Today I called my real estate agent.

Maddening. Nothing.

It's not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I said,
I don't want it.
I just need it.
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.

Today was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flash of sunlight and teeth. A care taken in dressing to depress, a step taken in learning the difference between people telling the truth and people telling Bridget what they think she wants to hear.

It's okay, I understand perfectly and so the only thing I can do is bring the storm clouds in rather close and let you be absorbed by the black of my dress and if you're really lucky I'll distract you with my own wicked humor, borne in exhaustion and habitual solitude.

It's alright, really. Ben has gone and is doing his customary thing in which he drops off the face of the earth because he is used to this and still it gets no easier for me but I was never so independent and that's okay, I'm going to give up trying to change that and will go to my grave reaching out for arms within which to find my safety. Never mind that I'll be dead. It really won't impact that action because I already do it in my sleep and have the aching limbs to prove it.

Caleb left this morning, content in obtaining proof that I'll reach for him too and I will because in the dark he is Cole, a memory of love now dead and cold but of love nonetheless, and nothing more than that. In the dark it's everything I need. In the light it is shameful, the weight of a thousand secrets pressing down on my bony shoulders, pounding me into the frozen earth.

It's the hidden disapproval in the otherwise stone expression of Caleb's driver/our bodyguard, Mike, who has been privy to more of my life in the past three years than anyone else I know and still he makes promises to me that are coerced out with threat of fire on the other side. I don't blame him but I can't trust him and I was foolish to think I could, but really, all secrets are open secrets in Bridget's house. She does not discriminate and for that the punishment was compliance, same as it ever is.

Luckily I can't feel anything anymore. But could I ever?

Devil may care.

The most interesting part of all of this is that Jacob fought tooth and nail to keep me, to keep (almost) all of us away from Caleb. No information, no access, no weak points in the keep through which the devil might wind.

Save for Ben. Ben would not listen. Ben went against everyone's better advice and most fervent wishes and struck up a close friendship with Caleb, maybe in an effort to hold on to Cole, because Ben and Cole were so close.

And now the devil runs the entire circus, and his right hand man got the girl. The devil controls the girl and the devil is responsible for and personally involved in every last nuance of our lives.

Which is why he is now downstairs in the dining room reading the local paper with a disapproving frown on his handsome face, shooting his cuffs like they are weapons to deploy charm and sophistication and remarking that I really need to get a grip, he could have sent some of the boys overseas, where the action is, instead of keeping them in the country.

All of these random, composed points softened from threats while he evaluates whether my dress is to his taste, if I am too thin and how tired I look after a night with Daniel because he's as close to Ben as I can be right now

After Jake flew I sold the circus to Caleb.

I got tired of fighting, tired of running and I have one hell of a self-destructive streak that lets me spend time with him without even caring if he sets me on fire or locks me in my own head for days. Jacob had been losing the fight anyway and in the end the devil pushed him off the sky. I'm not dumb, I know he did it, I know Caleb was the straw that broke the preacher's back.

They say to keep your enemies closer and I'm trying to do that now and the weirdest part of today was not the oddly extreme meltdown as Daniel was going through the gate or the fact that not thirty seconds after I got home Caleb was on his way because Mike took one look at me and called him, but it was the exchange Caleb and I had when he arrived. Civilized, appropriate and normal and downright weird by our standards, which are completely out to lunch.

Did you get the things you needed?

Yes, he's good for the next few months, maybe into summer.

What size is Henry? I can have some things sent.

It's not necessary. He's in 14/16s now, the next step is the men's department.

Are you serious?

Yes.

What size do most eight year olds wear?

7/8, though Ruthie was in 5/6s then. It depends on the child, really.

But fourteen? Jesus.

You've seen him. He's a big kid.

Is there something in the water here, princess?

If there was, I would drink more of it, don't you think?

I'm wondering how long he's going to sit down there and pretend everything is fine. Wait, nevermind. I don't think I care.

Jacob, I wish you would fix this. I think I screwed up big time here.

Whirlwind Dan.

If you blinked late last night, Daniel showed up on my doorstep and he was back at the airport before it started to get dark, just a little while ago. He came to give me a hug, my variation of it, anyway, and then he was gone again, a victim of Caleb's easily enforceable timetable. He who has plane makes rules, a lesson I tested early this morning when I tried to go over his head and get Ben a flight home for Friday and couldn't because everything is booked and Ben has a schedule besides.

And right this second I'm walking the tightrope between horrifically discouraged and somewhat heartened. Things are slowly falling into place. Time heralds the adventure on the horizon, blah, blah, blah. It's going to happen whether I sleepwalk or fret the whole way through it. I'm trying for small victories and mindful of big challenges. I'm trying to stick the methods I have always used. A lot of tears and one step in front of the other and verbal smorgasbords of words designed to convey to others precisely how poorly I deal with stress and only serving to reduce me to idiot in their eyes, I'm sure.

For one very brief cool-skinned hug nothing was so bad.

Then he let go and I slid back down, all the way to the bottom and landed with a hard thump and got grass stains all over my starched pinafore and insult to my injuries besides.

I choose sleepwalk, but I'm not allowed.

I would pick Ben to come back, but that seems unreachable, invisible, out of the question, fragile miss Bridget.

The cold and the quiet settle in again like a blanket that seems warm until you realize you can no longer breathe or move or find any peace at all. That's where I am tonight anyways.

Adagio, cold metal and Dana Fuchs on the radio.

Well do you or don't you want me to make you?
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you

If you find her in the sunlight, the tiny dust motes floating in the air while she bites her sterling bobby pins open and twists her hair up into a ballerina bun, she won't see you. The sleeves of her sweater are long, getting in the way, constantly pushed up over bony elbows. She pushes them up again and adds one more pin to keep the bun from falling out while she paints. And you watch her.

While she sings.

While she thinks.

Well do you or don't you want me to love you?
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you

God's down at the Safeway and she said I was fine.

I'm cooking corn, cod and potatoes for dinner. Hot comfort food if there ever was any. I'm dying to go to the Raincity Grill in Vancouver. I'm picking places out for Ben and I to try out once we're there. If you have any suggestions, let me know, I love to eat.

Yesterday again they had no cake when I went for groceries. I braved the icy roads, bought the requisite vegetables, fruits, fibers, legumes and school snacks and then I went to see if they had any chocolate cake for Bridget because even though Bridget prefers the very fancy cakes one can find at Salty's or Dio, the cakes from Safeway are perfectly wonderful in their own right. And only $12. For a WHOLE one!

No cake. None. Zip. Wait, some strange German chocolate affair that always looks so unappetizing so I opted to just buy extra pears to snack on and as I'm coming up the bakery aisle an elderly lady asked me if I could reach the cherries for her. I found that funny, she was maybe two inches shorter than me. I gave them to her and she remarked that they didn't seem to have any graham crackers, whole ones, not the crumbs. She needed the wafers.

They're in the cookie aisle, I said. At the bottom.

Thank you, she said. You're a good person. You'll do fine.

Late last night it hit me. She was God. I asked for something, anything and I got it in the form of a little old lady at the grocery store.

Interesting. I'm not sure I'm up for scavenger hunts though, I would much prefer it if God would just email me so we could have a conversation I could go back over later, if need be.

After shopping I still had some time left before the kids would be home for lunch so I drove to the shopping center and bought a lottery ticket and went to the big drugstore to see if there was anything new in the first-aid aisle. My fingertips cracked earlier this week and it's been especially painful since I'm always up to my elbows in (very drying) plaster and paint. I was in luck.

This stuff.

So far so good, though it's been barely a day. I'll keep you posted. Maybe I can just glue all of the broken parts of Bridget on and survive the rest of the winter intact. Place your wagers now, as bidding soon will close.

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

~J. D. Salinger (1919-2010)

Hypoxia

Good morning
Don't cop out
You crawled from the cancer to land on your feet
Are you crazy to want this
Even for a while?

Yes, I know it's midnight. Sometimes life works out just like this.

Satan breezed in mid-morning, just as I was sitting in the garage in the car listening to Matthew Good and feeling as if there could be no more of a desolate and lonely moment in my life than this one right now.

He wanted to drop all of the paperwork in my lap, which were essentially his relocation allowances for the boys and for me, spelled out in dollars and sense, contracts with words like 'arbitration' and 'moral property'.

Fine, just leave it on the kitchen table. I returned to my incredible sadness. I don't know what is is, just this deep unrelenting ache that, when addressed, blooms into breathtaking panic, and when ignored, retreats to the background, multitasking along with me, hurting enough to make its presence known and make it hard to breathe but still allowing me to do what needs to be done.

Had Caleb arrived in flames I probably wouldn't have noticed. I feel like finally the details are slipping away and the nitty-gritty things I always try to nail down don't even matter anymore. What matters is Ben, eight days already tacked on to the first absence, bringing the total to twenty but Bridget isn't counting because Bridget always focuses on the wrong things.

There is no allowance for my drama and things are very difficult at best.

Sure, I continue to chip away at the house. Some touch up paint here, a plant there, a picture moved, decluttering. Plasterwork and sanding and big ticket painting too but still I cough and cough and my eyes water (half cold virus, half drama) and I have the winter blues and cabin fever and fear of everything and the I-miss-Bens. I feel like the house will never be good enough because it's a hundred years old and there's not enough time or energy to make it perfect and really I don't think I want it perfect because it looks so lovely and I won't get to have this ever again and before I turn this into another ode to the castle of my dreams, I'll remind myself right here that the castle sits in a kingdom that is entombed in ice.

Oh, quite literal, I am. No drama there. It is so cold I can't trust Henry not to dawdle on the way home and far too icy on the roads to run the snow-rally car so I walk with them, four times a day. I swear to God winters here are an endless ballet of boots on, coat on. Boots off, coat off.

And so Caleb frowns.

What's wrong, Bridget.

What's right, Cale?

Stop being dramatic.

Yeah. Fine.

He frowns deeper. He looks very scary when he does that but I'm not sure I can find the generosity to reassure him. I am far too busy feeling sorry for myself. Endless winter, horror-Prairie, what in the fuck am I doing here, we shouldn't be here.

I scare myself with the voices. On days like this one I was really beginning to believe everything everyone says. Not about how incredibly beautiful I am (ha), but about my issues and whether or not I can manage them appropriately anymore, under these circumstances.

My doubts have begun.

Caleb is too busy adjusting bottom lines and coordinating people from all four corners of the globe and he doesn't have time to assuage petty concerns, worries I have invented and then magnified so that they are big green hairy monsters that chase me, screaming, down the hall. Worry is a nightmare hole I fell into and can't fall out of and I've pulled Matthew Good over the hole to obscure me and maybe the fear won't find me again but the apathy can stay because it's less agonizing.

Caleb remained at the house just long enough to make sure I had everything I needed to distribute to the boys and to spend a few moments with the children, who are also minding the cold and the isolation now but are elastic enough to find distractions without effort (hereafter to be referred to as DWE because I'm sure it will be a recurring theme) and were happy to see him and then as I walked him to the door, I guess my newfound detachment struck a chord, or perhaps a nerve, because he reached down and held the back of my head as if he was going to embrace me and instead his unshaven jaw razed a burn down my cheek and his lips were so warm, just under my temple that I flinched but was held fast in his arms.

You're doing just fine, princess. You're capable. Everything is going to be better.

I couldn't even tell him where to put his reassurance. Ben is gone. Doesn't anyone get that? Ben is my air and he isn't here and I'm lightheaded and soon I'll be dead from the lack of oxygen.

He kissed me hard and then he was gone. My pupils constricted and Strange Days came flooding back into my brain.

Bridget's bonspiel.

This morning was a carnival ride of a different kind. Wheeeeeeeeee as I turned my little car into a curling stone, giving it a twist and watching it curve around the neighborhood slower than death, coming around to rest precisely where I shot for, at the away end. The garage again.

In other words, I made it around the block and then I was smart and packed it in. I am not going on a cake run until the city cleans up Mother Nature's mess. They have promised that overnight tonight and tomorrow we should see improvements so I will test things again on Thursday, I think.

Besides, my car has a good three inches of clearance which makes it the PERFECT vehicle for snow navigation. I bought it for an ice rally I plan to enter someday. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing. It has snow tires. You could tell by the way it was glued to the garage floor when I went to pull it out. Eek.

Industrial-strength lullabies.

This lonely isolation follows me through my dreams
I wander around with doubt
so cold and incomplete
There is nothing here for comfort
No spark of hope I see
I breathe deep and fill my lungs to silently release
This is more than a dream to me
I breathe deep and drown my lungs and release silently
I gasp for breath to only hear what's inside me
An echo
More than a dream to me
An echo of my scream

Metal makes everything strong. Steadfast, more comfortable. Ben is made of metal. I wish he could be home right now.

The blizzard has ended and we didn't even run out of milk. The mercury is free-falling now and instead of perishing in isolation as the city became obscured by drifts, instead we're going to freeze to death.

Cole, why did we move here again? Oh yes. That was in another life, a life that's over now. Lucky you. You can't feel cold.

Jesus, Bridget, what has he done? Jacob's first comment on the weather here as he watched the thermometer surrender the day we hit new cold records.

There is always a mad dash to prove life in spite of the obstacles. Sure, go out and carry on as usual. But first be sure the rope is tied securely around your waist, your will is up to date and you've got at least five layers of thinsulate, wool and gortex on, even though you will still feel every degree of the current conditions.

Thanks for the wild send-off, you stupid godforsaken hell-hole, I am done now.

Last night I thought I would die of fear again. Not sure what it is, save for these moments that feel like shallow panic attacks. I can wade right in, cool off, splash around a bit and then come out eventually. It takes forever to get dry. I should probably just wait on the side. I know it's just the weather and the lack of sleep and this bad cold and the upheaval and it's all in my head. I don't believe my head understands the rules of engagement and so it reacts like a feral child with no access to civilization. I believe I would make a great thesis for somebody. Maybe more than one person, since every armchair therapist who has ever discovered me online has felt the need to weigh in. Screw you, show me your qualifications and your pay scale and then we'll talk. Only then.

At the height of my stupidity I tried to talk August into coming home. He is the most free with engagements at present. I begged and I promised and I charmed and then Satan came out of nowhere and shut me down. I was no longer mindful of the rules. I tried to circumvent the status quo and once again I was held screaming into the flames before being pulled back, strong arms using logic as muscle against a mind that likes to see the suffering.

August was similarly burned. I have apologized to him until I run out of words and he will not accept it, he says it isn't my fault and for some reason that makes more sense today, in the sun, with the blizzard warnings now behind us than it did last night in the dark with the winds howling all around me.

Safety won't be there with him, princess.

I don't care, Caleb. I need people here.

To waste time?

To keep me grounded.

Maybe you need a reminder in why this is best.

What I need is a timeline. Dates. Plans. Throw me a bone here, Jesus. Right now it just seems like endless winter.

What are you learning?

How much I hate you, Caleb.

And?

How hard Ben works. How when he feels pain now he just puts his head down and works harder. How he refuses to dwell on the hard parts because he has to survive.

Admirable. Can you apply that to yourself, perhaps?

No. I'm a masochist. I want to feel it and then I want to flick a switch and make it go away.

All you have to do is say one word, princess.

No. Goodbye, Caleb. And leave the boys alone. They're doing well, they don't need you doing this.

I didn't get where I am by leaving loose ends, Bridget.

Who said anything about loose ends?

That's what August is. Your Jacob-clone. The outsider. The one we all watched in real time as he became helpless against your attentions.

I thought that was Ben's role.

So did I but you are quite the little collector, aren't you?

I haven't collected anyone.

Bridget, your...'army' as you call it is quite strong now. Cole would have been incredibly surprised at this turn of events.

I should have told him.

Told him what?

That he was not the monster.

Oh, really?

You are. It was you. He was a puppet too.

No, Bridget, I loved my brother. But my brother had issues too and he failed to appreciate the life he had.

Not true. You did that to him.

Before you make a mistake and deify any more losers I'm going to suggest tonight be a little less noisy on your end of life. You're being protected, there is nothing that can happen to you so you may as well be content to get to know yourself a little better instead of hiding in the arms of the first man who slows down near you.

Caleb?

Yes, princess?

Fuck you.

I always appreciate it when you end a call with spirit. It's just another little reassurance that you're doing just fine.