Princess with a tin crown.

You want to know something? There are two distinct factions of people who email me who annoy the everloving fuck right out of me.

Those who know everything, aka the 'holier than thou' crowd and then there's the ones who assume.

Both, just go away. seriously. I don't need you, and if you know everything and are THAT awesome besides, then you have better things to do than send me shitty emails.

I can't even count how many people sent me messages telling me I was white trash/low rent/worthless because..are you even ready for this?

A mere ONE of those lipglosses came from a place that didn't start with drug- and end with -store. Two, for those of you with really sharp vision (rolls eyes).

Look, I'm reaaaaaallllly glad you wear exclusively MAC or whatever but I'm not sure why you're so gleeful in telling me. As in, you are better than me? Because of a brand name?

Sorry, I don't really play that game.

I wear makeup from the *GASP* drugstore, actually from the Save-On grocery store because they have a makeup aisle. Also? My mom sells Mary Kay. I actually don't wear much make-up at all. Mostly lip gloss, a little powder and some mascara. Nothing more. I don't really care where my dresses come from, I get my hair cut mostly at the same barbershop the boys go to (for TEN WHOLE DOLLARS) and if I talk about something expensive it is almost always provided by Caleb or Benjamin, and I never asked for it, they will simply treat me.

If that makes me 'low-rent', then slap a dollar-ninety-nine sticker on my ass and call it a short sale.

Actual news? Well, I guess it will have to wait. You are clearly busy sharpening your horns.

Lochlan doesn't like heavy-heavy metal. No death metal, no gloom. He doesn't like chocolate cake or lip gloss either for that matter, and he definitely doesn't like it when he has to keep secrets because then his hands are tied and he feels weighted down, burdened by circumstances beyond his control.

I sat on the lowered tailgate of his truck while he paced back and forth in front of me. I kept wiping my eyes with the bottom halves of my palms. I think all I succeeded in doing was mixing dirt with tears, leaving streaks across my nose. I am hitching, hiccuping, at the tail end of a fearful crying jag that lasted much of the day today and the night before too.

He is thinking. He keeps checking me, making sure I don't take off again. He is working every angle in his head. I think I am done running. I have no energy left and I couldn't outrun Lochlan if I tried. I have tried. He's older, stronger, faster. He's my safety besides.

If I run from him, where in the world am I supposed to go?

My hands are fluttering. I'm picking at his sweatshirt that he put on me because I was shivering so badly. It hurts. Everything hurts. He stops and walks over to me and takes my face in his hands. He presses his forehead against mine.

I'm thinking. Okay? Just let me make sure we're not making any mistakes here. Please, Bridge, just let me think. Stop doing that with your hands. Oh, God, please just stop it. You'll be okay. I'm not going to let anyone take you away from me.

I have left again and I don't hear what he says. The heat of the sun broiling the top of my head does nothing to warm my legs, flush against the cool metal of the truck bed. The cold spreads through me and my brain runs through the door again because someone keeps leaving the door ajar.

Ben cleaned out the truck.*

That is all.

*(Sillies. They're mine. Well, until he eats them.)

Crazy dream.

I made a huge dinner last night. Pork brined and roasted in a thick mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, buttered and salted, steamed broccoli and fresh garlic-buttered dinner rolls. I made too much food and still we ate it all and then after hockey was over, we retired to the theater to watch The Lightning Thief. I curled up in the corner of the big sectional and put my head on Ben's chest. He was sacked out directly in the center of the couch, feet up on the coffee table, warm as toast for a change.

Lights out.

I was told it was a good movie.

I got up and refreshed some drinks and put the children to bed and we headed back downstairs to watch The Song Remains The Same. I put my head down again on Ben and that was that. Out for the duration. (Sorry, Robert, nice jeans.)

I really think some sort of sleeping gas is piped from the Blu-ray player that only affects Bridgets. Now when the boys want to watch a movie they call it 'putting the baby down for her nap'.

And no one sings me lullabies
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky.

I love it when Lochlan gets new tattoos.

Beauty.

Shades of this night from two years ago.

The doorbell rang right as I was cleaning up dinner tonight. I went to answer it and to my surprise Caleb was standing on the verandah with John. Between them was a large object wrapped in a padded moving quilt and on top of that was a small white box tied with a green velvet ribbon. John stepped forward and kissed my cheek awkwardly and gave me a brief hug before retreating to the Escalade and Caleb waited patiently until I addressed him.

What is that? Is that a television? We don't need a television.

It isn't a television, Bridget.

I'll get one of the boys to come and get this...whatever this is. Just a minute.

Too late, Ben appeared behind me, looking over my head at Caleb. Caleb paled and cleared his throat.

I figured if you weren't coming back you might need these to work from home, that is, if you still plan to continue. We can talk later in the week, I've got plans this evening and I'm late. Goodbye, Bridget. Ben, take care.

Ben nodded and I felt the bottom of his mask crack the top of my head. I turned around and he was in his hockey gear again. This is the new stuff that he's been trying to break in all week. He looks imposing in it, I know he came out on purpose to scare Caleb. Ben is very subtle like that.

Would you stop that?

Ben just laughed.

Look at him run, Bee. Look at him go. Holy Christ, he's practically breaking a sweat.

I covered my mouth with my hands. It was funny. I'm sorry! I enjoy it when Caleb is uncomfortable for once instead of everybody else.

I turned my attention to the mystery packages still sitting on the verandah. I stepped out and collected the smaller box and Ben picked up the big one, depositing it inside the front hall. I already had the small box open.

A brand new white Blackberry Torch. The one I threw the other day when I quit turned out to be my work-issued Blackberry bold, (identical to Caleb's) and it's been all scratched up since. I love this new phone. It's beautiful. Caleb feeds my love for cellphones the way the other boys feed my need for affection. It's glorious and disgusting all at once.

The big package turned out to be my desk from Caleb's loft. The beautiful one I begged to have at the house. Now here it is. Wow.

It looks perfect, right where I thought it would. In the nook at the bottom of the stairs. I put my laptop on it. And a tiny lamp. And a jarful of pens and pencils for drawing. I stole a chair from the kitchen to put at it for now. I sat down and felt like all the pieces were falling into place maybe for once.

It could happen.

A 16-hour drive to San Francisco.

I have been charged to write a list of ten things I don't like. This is courtesy of Sam, who likes to keep me on my toes when he is here and frankly New Jake is STILL talking and I can't think but hey, it's Friday and Fridays are always really good days because on Saturday the dog sleeps in for a whole hour and I can catch up on my rest because of course I stayed up until midnight or some equally crazy thing.

Hmmm *crickets*.

Okay, fine, Sam. Here goes nothing.

1. prawns.
   
2. slippery roads + tailgaters.
3. sixteen-month-old laptops failing when you are damn well aware all of the American versions of said laptop with same said issues south of the border get recall fixes. Fuckers. Three times in four years! Three different brands, no less. I have a macbook now. Hold your breath.
   
4. Incredibly shallow people who will dismiss someone based on their clothes/job/race/sexual orientation.
   
5. isolation.
6. Oatmeal from scratch. Gross. I much prefer the sugar-laden instant stuff.
   
7. injuries that prevent running.
8. Size discrepancies in clothing. Junior, petite, misses, and regular. What the fuck.
   
9. Bad bakeries.
10. gin.

There. That's all I can come up with. I could be all global and discuss the Canadian political climate or the price of oil or that ridiculous skinny jeans fad but really, I gotta say, please don't order me anything with prawns.

(The title of today's post is simply a random fact. And a nod to the TSA. That is all.)

Chills.

Hark how the bells
Sweet silver bells
All seem to say
Throw cares away

We are standing in the front hall in the dark. I am tired. It's been a long day. I rest my head against Ben's chest. I can feel his heart beating. Slow. Steady.

Lochlan returns from the kitchen with orange juice in a glass. He takes a sip before handing the glass to me. I'm not paying attention so Ben takes the glass and lets go of me, steering me forward. Straight into Lochlan's arms. I shake my head just once, a useless protest, pointing out how late it is more than anything. This is when they are both awake, fired and confident. This is when I am beginning to fall away from the day, vaguely combative and yet well aware of how far we will go before sunrise.

Lochlan brings his hands up to my head and kisses my cheek. I am breathing him in. As soon as he starts he is finished, turning away, reaching back for my hand and pulling me with him from memory. I follow him up the stairs. We are silent. The house is asleep. Ben is right behind me. I always fight the urge to run up the stairs as fast as I can because they have always chased me under threat of a tickle war. It occurs to me that it's good we are still so silly after all these years.

And sometimes so serious too.

The door to my room stays locked behind me to keep our secrets inside, stacked neatly beside the memories, cataloged and arranged in chronological order. Ben's hand slides over my face and I am left to his inclinations now. He becomes a part of me and I am so grateful and so exhausted tears mix with joy on my face though it's almost too dark to see. Truth and trust take center stage together. The spotlight burns out, taking away any remaining shame and I am soaring now, safe in arms. Safe to do what I want, safe to make mistakes, safe to divide myself right down the middle. A dotted line. Sign here with no excuses, please and thanks, take what you want with no apologies. And just never ask me to choose because I won't do that ever again.

My lips burn and my flesh is raw as we work our way through to blissful sleep, to the rest of that orange juice, in the glass beside the lamp. The alarm goes off too soon and I can't reach it, not for the rubber limbs but for the fact that I wake up locked in Ben's arms, my head on his chest. I have to wake him in order to reach the button to turn off the music. Only I don't want to turn off the music and so I put my head back down and listen as Ben's heart beats in time with the song, with the rain, with Lochlan's heart and with my own and I am struck by how perfect imperfect love is.

Electrocute.

Let us beware of common folk, of common sense, of sentiment, of inspiration, and of the obvious.
~Charles Baudelaire

There's a steady drone today, an undercurrent competing with the drumming of the rain on the windows today. The glass electrified, dangerous, the view of the deadly seas comforting if only for the color, this beautiful dark green-grey shade that only makes itself known when you stare directly into it and allow the waves to wash over you, drowning you and teaching you to float all at the same time.

They were right about the rain here.

But I still think things are better overall.

Tonight is Ruth's very first band concert. Everyone is going to cheer her on and hear her play with her entire group. It's going to be mayhem and it could be fun too. After bedtime I have a date with my two favorite boys for a late supper. We need to get back on track. We need to chill together a little more. Maybe a lot more. I need to chill out altogether.

A lot. A whole lot.

More than a lot.

Tons.

Oodles. Boatloads. Meh, you get it.

Made in heaven.

Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes
But you’ll always be my hero
Even though you've lost your mind

I'm telling you Ben is different. You're not listening.

Jake always refused to indulge Lochlan. Jacob met Lochlan and based on what I told him about each and every friend, Jacob refused to buy shares in history and instead kept his savings invested in the present, painstakingly reminding me to live for now, because the past is just that, the past.

I failed.

I failed spectacularly, elisting Lochlan to pay Jacob back. I've had Lochlan pay back everyone who's ever wronged me and yet I'm pretty sure I drove them all to madness because of Lochlan in the first place. Rather than be outraged, you should be used to this. This is the way things are and that's one of the most amazing things about Benjamin. He wrote me a free pass and I became his boomerang girl and it works and I'm happy (in relative terms) and things are good.

Oddly Jacob believed in Ben. And Ben was a spectacular mess in the Jacob-days. Spectacular with a capital B. Holy fuck. Jacob must have been one hell of a visionary to see past what Ben presented to the world as himself.

Ben is the polar opposite of everyone. Every single one of them. They say white, he says black. They say light, he says dark, they say steaks, he says lipgloss. They tell him to be quiet, he'll blow the roof off. They tell him to relax, oh, Jesus, don't ever tell Ben to relax. He'll revolt. Implode. Break things. But only when you tell him to calm down. He's lost the most here and he wears it on the outside.

But they can't push Ben the way Jake got pushed around, second-guessed and ignored. Ben has nowhere to go but up, he's got nothing to lose by rebelling against the entire collective and they learned a long time ago he's going to do what he wants and no one's going to be able to stop him anyway.

Not sure if it's the constant exchange of bodily fluids or some sort of marriage-osmosis but it seems to be contagious. Healthy emotional cooties we've been sharing now for years. Hey bee, what do YOU want? Do that, and don't worry about what they say.

That's why I quit. I took a page from Ben's big book of Personal Anarchy for Dummies and I said enough. I said I was never fucking going back and I was rude and unladylike and I may or may not have thrown a BlackBerry (not mine, do I look like an idiot to you?) and I made a bit of a scene in the lobby when Caleb had the completely scary and unexpected nerve to chase after me when I left.

As usual, Caleb refused to accept my resignation. As usual he blamed everything on Lochlan because in case you didn't notice, they don't interact with each other. As usual Ben feigns disinterest in everything EXCEPT my bodily fluids. As usual Bridget spent the day having a tantrum. As usual it accomplished nothing.

As usual Lochlan is throwing down his customary ultimatums and as usual they're not going to last long enough to take hold. Ask Ben. I'll be in the library chewing on pages, choking on words. Call me when he comes home.

***

Ben came home two hours later, throwing the front doors open wide, his giant boots tracking wet leaves all the way across the foyer. I felt the vibrations of his footsteps from where I sat on the floor in the library. He threw the doors to that room open too, switched on the lights, took one look at me and crossed to where I sat against the glass, my back turned against the evening's black skies. He stopped when he reached me, crouching down in front of my face. He smelled like leather and forbidden cigarettes. He lifted up my chin and smiled at me. Gently and not like a monster. Not like everybody else.

You decide what you want to do.

No ultimatums, just letting me figure it out. Not because he's spineless, not because he's a pushover (God, sometimes I hate you, Internet), but because he watches. He watches fucking everything, and he's smarter than the rest of you by far. I have to figure this out and he knows it. I am not his child, I'm an adult. As depraved as he is, I am a grownup in this relationship too. An equal.

A match.

Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, and then plugged his headphones into it and put them in my ears. Then he pressed play, put the phone in my hands, and kissed my forehead hard. Then when the music started he stood up, turned around and left, shutting off the lights and pulling the doors closed behind him. He knew what I needed. No one else ever does.