you die.

Yeah, I heard that too.

I'm not even sure if I heard all of it right. My ears, they're not so good, you know.

At least my skin is thick. Fucking good, hey?

Numbers.

It's a dime for a tin whistle
And a cigarette
God damn if you listened
But what else do you give

Depending on who you are cheering for, it's day 943, day 462 or day 2 of Bridget on her own.

Only for the last one there, he'll be back. Just like the first 2 but slightly different because he isn't dead.

And it's okay, I'm not crazy either.

I've had a good day so far. Up at 5 for my phone call, 6 for my doorbell and 7 for my run. 8 marked the first fall of the day on the ice, on my own portion of the sidewalk because I didn't shovel and it actually rained. In February. Sorry, I was busy yesterday feeling sorry for myself.

Today, I'm not doing that.

9 meant going shopping with PJ. 10 ended long I lasted, listening to Untitled Lullaby in the truck and 11 was when the need for coffee superseded my barely-singed credit card and we called it a morning.

At 12 we headed for home for lunch with the kids, and 397 is the number of grams in this bag of chili lime pistachio nuts that I'm going to snack on all afternoon while I wait for 7, when the goodnight phone call comes for the children and then 10, when I get my very own.

14982 is the number of sheep I'll have to count before my dreams come and take me from this day, for that's how many it took last night.

And 1, as usual, is the loneliest number. But not for long. Because in 20 days, he'll be back.

Repeat after me.

(This is the part where Ben must travel for his much beloved secret night job and I sorta kinda almost mostly implode but not.)

Look at me, my depth perception must be off again
You got much closer than I thought you did
I'm in your reach
You held me in your hands
But could you find it in your heart?
To make this go away
and let me rest in pieces

Ben's plane finally got out and I'm almost sober again. With any luck someone will bring me just a little more because this hurts like hell and it really didn't help that we wound up in the airport lounge waiting for his first-class flight trying to pretend it wasn't going to hurt like hell.

It didn't help that he ordered me drink after drink at seven o'clock in the morning hoping he could dull the pain for me just long enough to make his getaway, laughing in his defeated way, telling me all I had to do was say the word and he would figure something else out.

It didn't help that my lingering kiss at the gate was the exclamation point on an argument we managed to craft before the announcement that his flight was rescheduled at long last. Never mind that that final kiss seemed to be more of an attempt by him to soak up whatever alcohol he could taste by proxy, and never mind that he slipped his lucky ring onto my finger before he left, even though it's supposed to be this very ring that gives the night job all of the magic, or so he claims, and when I tried to make sure he took it back he told me just to shut up and keep it for luck, because I need some,

He said that I would be in good hands. That I am always in good hands. As in fuck off and shut up. I'm gone and they can deal with you so I don't have to worry about you.

Okay. Yeah. I may be drunk but I know you, Benjamin and I know how exquisite your hatred can be when you shut yourself down in order to go work because otherwise you wouldn't go at all. So you don't need to be mean just to protect yourself.

Can I use that against you later?

Sure, whatever you need, Benny.

When did I ever say we were functional?

The good news is, it's all an act on his part because I saw his eyes before I turned to run back down the concourse, coat flying out behind me, heels clicking on the polished stone, heads turning as I passed, gasping for breath while the tears just fucking streamed.

This was right after I contemplated making a scene, yelling, I love you, you fucking asshole and he would have whispered it back because there is only one phrase in the whole entire world that I can lip-read and that would be it.

I hate the airport. I hate goodbyes and I hate waiting. I hate that everything echoes. I hate that I made it through the automatic doors while security walked about twenty feet behind me because really, a delicately-crying five-foot-tall woman in high heels who can barely walk upright isn't much of a threat and John caught me before I wiped out on the ice and he took one look at me and he said very slowly that everyone cries when someone they love leaves.

I know that, that part is easy. Excusable, almost.

But not everyone drinks at this hour on a Monday morning, princess. I'm really glad you called me.

I didn't say anything. He cajoled me the whole way home, stopping for coffee along the way and pointing out that in three weeks I will have Ben back.

Poor John. I'm sure there is nothing better in the whole world than a drunk friend with abandonment issues being your charge.

(Oh wait, I just described life with Ben before I married him.)

So, apparently there are worse things.

And for the record, I fully intend to keep my promises and get on with improving my outlook, curbing both my emotional outbursts and my flair for the dramatic while Ben is away, to give myself an unemcumbered shot at getting better without his influence, and oh, what an influence it can be, since I made no attempt to refuse four whiskey sours on the table when I hadn't even cracked a coffee yet.

And no one is allowed to give him a hard time, he was doing what he thought might work because, really, between you and me? No one knows what works or helps or makes anything better and so Ben fell back on the one thing that always used to make him feel better. I wouldn't have been surprised at all if he had called me from his destination three sheets to the wind, softly fumbling the words I love you and I'm sorry into the phone but instead he asked how I was doing as if he really and truly cared and it kind of surprised me because he doesn't do that when he's away. I confirmed that yes, I was pretty much sober the moment he was gone, because if there is ever a sobering moment it is always that one when they go out of sight.

I also confirmed that yes, I am making spaghetti for dinner for the boys tonight, because they're the ones holding the net, while Ben and I do our high wire act. Tickets are cheap but they go so fast. It's hard to believe your eyes.

It's so hard to perform perfectly with all these distractions. But I'm going to learn how.