Har.
(Actual post to follow later. We've run out of strawberries and whiskey, so I need to go shopping first.)
Tuesday, 5 June 2012
Cool things I find in my Instagram feed (Part 1):
Har.
(Actual post to follow later. We've run out of strawberries and whiskey, so I need to go shopping first.)
Monday, 4 June 2012
Une espion (ici dans mon coeur).
Mike stopped by this morning, on his way back from taking Caleb to a meeting. Not sure why Caleb couldn't drive himself today but I know that the literal handful of sleeping hours we amassed over the weekend collectively have made for a lot of slow starting on this rainy cold Monday morning.
He wanted to check in and see how I was. I told him he could call but he said he was in the neighborhood.
Yeah, right.
This was a visual inspection, not all that different from the one Lochlan gave me, or Mike would have simply called. I told him I was fine, that I would probably see him again in a couple of weeks. I gave him my five-hundred-watt smile to seal the deal so that he would see that I am eager, that I am okay. I kept my bruised wrists behind my back and I talked really fucking fast, too, but that's neither here nor there.
It was after he turned to leave that things got interesting.
He walked away down the steps but veered down the path to the driveway, ostensibly to say hello to New Jake, who is in the driveway keeping the Sunbeam motorcycle on life support every chance he gets. (Today was a day off from working with Sam, since Sam is on a little long-weekend vacation with Matt so they can sort out their hearts together in private). I am keeping one eye on Jake today and one eye on the clock because he is my next victim for giant rustic sandwiches. Today I'm plotting sprouts and swiss on rye, toasted with a side salad of tomatoes and oh fuck, nevermind. You really don't care what we're going to have for lunch, do you?
I went up to my balcony to water plants instead of watching the men. My balcony is off the master wing, the wrong side of the property. Instead of the water, it overlooks part of the driveway and the side yard. Brilliant design, really, but good for sun for my potted flowers. I'm done watering when I realize Mike is still here and that he and Jake have taken up some interesting posturing. I get as close as I can to the railing without being seen and I hear the defensiveness in Mike's voice.
No one's looking out for her here so I try and do what I can.
You don't know anything about any of us, so don't assume.
Actually you're the only one I haven't really been briefed on, Jake. Want to tell me how long you've been a hired gun?
Let's cut to the chase then. Jake smiles. I was hired to keep an eye on Bridget. Your boss knows that. He probably didn't tell you because he's so surprised I wound up living sixty feet away and he doesn't quite know what to do about that so he feigns ignorance and pretends that the story I give them holds. But in the interest of Bridget's safety, I think she should continue to think of me the way she does now.
How do you protect her when you can't shadow her moves?
That isn't required. I only keep my employer informed.
Mike is nodding, possibly deciding that Jake is not an imminent threat. He checks the clouds and then asks Jake if anything ever happens to give him a call, he can be here in minutes. Jake thinks for a minute and then nods and shakes Mike's hand. There's a brotherhood of a different sort, right there. Hired goonage.
I crawl off my balcony and in through the double doors.
Goonage indeed. I count to one hundred and then go downstairs. When I get outside the driveway is empty. The bike is locked away in the garage so I head back into the house and after a brief peek into the kitchenI find no one and so I head down the hall.
The door is closed. New Jake is in his room. I knock and he tells me Come in. I barely hear him. He is standing at the bureau testing his blood sugar. He holds up his numbers and I nod. I've learned more about managing diabetes in the past year than I ever knew growing up.
His room is so cozy. Stacked with books. Tidy, unlike most of the other boys. His messenger bag contents are laid out neatly on the desk, a clear and questionable departure from you would expect to find on an apprentice carpenter should you find one and ask him to empty his pockets. It's an everyday carry kit for urban survival, and I'm not as dumb as I look.
Jake had huge holes in his story and I didn't ask him to shine lights into them. I did my own investigations and I had my suspicions before today but I waited for him and I can't wait anymore.
Jake works for Batman. He is a spy, plain and simple. A plant, here to keep an eye on me as I exist under the dark wings of the brothers Grimm, one living, one dead, because Batman made a promise and a promise is a promise, after all.
Which explains why Caleb balked when new Jake arrived and won me over.
I just knew that new Jake, with his coincidental name and terrible habit of going days without eating properly, did not fall into my care by accident. Accidents like this don't happen. Everything's coming out, we're laying it all on the table at last. Every last secret, every swallowed feeling, every lie told in an effort to live transparently, pure. There's no other way we're going to make it. And besides, he's a lousy carpenter. Sam wouldn't have much use for that and so Sam obviously has chosen sides as well. I'll have to deal with him later.
Time to call in the beginnings of Jacob's truth.
How often does Batman pay you?
He whirls around, looking alarmed. Too late to check the expression but he tries, nontheless.
I work for Sam...A weak defense, maintaining position. This doesn't give me any reason to trust him if he's going to stand there and deny the truth. I tell him this and he smiles.
You know, he really wasn't kidding when he said you were addictive.
I roll my eyes. I need answers, not charm. I won't have strangers in my house, Jake.
I'm the safest man here, Bridget, I can guarantee you that.
I let that inalienable truth hit the floor and remain, a fixture.
What exactly are you doing, then?
Information management.
You report my activities.
Yes, mostly. And the others, as necessary.
Caleb's movements as well?
Yes, if necessary.
What does Batman do with the information you give him? Is he plotting something?
You'll have to talk to him about that. I just provide the intel.
The intel. There's that word again. The last time I heard it I went on a wild goose chase to the other side of the country and set myself back a thousand years if a day.
Give him a call. Tell him you need him to stop by.
Bridget, I-
Just do it. Please. And come and find me when he arrives. I guess you'll know where I am.
He wanted to check in and see how I was. I told him he could call but he said he was in the neighborhood.
Yeah, right.
This was a visual inspection, not all that different from the one Lochlan gave me, or Mike would have simply called. I told him I was fine, that I would probably see him again in a couple of weeks. I gave him my five-hundred-watt smile to seal the deal so that he would see that I am eager, that I am okay. I kept my bruised wrists behind my back and I talked really fucking fast, too, but that's neither here nor there.
It was after he turned to leave that things got interesting.
He walked away down the steps but veered down the path to the driveway, ostensibly to say hello to New Jake, who is in the driveway keeping the Sunbeam motorcycle on life support every chance he gets. (Today was a day off from working with Sam, since Sam is on a little long-weekend vacation with Matt so they can sort out their hearts together in private). I am keeping one eye on Jake today and one eye on the clock because he is my next victim for giant rustic sandwiches. Today I'm plotting sprouts and swiss on rye, toasted with a side salad of tomatoes and oh fuck, nevermind. You really don't care what we're going to have for lunch, do you?
I went up to my balcony to water plants instead of watching the men. My balcony is off the master wing, the wrong side of the property. Instead of the water, it overlooks part of the driveway and the side yard. Brilliant design, really, but good for sun for my potted flowers. I'm done watering when I realize Mike is still here and that he and Jake have taken up some interesting posturing. I get as close as I can to the railing without being seen and I hear the defensiveness in Mike's voice.
No one's looking out for her here so I try and do what I can.
You don't know anything about any of us, so don't assume.
Actually you're the only one I haven't really been briefed on, Jake. Want to tell me how long you've been a hired gun?
Let's cut to the chase then. Jake smiles. I was hired to keep an eye on Bridget. Your boss knows that. He probably didn't tell you because he's so surprised I wound up living sixty feet away and he doesn't quite know what to do about that so he feigns ignorance and pretends that the story I give them holds. But in the interest of Bridget's safety, I think she should continue to think of me the way she does now.
How do you protect her when you can't shadow her moves?
That isn't required. I only keep my employer informed.
Mike is nodding, possibly deciding that Jake is not an imminent threat. He checks the clouds and then asks Jake if anything ever happens to give him a call, he can be here in minutes. Jake thinks for a minute and then nods and shakes Mike's hand. There's a brotherhood of a different sort, right there. Hired goonage.
I crawl off my balcony and in through the double doors.
Goonage indeed. I count to one hundred and then go downstairs. When I get outside the driveway is empty. The bike is locked away in the garage so I head back into the house and after a brief peek into the kitchenI find no one and so I head down the hall.
The door is closed. New Jake is in his room. I knock and he tells me Come in. I barely hear him. He is standing at the bureau testing his blood sugar. He holds up his numbers and I nod. I've learned more about managing diabetes in the past year than I ever knew growing up.
His room is so cozy. Stacked with books. Tidy, unlike most of the other boys. His messenger bag contents are laid out neatly on the desk, a clear and questionable departure from you would expect to find on an apprentice carpenter should you find one and ask him to empty his pockets. It's an everyday carry kit for urban survival, and I'm not as dumb as I look.
Jake had huge holes in his story and I didn't ask him to shine lights into them. I did my own investigations and I had my suspicions before today but I waited for him and I can't wait anymore.
Jake works for Batman. He is a spy, plain and simple. A plant, here to keep an eye on me as I exist under the dark wings of the brothers Grimm, one living, one dead, because Batman made a promise and a promise is a promise, after all.
Which explains why Caleb balked when new Jake arrived and won me over.
I just knew that new Jake, with his coincidental name and terrible habit of going days without eating properly, did not fall into my care by accident. Accidents like this don't happen. Everything's coming out, we're laying it all on the table at last. Every last secret, every swallowed feeling, every lie told in an effort to live transparently, pure. There's no other way we're going to make it. And besides, he's a lousy carpenter. Sam wouldn't have much use for that and so Sam obviously has chosen sides as well. I'll have to deal with him later.
Time to call in the beginnings of Jacob's truth.
How often does Batman pay you?
He whirls around, looking alarmed. Too late to check the expression but he tries, nontheless.
I work for Sam...A weak defense, maintaining position. This doesn't give me any reason to trust him if he's going to stand there and deny the truth. I tell him this and he smiles.
You know, he really wasn't kidding when he said you were addictive.
I roll my eyes. I need answers, not charm. I won't have strangers in my house, Jake.
I'm the safest man here, Bridget, I can guarantee you that.
I let that inalienable truth hit the floor and remain, a fixture.
What exactly are you doing, then?
Information management.
You report my activities.
Yes, mostly. And the others, as necessary.
Caleb's movements as well?
Yes, if necessary.
What does Batman do with the information you give him? Is he plotting something?
You'll have to talk to him about that. I just provide the intel.
The intel. There's that word again. The last time I heard it I went on a wild goose chase to the other side of the country and set myself back a thousand years if a day.
Give him a call. Tell him you need him to stop by.
Bridget, I-
Just do it. Please. And come and find me when he arrives. I guess you'll know where I am.
Sunday, 3 June 2012
Red haven.
I am freshly showered, scrubbed and scalded, having spent close to an hour under the stinging spray and I climb under the covers to reach the redheaded dreamer, still sleeping into the late morning. Only he isn't sleeping.
Locket.
He gives me a gentle shove. Get the fuck away from me.
I hold fast. No. My voice is pleading.
He reaches out and pulls me tightly against him, putting his hand up to press my head against his heart. He squeezes me so hard, not letting go and I can't breathe but I'm more concerned that my head will burst and that will be the end of me. I endure it even though it hurts worse than anything the dark lords can come up with.
You're killing me, peanut. I can't breathe when you're with him.
I took Ben with me, and you could breathe enough to fall asleep.
I fell asleep at 5:15 this morning, which was right after Ben messaged me to let me know you would be leaving soon. He groans and sits up, pulling me up with him. He lifts my head up and inspects every inch of me that he can see. His eyes look haunted, ruined and relieved.
How did we get so fucked up that this is routine?
I need to do this.
You don't owe him anything.
I owe him everything. It's a warning voice. I wanted everyone here. He made that happen.
Lochlan meets it head-on. We don't need to be here. We can live in the camper. I can get some land. Maybe back in the Maritimes.
We can't afford it.
We could at least try! Jesus. Selling your soul to the monster wasn't an answer to anything. I should have never brought you back. We should have just taken the offer to give up our names and run.
We would have gotten caught.
Yeah, well, I tried to do the right thing and look where it got me.
At least you're here. With me. That's all I want.
No it isn't. Or you wouldn't have gone last night.
Between the verbal circles we run in and the lack of sleep and proper food I feel dizzy and I disentangle myself to lie down again. When my head hits the pillow I smell Irish Spring soap and sunscreen and heat. I close my eyes and it's 1982 again and as long as I can still pull that off then the rest isn't important. His arms close around me and I'm safe at last.
Locket.
He gives me a gentle shove. Get the fuck away from me.
I hold fast. No. My voice is pleading.
He reaches out and pulls me tightly against him, putting his hand up to press my head against his heart. He squeezes me so hard, not letting go and I can't breathe but I'm more concerned that my head will burst and that will be the end of me. I endure it even though it hurts worse than anything the dark lords can come up with.
You're killing me, peanut. I can't breathe when you're with him.
I took Ben with me, and you could breathe enough to fall asleep.
I fell asleep at 5:15 this morning, which was right after Ben messaged me to let me know you would be leaving soon. He groans and sits up, pulling me up with him. He lifts my head up and inspects every inch of me that he can see. His eyes look haunted, ruined and relieved.
How did we get so fucked up that this is routine?
I need to do this.
You don't owe him anything.
I owe him everything. It's a warning voice. I wanted everyone here. He made that happen.
Lochlan meets it head-on. We don't need to be here. We can live in the camper. I can get some land. Maybe back in the Maritimes.
We can't afford it.
We could at least try! Jesus. Selling your soul to the monster wasn't an answer to anything. I should have never brought you back. We should have just taken the offer to give up our names and run.
We would have gotten caught.
Yeah, well, I tried to do the right thing and look where it got me.
At least you're here. With me. That's all I want.
No it isn't. Or you wouldn't have gone last night.
Between the verbal circles we run in and the lack of sleep and proper food I feel dizzy and I disentangle myself to lie down again. When my head hits the pillow I smell Irish Spring soap and sunscreen and heat. I close my eyes and it's 1982 again and as long as I can still pull that off then the rest isn't important. His arms close around me and I'm safe at last.
Saturday, 2 June 2012
Perfidia
Mike picks me up at my front door and takes me to the harbor. He walks me down the dock to the yacht. The lights are all on, it looks so beautiful at night and the rain has ceased for the moment. It's supposed to be such a beautiful sunrise in the morning. I don't want to stay up too late and then miss it.
Caleb is waiting on deck, staring into a glass of red wine, looking up in a perfectly timed, practiced look of pleasure and surprise. He comes out to meet me at the end of the ramp and then shakes hands with Mike quickly and wishes him a good night. Mike says Same to you, sir, and then nods to me and says Have a lovely night. He calls me Mrs. C____. I frown at the name but remember my manners long enough to smile in return. The very last thing Caleb is going to do is acknowledge my other life when he is alone with me. He'll just conveniently turn back time and forget everything new. The devil can do all sorts of things like that. That's his job.
He can't make me forget. I shouldn't be here at all, except that when the going gets tough, the tough runs screaming to old familiar. Some habits don't seem to break as easily as one hopes they will. Some faces serve to be a comfort even as they cause you pain.
He has gone all out tonight. Or maybe that's all in? Lobster. Steak. Roast potatoes. Oysters on the half shell and caviar with my favorite crackers. He pours me a glass of wine. Bolgheri. Candles are lit on the table while Glenn Miller tunes play softly over the sound system.
He takes my hand and lifts it up over my head. I spin dutifully and he smiles.
You look beautiful.
I dressed deliberately, carefully for him. The highest heels I can manage. The sparest, palest pink slip dress and a few hundred dollars worth of bespoke lingerie he commissioned to be made for me back in the day when I cared about such things more than I do now. No jewelry. He is pleased and that's better than disappointed, I have learned.
The voice changes to Frank Sinatra and I smile and take a sip of my wine. He takes several moments to establish the whereabouts of the entire household. He asks about both children, never just one, and he steadfastly refuses to talk about anything business-related because he's a gentleman. By this time I have answered all questions placed before me in as much detail as possible, he has led me to the table and pulled out my chair. I sit. I am starving, my shaking fingers giving me away as I fumble with the butter knife. He takes the knife from me and butters the whole roll for me, breaking off a piece and holding it up to my lips. I take a small bite. His blue eyes twinkle in the candle flames.
Flames.
I stand up abruptly.
What's the matter?
I should be home.
You're exactly where you should be, Bridget. He leans down and kisses me. Softly at first and then harder as he backs me against the wall. He stops, pressing his forehead against mine, eyes closed, lips slack, hands clenched around my hair. I think we can wait to eat until later. He takes my hand and turns to walk away, pulling me with him. I assume we're going to the master stateroom but he has other plans. We go straight to the bridge.
Are we leaving? I ask. I wasn't under the impression we would be taking the boat out tonight.
He smiles. I'll be back in a moment. He leaves me there and I spend the wait staring out at the lights. He is back soon enough with two glasses and a new bottle of the Bolgheri wine I said I loved so much once. His memory is frightening in the way it manifests itself in his attention to detail. He pours one glass and lifts it to my lips. I move to take it but he holds my hand down while he tips the glass against my mouth.
Then he collects my other hand and produces a ribbon from out of nowhere. He ties my hands to the railing on the desk. Oh. Shit.
Caleb-
Don't you worry about a thing. He lifts my head with his hand on my chin and then uses his thumb to smooth along my forehead. Not a thing. Everything is okay, Bridget. He resumes his kisses, all over my face and throat and then he abruptly lifts me up and forces me to the floor. I am on my knees now, arms tied above my head. I can turn but that's it. I can't stand up again on my own, not with these shoes. I'm helpless. And he is thrilled. He smooths my hair back away from my face, off my shoulders. I close my eyes and when I open them I see a second pair of shoes.
He smiles. I'm so glad you both agreed to see me tonight. You really have no idea.
***
When my eyes open early in the morning it takes several moments for me to extricate my limbs and my hair from Ben's hands. He is clutching me in his sleep. I give up and shake his shoulder gently. His eyes open and close again and he turns onto his back, releasing me. His hand trails across my thigh and then falls to the bed.
I bend down and pick up a dress shirt off the floor, shrugging into it, buttoning all the buttons save for the top two. I don't know if it's Ben's or Caleb's shirt. They wear the same size. I swim in it so I roll the cuffs up seven or eight times until I see my hands. It's almost to my knees. Good enough for a short walk to the kitchen to bring back some orange juice and croissants and then get Ben awake and up so we can take our drive of shame, slipping home and upstairs to get ready before we are caught.
When I reach the kitchen Caleb is already there, making coffee. He's in a tight blue t-shirt and jeans. He looks rested and pulled-together even though he's had maybe two hours sleep if any at all.
Morning doll. I'll pour our coffee if you want to go out on deck and see the sun come up.
I nod. Morning is the only time he doesn't have an opinion on my appearance. Morning is the only time I am allowed to appear with the wrong clothes and tangled hair with scratches on my throat and my legs, skin still red from the rough ride of the darkest hours between the devil and the melody. I stumble outside into the bright morning and am greeted with a watercolor representation of my favorite sky against the water. All oranges, pinks and soft blues. Greys mixed with shame mixed with defiance. He had said to come alone and Ben followed in the truck, precisely five minutes behind, since that's precisely how long I was on my knees before Ben walked in and untied my hands, admonishing Caleb for needing to resort to total barbarism when charm would achieve better results. Ben is like a panacea to Caleb, and so instead of being angry, Caleb was pleased to see him and pleased to have unspoken permission to do unspeakable things.
Caleb appears with my coffee and I take it gratefully, burning my tongue as I try and gulp it down to clear my head.
The most beautiful sunrises follow the worst storms, Bridget.
I nod. I know it's a metaphor for my life only this isn't beautiful and the storm hasn't passed yet. It's just starting.
Caleb is waiting on deck, staring into a glass of red wine, looking up in a perfectly timed, practiced look of pleasure and surprise. He comes out to meet me at the end of the ramp and then shakes hands with Mike quickly and wishes him a good night. Mike says Same to you, sir, and then nods to me and says Have a lovely night. He calls me Mrs. C____. I frown at the name but remember my manners long enough to smile in return. The very last thing Caleb is going to do is acknowledge my other life when he is alone with me. He'll just conveniently turn back time and forget everything new. The devil can do all sorts of things like that. That's his job.
He can't make me forget. I shouldn't be here at all, except that when the going gets tough, the tough runs screaming to old familiar. Some habits don't seem to break as easily as one hopes they will. Some faces serve to be a comfort even as they cause you pain.
He has gone all out tonight. Or maybe that's all in? Lobster. Steak. Roast potatoes. Oysters on the half shell and caviar with my favorite crackers. He pours me a glass of wine. Bolgheri. Candles are lit on the table while Glenn Miller tunes play softly over the sound system.
He takes my hand and lifts it up over my head. I spin dutifully and he smiles.
You look beautiful.
I dressed deliberately, carefully for him. The highest heels I can manage. The sparest, palest pink slip dress and a few hundred dollars worth of bespoke lingerie he commissioned to be made for me back in the day when I cared about such things more than I do now. No jewelry. He is pleased and that's better than disappointed, I have learned.
The voice changes to Frank Sinatra and I smile and take a sip of my wine. He takes several moments to establish the whereabouts of the entire household. He asks about both children, never just one, and he steadfastly refuses to talk about anything business-related because he's a gentleman. By this time I have answered all questions placed before me in as much detail as possible, he has led me to the table and pulled out my chair. I sit. I am starving, my shaking fingers giving me away as I fumble with the butter knife. He takes the knife from me and butters the whole roll for me, breaking off a piece and holding it up to my lips. I take a small bite. His blue eyes twinkle in the candle flames.
Flames.
I stand up abruptly.
What's the matter?
I should be home.
You're exactly where you should be, Bridget. He leans down and kisses me. Softly at first and then harder as he backs me against the wall. He stops, pressing his forehead against mine, eyes closed, lips slack, hands clenched around my hair. I think we can wait to eat until later. He takes my hand and turns to walk away, pulling me with him. I assume we're going to the master stateroom but he has other plans. We go straight to the bridge.
Are we leaving? I ask. I wasn't under the impression we would be taking the boat out tonight.
He smiles. I'll be back in a moment. He leaves me there and I spend the wait staring out at the lights. He is back soon enough with two glasses and a new bottle of the Bolgheri wine I said I loved so much once. His memory is frightening in the way it manifests itself in his attention to detail. He pours one glass and lifts it to my lips. I move to take it but he holds my hand down while he tips the glass against my mouth.
Then he collects my other hand and produces a ribbon from out of nowhere. He ties my hands to the railing on the desk. Oh. Shit.
Caleb-
Don't you worry about a thing. He lifts my head with his hand on my chin and then uses his thumb to smooth along my forehead. Not a thing. Everything is okay, Bridget. He resumes his kisses, all over my face and throat and then he abruptly lifts me up and forces me to the floor. I am on my knees now, arms tied above my head. I can turn but that's it. I can't stand up again on my own, not with these shoes. I'm helpless. And he is thrilled. He smooths my hair back away from my face, off my shoulders. I close my eyes and when I open them I see a second pair of shoes.
He smiles. I'm so glad you both agreed to see me tonight. You really have no idea.
***
When my eyes open early in the morning it takes several moments for me to extricate my limbs and my hair from Ben's hands. He is clutching me in his sleep. I give up and shake his shoulder gently. His eyes open and close again and he turns onto his back, releasing me. His hand trails across my thigh and then falls to the bed.
I bend down and pick up a dress shirt off the floor, shrugging into it, buttoning all the buttons save for the top two. I don't know if it's Ben's or Caleb's shirt. They wear the same size. I swim in it so I roll the cuffs up seven or eight times until I see my hands. It's almost to my knees. Good enough for a short walk to the kitchen to bring back some orange juice and croissants and then get Ben awake and up so we can take our drive of shame, slipping home and upstairs to get ready before we are caught.
When I reach the kitchen Caleb is already there, making coffee. He's in a tight blue t-shirt and jeans. He looks rested and pulled-together even though he's had maybe two hours sleep if any at all.
Morning doll. I'll pour our coffee if you want to go out on deck and see the sun come up.
I nod. Morning is the only time he doesn't have an opinion on my appearance. Morning is the only time I am allowed to appear with the wrong clothes and tangled hair with scratches on my throat and my legs, skin still red from the rough ride of the darkest hours between the devil and the melody. I stumble outside into the bright morning and am greeted with a watercolor representation of my favorite sky against the water. All oranges, pinks and soft blues. Greys mixed with shame mixed with defiance. He had said to come alone and Ben followed in the truck, precisely five minutes behind, since that's precisely how long I was on my knees before Ben walked in and untied my hands, admonishing Caleb for needing to resort to total barbarism when charm would achieve better results. Ben is like a panacea to Caleb, and so instead of being angry, Caleb was pleased to see him and pleased to have unspoken permission to do unspeakable things.
Caleb appears with my coffee and I take it gratefully, burning my tongue as I try and gulp it down to clear my head.
The most beautiful sunrises follow the worst storms, Bridget.
I nod. I know it's a metaphor for my life only this isn't beautiful and the storm hasn't passed yet. It's just starting.
Friday, 1 June 2012
Ben's home so I'm signing off.
I'm at the point in my overtiredness where I'm not sure if I want to cry, throw up or just put my head down and close my eyes until everything goes away. Music didn't work, a long walk or three didn't work. Cooking dinner for the first round of boys plus children didn't work and still I put some wine in the fridge and expressed my excitement for late-night Horror Movie Friday, which is a tradition we have resurrected that I didn't realize I missed so much until we started it up again and said huh. Cool.
It has rained here for five days straight. Not just rain but torrential, heavy deluges that make the tree limbs and roses bend very far down and the dog grow moldy for he never gets dry in between walks. Being so cooped up makes me crave donairs and my bed and my boys and my words. I'm craving rest. Last weekend was so busy, this weekend has nothing scheduled except family time. Time to discuss things and fix broken things and point out that the honest Mr. Evil is beginning to repeat his own themes and wonder if we can change the path just a little so that we don't have to go in circles all the time.
I'm going to paint my nails with Revlon #430 Whimsical and dream about the fair and try and make some preliminary plans toward Henry's birthday in July and maybe a graduation party for Ruth in June, since she's leaving Elementary school behind. Here, in grade eight, you go straight to high school and I'm still wrapping my tiny brain around that.
And I'm getting strange and wonderful beauty advice from Instagram, of all places, daring to try a lipstick suggestion that was the most successful color choice in the history of the known universe (says the girl with nine hundred different colors) and I'm listening to new bands and wondering how out of the loop I really am now as I never seem to have enough time to keep up with everything or even anything. I'm behind in emails, I don't understand Google Plus and I'm still lamenting how the heck I'm supposed to transition to an iphone when I can't get itunes to work the way I want it and I don't have the patience to fix that
And maybe we'll go see Battleship since we still haven't seen it or Snow White because we really want to see it even though we're just killing theater time until Prometheus next week and maybe we'll sleep in a little and shore up our defenses a lot and watch the sea through the rain and dream of warmer days ahead.
Or maybe we'll just sleep.
Yeah. That.
It has rained here for five days straight. Not just rain but torrential, heavy deluges that make the tree limbs and roses bend very far down and the dog grow moldy for he never gets dry in between walks. Being so cooped up makes me crave donairs and my bed and my boys and my words. I'm craving rest. Last weekend was so busy, this weekend has nothing scheduled except family time. Time to discuss things and fix broken things and point out that the honest Mr. Evil is beginning to repeat his own themes and wonder if we can change the path just a little so that we don't have to go in circles all the time.
I'm going to paint my nails with Revlon #430 Whimsical and dream about the fair and try and make some preliminary plans toward Henry's birthday in July and maybe a graduation party for Ruth in June, since she's leaving Elementary school behind. Here, in grade eight, you go straight to high school and I'm still wrapping my tiny brain around that.
And I'm getting strange and wonderful beauty advice from Instagram, of all places, daring to try a lipstick suggestion that was the most successful color choice in the history of the known universe (says the girl with nine hundred different colors) and I'm listening to new bands and wondering how out of the loop I really am now as I never seem to have enough time to keep up with everything or even anything. I'm behind in emails, I don't understand Google Plus and I'm still lamenting how the heck I'm supposed to transition to an iphone when I can't get itunes to work the way I want it and I don't have the patience to fix that
And maybe we'll go see Battleship since we still haven't seen it or Snow White because we really want to see it even though we're just killing theater time until Prometheus next week and maybe we'll sleep in a little and shore up our defenses a lot and watch the sea through the rain and dream of warmer days ahead.
Or maybe we'll just sleep.
Yeah. That.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Still raining.
Screaming our screenplay, off the cuffNeutral territory for lunch. The kitchen island. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches on raisin cheese bread. Hot chocolate. Caleb sits down and frowns at his plate briefly before deciding to make the best of it.
We were both stuck pretending our dreams were enough
I awoke in the morning wanting the day
I thought I could have you,
Miles away from falling in love
To find stalling sweet enough
Please don’t call it love
If he were truly honest, as he says he is now, he would have pointed out his desire for something a little less rustic and note the fact that he probably hasn't had hot chocolate since 1976, but he humors me with my own brand of Spyri-influenced menu choices for a rainforest deluge at the base of a mountain where the waves lick the brae smooth, a treacherous combination for sheep and people alike.
We don't have any sheep. Or any horses either, sadly. I go and visit some new ones in the valley sometimes now, cursing the devil every chance I get.
I do that over a lot of things, but at the same time here we are, having lunch because he asked if we could talk and I pointed out I was hungry so he may as well come and eat something that isn't a fusion of four-star nonsense from one of his ridiculous haunts downtown. He obliged without even asking what was on the menu. I knew I should have made Kraft Dinner just to horrify him as much as humanly possible.
You like making him squirm. I say it in between choking back the thick peanut butter on heavy bread.
My words have nothing to do with him. There are certain truths in life, Bridget. This is just one of them.
'They're going to kill you' is another.
He laughs nervously. I'll probably choke on lunch and then no one will have to worry.
Oh, yay! Burial at sea. I give him my darkest stare. He catches on quickly. We are morbid and black with humor more often than not.
What's with your hair?
I'm annoying Lochlan with it, that's what.
He bursts out laughing. No doubt. You should go to the spa and have a day.
Why in the hell do you all want me to cut my hair? And why the subject change?
You look so sweet when your hair doesn't take over everything with the bad-weather ringlets. And I'm trying to mark my position and move forward from here.
I see.
Should I have not confirmed what you already know? I've had no other lasting relationships. I have my son and I have you. I am focused.
You're obsessive.
It's sweet when it's anyone else but when I make a declaration everyone runs for cover.
Because they aren't evil.
He drinks his hot chocolate. When he puts the mug down he has a pale brown mustache on his upper lip. Neither am I.
Then why are you pushing now? Why don't you just leave well enough alone?
Because I'll be fifty in less than a year and I'm not going to be alone when that happens.
I hear Sophie is free.
Yes, well, good luck to her.
I'm not anyone's bucket list, Caleb.
The hell you aren't.
Can we change the subject?
Of course. What would you like to talk about, Bridget?
Tell me some of your regrets instead.
Oh. Well. I regret the first time we went to Vegas. When you turned eighteen.
The prince of darkness goes for a terrible memory right off the bat. Should I have expected more from him or less?
Why? Should we not have gone?
No, we should have kept going. I should have never brought you back home.
Kidnapping?
Rescue.
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
The burning of a heavy heart surrenders like a dream.
I was let out, I can't walk awayWell, now that the thrill of Sunday night is ebbing slightly I suppose I need to pick up where I left off, only I'm not sure where that is, exactly. Perched on the edge of the wall in the wind, staring out to sea, where you can always find me when I'm thinking, earphones jammed tightly into my head to block out everything but the view.
There were eyes all over me
I stopped breathing only just half way
There were eyes all over me
I chose to ignore the words, the letter and everything since. Ben asked me if he should just make it easy for me and ban me from going near the devil. Then he wondered if he should just do it in spite of my answer because that's what he wants to do. Lochlan got all bothered and hot and threatened a bunch of things I won't even repeat, and Andrew wanted to know if this changed anything.
No, I told him. This is not new information, if you think about it.
But still he looked sad when he left and I don't think I like the new honesty-at-any-price version of Caleb that I'm seeing now. He's just too hard to predict and too hard to resist when he's telling me his deepest darkest secrets. He's vulnerable and open and transparent and far too much like Cole when he does that and I can't process that at all. My brain just shuts down and says, Oh, pretty wave every time I take a running start at attempting to sort out what he's doing now while I continue to stare at the blue-green whitecaps on the windy pacific. I'd rather focus on the sea but all the loose ends and tight confines need to be fixed. I need to deal with this. I don't think things can go on the way they are and I don't know how we all managed to make it to this point in the first place.
Oh right, I do. Ben refused to pin me down the way Jacob had and I took my unexpected freedom and ran with it. I made a mess. I made mistakes and now I need help fixing things and now help is nowhere to be found. I know what will fix this, I just can't seem to do it. I know what will end this, but I don't have the guts to put it into play anymore. I'm paralyzed and I'm angry at myself and he's taking advantage of my position to drive home his own agenda, this means to an end. Break her down and in the end she'll be unable to resist you. Destroy her and she'll give in.
Who would want that?
Don't answer, okay? I already know their names and I know their faces like I know the sea. Sometimes through and through and sometimes not even remotely well enough to recognize familiar features.
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
We are behind the tent in the wind. The canvas ripples and flaps violently and the sun has taken on a quiet pink glow. It's twilight. The time of day that finds homesickness rising up like a tide inside my throat until it drowns the memories of the day into blackness.
Lochlan takes my left hand tightly in his right hand. His hands are so warm the rest of my skin feels cool now by comparison. Maria takes my right hand gently but firmly. She looks after the animals and is the carnival grandmother to most of us. Lochlan squeezes my hand and I squeeze both of my hands in response. We are standing in a circle with fourteen others.
Gregory begins the evening prayer, though it's not really a prayer, since by nature circus people are somewhat secular. It's a bonding ritual that is part pep-talk, part prayer, and part planning session. There's a little of everything. Some reminders, a little discipline, some reassurance and all of our hopes and dreams too. Surprisingly by the end of each run we usually have it down to seven, eight minutes tops. I remain silent, or my hopes and dreams would take years to list and dissect.
The prayers almost always begin with asking for strength for Lochlan and end with asking for safety for me, because they all know I am young and escaping reality and trying to live on love and they're scared to death on my behalf and his too but in that relentless wind and staggeringly beautiful sunset I am daydreaming still, my mind at the beach, jarred back ever so briefly when someone says my name, continuing to squeeze both hands as tightly as I can, waiting for the predictable part of the night to be over so that the fun can begin.
Lochlan takes my left hand tightly in his right hand. His hands are so warm the rest of my skin feels cool now by comparison. Maria takes my right hand gently but firmly. She looks after the animals and is the carnival grandmother to most of us. Lochlan squeezes my hand and I squeeze both of my hands in response. We are standing in a circle with fourteen others.
Gregory begins the evening prayer, though it's not really a prayer, since by nature circus people are somewhat secular. It's a bonding ritual that is part pep-talk, part prayer, and part planning session. There's a little of everything. Some reminders, a little discipline, some reassurance and all of our hopes and dreams too. Surprisingly by the end of each run we usually have it down to seven, eight minutes tops. I remain silent, or my hopes and dreams would take years to list and dissect.
The prayers almost always begin with asking for strength for Lochlan and end with asking for safety for me, because they all know I am young and escaping reality and trying to live on love and they're scared to death on my behalf and his too but in that relentless wind and staggeringly beautiful sunset I am daydreaming still, my mind at the beach, jarred back ever so briefly when someone says my name, continuing to squeeze both hands as tightly as I can, waiting for the predictable part of the night to be over so that the fun can begin.
Monday, 28 May 2012
Dreaming out (sigh).
Oh hi. I'm so NOT awake.
I went to Switchfoot last night at the Commodore and just wow. It was bonkers. Thanks to the prodding just to run, Bridget once we made it through the door, we made it to the front row again because I'm such a huge, huge fan but short so I need to be way down front and we proceeded to jump up and down and sway and sing with the band until close to eleven. There is no squinting at a tiny stage far off in the distance when you go to a Switchfoot show, let me tell you. You're right in the middle of everything. You get it all. This was the tour highlighting Vice Verses, so it was extra-awesome because VV is their heaviest album yet and I like where they're going with this, frankly.
I'd put up a setlist but I'm still coming down off a high here and I have no idea. I know they played The War Inside and Dare you to Move and Where I Belong and those are my three favorites so everything else just became an added bonus, okay? (Also I took so many pictures I broke my phone, but again, that's neither here nor there.) The opener was The Rocket Summer, and they were tight, like a younger Our Lady Peace. I was impressed. Better live than what I could find online to preview beforehand.
After the show ended we waited behind the venue, watching the load-out and eventually Jon came out and did a little aftershow with his acoustic guitar. It was beautiful and a big treat for me because the other shows we've been to saw us bring the children and kids don't want to wait in back alleys three hours past their bedtimes for anything so we would always come home when the concert proper was over. But not last night.
The aftershow featured:
- Wouldn't it be Nice (Beach boys cover)
- Thrive
- Vice Verses
- Learning How to Die (from Jon's Spring EP)
- Your Love is Strong (from his Winter EP)
(Previous Switchfoot show reviews here, here, and argh, the other one was from 2007 and those archives are offline, my apologies but it was the first show for me so it was extra-amazing.)
I'll resume with regular programming tomorrow. :)
Sunday, 27 May 2012
Lost in translation.
The dinner party was an easy cleanup thanks to the barbecue and everyone eating everything. No leftovers save for a tiny bit of cake and every wine bottle in the house emptied and rinsed and packed into a box by Dalton, who is good at those things. When they were all outside on the porch I wiped down the counters and tables and then I went upstairs to sit in the walk-in closet and I opened my envelope from Caleb.
Three words on the page in his handwriting. Those very predictable three little words you think of when someone says think of three words.
Not I am fine.
Or How are you?
Or even Just a minute.
Or help me please.
It said I love you.
I just don't understand what he means.
Three words on the page in his handwriting. Those very predictable three little words you think of when someone says think of three words.
Not I am fine.
Or How are you?
Or even Just a minute.
Or help me please.
It said I love you.
I just don't understand what he means.
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