Geneviève Bergeron, aged 21
Hélène Colgan, 23
Nathalie Croteau, 23
Barbara Daigneault, 22
Anne-Marie Edward, 21
Maud Haviernick, 29
Barbara Klucznik, 23
Maryse Leclair, 23
Annie St. Arneault, 23
Michèle Richard, 21
Maryse Laganière, 25
Anne-Marie Lemay, 22
Sonia Pelletier, 28
Annie Turcotte, 21.

I can't believe this happened twenty one years ago. Time has flown and dragged and fumbled and sped past. I am not going to tell you you should wear a white ribbon or donate to a cause or even take a moment to reflect. This is just something I remember without fail, every year.

Fly-by, the Seattle edition.

The next time I leave the country for six hours I will be sure to ask Lochlan's permission first, rather than not at all.

Last time I checked Bridget was an adult and also when I checked, Caleb was the one who kept ordering the drinks for me. Foolishly I accepted (most of) them. Lochlan is vaguely pissed off anyway, because inside his thick skull, I'm the farthest thing from an adult that there is and a precious commodity to be protected, not flown across the border to attend some horribly socially-stunted cocktail party and fed vodka until I boarded the plane again, shoes in hand and somewhat unsteadily buckled in by Benjamin to come back home.

On the upside, it was probably the only chance I'll have to enjoy the strapless pearl-grey dress and the silver shoes I love so much and never get to wear because they are far too glitzy for most functions. Ben wore a pewter tie and a dark grey suit with a black shirt and we looked amazing together. He avoided the bar all night, holding a bottled water and chatting in the corner with the same group for most of the evening. Watching me watch him. Watching me struggle.

I wasn't exactly smashed, I was simply too tired for a plane ride, we somehow missed dinner completely, and then the boredom of being surrounded by boorish executives and sycophantic, disgusting, bottom-feeder industry-types left me entertaining the bottom of any glass I could get my hands on, standing beside Caleb as he repeatedly tried and failed to engage me in conversation. I played with my phone, I admired my shoes. I was impossible. I was sexually harassed within moments, within earshot of Caleb, who ignored the faux pas completely, pissing me off. Perhaps I brought the party down. I do know the pseudo-pop music was annoying me before the bad behavior, setting a tone that smacked of post-college forced sophistication. We endured. It happens. Not every party can be a smashing success, not every event is going to be Vegas in a snowglobe, not every stranger will behave with decorum, not every song will be of my choosing.

Sadly. It should be. I have earned that much, haven't I?

Not every drink will be a candy-apple martini either. The first one was amazingly good, the next two were bearable, the fourth one sickly-sweet, the last one declined. However, we've already sent our regrets for the next function. Apparently we weren't as joy-killing as we felt we were and garnered another invite before take-off. I guess that's a good thing. It is a pretty spectacular dress, even if it is wrapped around a scowl.

I chose not to tell Ben about the lewd comments I received until we were home, partly because he spent a fair amount of time resisting the idea of attending at all, and secondly because Ben acts first and thinks later when someone oversteps his boundaries. He seems like he doesn't have any at all, but the limits of his good graces are very clearly defined and God help you if you overestimate them.

I chose wisely to tell him afterward, he said. Caleb wasn't going to tell him at all.

Exclusively yours (okay not so much, really).

Don't misunderstand me. Lochlan did not take Ben's birthday dinner as a public opportunity to set up his soapbox, he only spoke to Ben's character in being passionate and generous and forgiving in the face of what is nothing less than an intricate operation, a complicated situation that finds everyone confused sometimes. If we keep the big picture in mind it's easier to exist day by day. Please don't ask me what this 'big picture' is of, I don't think I've ever laid eyes on it. I suspect it might be a portrait of me, probably one that Cole shot.

Besides, if I know Ben, he will simply store up his outrage and take it out on Lochlan on the ice in about thirty minutes time. I'm going to film them this time with the camcorder so they can see what I see when they go down swinging, helmets knocked off, sweat flying. It's the only time they will physically engage one another in front of the children, because of the padding. Because it's a game.

My life is not a game.

It's a penalty box with a power play for the away team.

Carefully.

Because you feed me fables from your hand
With violent words and empty threats
And it's sick that all these battles
Are what keeps me satisfied

His chin is pressed against my head. He shakes his head and mine spins in response. Ow. I try to pull away but he doesn't let me go.

If I can't have certain things, then neither can Ben.

You don't get to do that, Lochlan.

Sure I do. Last time I checked I was the adult in this relationship.

Then act like it.

As soon as you stop finding room for him in your mental circus. Or in our history.

My history is complicated.

I know, I was there.

The abrupt shock of his comment turns my skull into ice. I'm sure had he pressed down with his chin just right my head would have shattered and melted into the floor. Instead he finally loosens his hold enough to pull back and look at me. I meet his gaze. It's easy for me to push Lochlan out of my past and be alone there, tapping on the glass, watching events unfold like some sort of ignorant bystander. It's more difficult to push him out of my present but there he is like a persistent itch or a beeping reminder. One missed call. Voice mail awaits.

This voicemail is an endless repetition. I should have left the decisions to the grownup and then we wouldn't have gone hungry, and we would have been safe. Everything would have been different. But I am impulsive and impossible. The i-words. I hate them. I can't help them.

Lochlan thinks with his dedicated vigilance he can turn back time and change things, fix things so that his little girl can grow up and stop fantasizing about the circus.

Only he doesn't, so why would she?

When he stood up at the birthday dinner to level his toast at Benjamin, he described in no uncertain terms exactly where he stands. In life, with me, with us. Words that were found by Benjamin and tucked away for safekeeping. Words that Ben took seriously, while I swung my legs and chewed on my hair and wished for a stronger drink than cranberry juice, knowing I would never get it. I wished for a magic carpet ride that would take me away from Lochlan and I wished for a clone so I could give him one hundred percent. I wished for clarity and for strength. I wished for peace of mind and an end to the concrete room if that's what Jacob wants. I wished for comfort for Cole and for Caleb too. I wished for a million huge wishes and then Ben blew out the candles on his cake and vetoed every last one of mine with one single wish of his own.

Happy forty-second birthday, you big fucking freak.

I am at the studio today, watching Ben work. We have plans shortly. I get the big crazy Macbook for an hour. Here you go.

Look at him now
He's paler somehow
But he's coming round
He's starting to choke
It's been so long since he spoke
Well he can have the words right from my mouth

And with these words I can see
Clear through the clouds that covered me
Just give it time then speak my name
Now we can hear ourselves again

I'm holding out for the day
When all the clouds have blown away
I'm with you now
Can speak your name
Now we can hear ourselves again

He says my name and I inhale sharply, frozen in my position on the platform. Ben stands in the center of the wire, balancing. My heart is in his hands.

Main attraction. No net.

The wire strains under his weight. The biggest of men are relegated to the ground in the show for a reason, the strongman, the giant, other circus sideshow freaks because everyone is intimidated by them, so let's single them out because they're different and take the upper hand. The builders, the ones you don't pay attention to. You should pay attention to this one.

The wire bends lower still. He begins to inch forward.

A chorus of fear erupts from below and he smiles and shakes his head, squinting. He's amused that his certain death is going to be witnessed by so many.

No, it isn't.

I use my hand signals and motion for the spotlight. I'll fix this. I'll save the night. I'll save the clown, though you would never know it. Clowns never ever wear black.

I am blinded and I let my eyes unfocus as I smile wide, holding up the lace parasol and putting it over my head daintily, the worst thing a superstitious person can do with an umbrella, and yet the crowd has already turned their attention to me. Not only is he going to fall, but she's going to raise the bar of difficulty and go out and push him off.

The smile is beginning to hurt, and they think I am evil.

I weigh nothing, reaching him in seconds. Don't look down, princess, just play the role you were born to play. Walk the tightrope, leave them breathless. You are braver than anyone else on this show, in this world.

To my surprise, the voice in my mind causes me to falter. Just slightly but it's enough and I hear a tight scream from below. I can't see the crowd, the lights are between the ropes and the stands. A low murmur begins to reach my ears. The Ringmaster calls for quiet, please, so the performers can remain focused!

Only the one in the center isn't supposed to be here. Will he get credit? Will he get paid? Will he be asked to stay on through the next town? When the last question marks reach my eyebrows and raise them slightly my hand makes contact and he grabs it and holds on tightly. An uncontrollable cheer goes up from the crowd that is quickly silenced and he shakes his head again. We haven't done anything yet. Don't be premature.

I begin to slide down toward him.

I balance myself against his hand and let it happen. If I fight it we'll both die. Besides, the angle is ridiculous and I am wearing tights. The rope does not bend when I do this alone. I slide right in against his feet and the wire begins to wobble horizontally and I tell him to keep going. Keep moving. Come on! If you pause we're not going to make it. If you breathe, we're not going to survive the fall. We'll make the headlines and the show will come to a grinding halt forever. We can't let down our friends, and we cannot scar the crowd for life. People avoid circuses for the clowns but secretly they live for the thrills that lie behind their fears.

They live for this.

And so do I.

You can do this. Come on. Fast, baby. Don't look down. I am sliding. Backwards now. He is pushing me, with his hands in front, still holding my heart which he hasn't dropped, no, not even once and I am grasping his sleeves and shifting my balance to barely compensate for his errors. He has the important part and he trusts me not to let go.

We reach the platform. We are safe.

The tent erupts in a roar of relief and excitement. His eyes are bright. It is contagious, this feeling. You have pleased them, now reap the reward of applause. This is nothing new to him though, he did this every night for years. I turn and wave, blowing a few precious kisses to the crowd below. I still cannot see them but the sound is deafening to me, I can't imagine what's like for him. I must be underwater, blind and mute to this incredible moment. Giving a final wave, I turn back and follow Ben down the ladder to the relative security of the hard dirt floor, swept smooth.

And then he breaks into a run, leaving the tent, leaving the show behind, taking my heart with him.

We couldn't catch him if we tried.

It's okay. He'll circle around and catch up with us on the way to the next town. Somehow he won everyone's hearts, even though he only ever wanted mine.

Slow poison.

What once was a girl
Is now just a ghost
Is now just a ghost
And everyone knows it

Seen it before
And we watched her explode
Yeah, a high and a low
But nobody shows it

Nothing hurts worse
Than a hope that's deferred
Don't let it slip away
See you shining under the shame

Acqua Di Gio. Back when I was a child it was Azzaro. Not sure why, but he likes the very clean scents for aftershave and never bit into the craze for whatever was popular.

I can still taste it.

Ben put his hands on my shoulders. He was standing behind me silently. Possession? I can feel the stare, I just can't see it. A kiss landed on top of my head, hard. Resignation. I was mistaken. He turns and leaves the room and I am lighter in weight but heavier in heart.

Caleb has come back downstairs from Henry's room from their quick goodnight tuck-in time. I watch him unbutton a button at his neck. The tie is hanging out of his pants pocket, his sleeves are rolled up. Pale grey shirt, black pants, black socks because I make everyone take their shoes off in the front hall. The endless acres of white carpet require it. I'll be damned if I'm going to clean this house more often than it needs it simply because they want to wander around it with footwear on. The exceptions are my high heels because I need those precious meters to see if I can walk or if I should return for a more reasonable pair, and Ben, who is too preoccupied most of the time to pay attention and did not make it to this age to follow rules.

Except for these ones.

I'm drowning in the fucking aftershave. I can bite it. It isn't strong. He is just close and it was applied recently. I'm thinking he showered and changed and then came over. It saves him time and time is such a precious commodity to me I left my soul where I sold it and opted for visiting hours instead.

His concern is evident. My disdain apparent. Checkmate.

We should talk.

Is there anything left to talk about?

You still talk to Lochlan, don't you? It's been longer.

That's different.

Jesus, you're something else. He has just as much blame to share in as I do.

I shake my head.

I cannot believe that you don't see that. I thought for sure as you got older...

You had no idea you would still be in my life!

Cole did a fine job keeping me away most of the time.

I should have left well enough alone.

I'm glad you didn't. He is smiling at me. Every single day I am struck by how much contact they have with each other, my boys. Calls, letters, then emails. Meetings, sometimes here, sometimes far from where we are. A bond that I love to imagine they forged in the woods, stricken with cold and honor, clinking their armor as they all put their hands to the center, gauntlets touching to seal a promise.

(Oh, well, shit. Snap back to reality, why don't you, Bridget.)

Things would be easier.

Sure, if you liked remaining in that cold city alone, with the boys traveling.

Fine. You win. You're right. Happy now?

Always, when I am with you. I'm happy that I can be an active part of the children's lives. Of your life.

(Fantasy Bridget has decided he must have had the fastest horse, or something. Maybe enchanted armor or an epic mount. Spells that he put the others under in order to be a part of our lives.)

I nod and abruptly tell him I'm not feeling well and he frowns.

Then I won't stay long.

I nod again. Sometimes I wish he would just explode into a million fragments of evil that I could sweep out the door and other times I wish he didn't look so much like Cole in near-darkness.

When he leaves I am sick to my stomach. Not because I refuse to say goodbye anymore but because the aftershave has made my head pound and twist and it's all I can do to race back upstairs in time to let out the tension.

Pandemonium.

This is pretty nice. I have a very large collection of seaglass now. Early on my plan was to divide it up, one Atlantic collection and one Pacific but in the end I combined it. I expected the glass here to look different somehow, the same way the lobsters do, the way the sand is different and the color of the sea, but the glass is the same. I think I would rather make my own wreath instead of buying an L.L. Bean-branded version, albeit with a lot of work involved. It feels sacrilegious somehow, as if something you can get for nothing save for a bit of time poking in the surf should never come with a price tag attached.

This is presently stuck in my head (dear God). The cheesy pretend-goth schtick is cute and all but she can actually sing, and she doesn't sound like an Avril Lavigne clone. Score one for the sad panda. What a great voice, even though she never lets go. Reminds me of Ann Wilson, oddly enough.

Tomorrow the children break out their pricey 2010 Advent calendars (courtesy of Caleb this year). They have been talking about them every day this week. Not sure if it's the German chocolate after breakfast aspect or the countdown to Christmas that excites them, the answer changes by the hour. Should you wish to enjoy one (without the chocolate, mind you) there is a neat one here.

I am currently obsessed with LED string lights. Fitting, since the holidays are here. The offset for the higher cost is that they last longer, use less electricity but best of all, they never heat up. You can leave them on all the time. That is pretty cool when you have a big house and you get up during the night but don't want to turn on hallway lights OR break your neck. My favorites are the fairy lights, teeny-tiny tips that are so pretty. They remind me of my Lite-Brite machine.

Boy, have those ever changed. Sorry I even looked.

This isn't bothering me yet. In spite of changing my stockings several times a day because I cannot stand the feeling of wet feet and wearing waterproof mascara every day now instead of only on days that end in -swim (which I can't ever get off completely, speaking of sad pandas), the rain is comforting somehow and FAR less claustrophobic than snow. Keep your snow and sun and I will keep the cozy, endless rain. Rain at the beach or when you are sleeping is the most romantic thing ever. I'll take it, gladly.

Besides, rain means warm. I like being warm.

More later as I can manage, since I do have an actual post to write. Don't you love my title? I wanted to write Panda-monium but I just couldn't do it. Haha.

Lastly, the children are home today for a non-instructional school day. Which means lots of noise and video games. Pretty much like when the boys are home only they eat slightly less.

Slightly, I said. They are getting so big.

*Sniff*

Allergic reactions.

I am having such a productive and upbeat, crazy sort of day that I really don't want to talk about Caleb vesus Lochlan right this second.

Would it be so bad if I didn't? Good. It's one of the palls that casts such a deep shadow over my life that I am on vitamin D supplements over it. Except for today. Today I'm in the light, baby. I am chipping away at errands and chores and getting used to the freaking CAR culture here (aka Bridget has to drive EVERYWHERE now). Saw two more fender bumpers and a major accident this morning. They have boulevards with nice rounded edges in town so if you hit one it causes you to go airborne into the opposite lane. Nice isn't it? What can I say, instead of a neverending stream of cursing and fear mongering I think I'm just going to go with finding everyone here VERY enthusiastic about getting where they are going!

Otherwise I might go mad.

What's that?

(I can't hear you).

La la la.

Anyway, I have Christmas almost done. Which is handy. The remaining list is ridiculously short and for once it seems manageable. So there! Take that, world. Yesterday Ben was up and down the ladder twenty-billion times (calling me the Light Nazi under his breath because this was a total do-over) while I alternately handed up hammers and staple guns and Christmas-light strings and our house possibly looks like one from a magazine right now.

Fuck you if you say Polygamy Today.

I was thinking more along the lines of Architectural Digest.

(Oh, and now would be a GREAT time to ask you not to send any more links and notes telling me how lucky I am, because Canada will soon be the first developed nation to legalize plural marriage. Because, well, just don't.)

Ben is nightmarishly occupied again. But at least he's here and at the end of the day he holds out his arms and I am pulled into them and there I remain through the dark. Currently the concrete room is off limits, because I can't get to it from Ben and right now that's good.

Small blessings. Or very large ones, depending on which ones you mean.

Now do I really need to play $60 for a cast-iron tree stand? Because we had one and it's gone. It was in a box with several blankets, a plunger, a lava-lamp and most of my pots and pans. It never made it here, oddly enough. I counted three times and the box is accounted for but not present.
But instead of finding that disappointing, let's just say I hope the family who got that box (from AMJ Campbell van lines somewhere between March and May if you're the ones) really enjoy the bizarre, unrelated contents. What can I say, by March I was a little bit DONE with moving and had resorted to tossing things in boxes quite randomly.

But look, here are the hives on my flesh now, the ones that break out whenever anyone mentions moving, or life changes, or car accidents, or polygamy. So I will stop here for the day and go get busy on life instead. See you tomorrow.

The summer of 1981. (Part One because I am short on time today)

Lochlan was not a happy camper Saturday morning. To find Caleb in the guest room and then at the breakfast table set him on edge and made his words clipped and his affection short and dry. He just closes up shop and endures. And yet he's gracious, offering the newspaper before he's read it (no one read it in the end), asking Cale if he needed a coffee refill when I was otherwise engaged cleaning Ben's glasses for him because he does an awful job and then complains about it.

Once Caleb left after lunch I got to work on thawing Lochlan out.

This goes back thirty years, their intense competition and dislike of each other. Cole forged such incredibly close friendships when most of Caleb's high school friends seemed to run off and join the navy. He did not. He knew from birth that he wanted to be rich and nothing less would do. The best way to do that was to get his law degree first so no one would ever be able to fuck him over ever. Lochlan took Caleb's place as Cole's brother, in spirit. They did everything together. Caleb became the big brother removed, the driver, a third parent, a voice of responsibility when Cole and Lochlan were busy learning independence and chasing teenaged thrills.

And girls. Let's not forget the girls. I think Lochlan managed to steal a half-dozen girlfriends out from under Caleb by virtue of his exotic charm and his ridiculously tousled strawberry curls. He also went away to work for weeks at a time and the mystery of that was a huge draw. He was freewheeling and popular.

He had no curfew. For a fifteen-year-old, that was big.

Everyone was looking for a good time, where Caleb grew up early, financially stable at seventeen, with goals, decorum and charisma. He was chivalry defined, but no one appreciates that when you're in high school. He was too serious and too focused.

After the damage had been done, Lochlan proved to be a little too freewheeling for most of those girls. He didn't care if they were happy or comfortable. He didn't care if they were present. He didn't care what they wanted to do. He would make plans with the boys and if a girl showed up, cool, if not, whatever. This frustrated Caleb even more, because now Lochlan was just throwing away the very thing Caleb wanted and couldn't keep.

And then I came along.

Suddenly all eyes were focused on Lochlan and he rose to the challenge. Suddenly there's this stupid ten-year-old following him everywhere but at least she's not eight anymore and as long as she promises to stay with him she's allowed out later and what a pain in the ass but she's sorta pretty too and not as annoying as she used to be and Lochlan could talk to her and he did. Maybe he needed someone to look after who needed to be looked after instead of a gaggle of girls bound for college. Yes, let's just go the other way and pick someone in elementary school.

Only it wasn't romantic. In the least. So stop that.

Besides. I had a crush on Caleb. Actually I had a crush on just about everyone back then because I had read Bailey's copy of The Outsiders and I likened the boys to the characters in the book. I romanticized everything because I had just discovered that boys and girls could be in love and maybe I would be too some day but for now I really wanted to spend time with the boys because they were out doing things and having adventures and going to the beach and to the lake and all the ten-year-old girls I knew I had abandoned two years early when I wanted to live in the woods by the bridge over the little stream up the path between the end of my street and the baseball field. The path was big enough for three bikes across sometimes and sometimes you had to walk single file. It was always full of mud. The girls my age did not want to get dirty, they wanted to stay inside and play Pool Barbie.

Caleb was Dallas from the depths of S.E. Hinton's mind. The oldest and most mysterious. But Lochlan was Ponyboy. He paid attention to me and I liked it. I liked it an awful lot.

The war had begun.

Despicable me.

(Sometimes we get along really well, you see.)

Being able to have breakfast with the children is something both they and Caleb find to be an incredible treat. It usually only happens when he takes them to the East Coast during summer break or on nights when they stay with him and stay up too late watching movies and eating gourmet popcorn instead of regular.

They pointed out he would have had to have woken up very early on a Saturday to get ready and drive up the coast from downtown to see us.

Yes, I suppose he would have.