1998 (twenty years in.)

It's fall. Boom. Equinox. Leaves. Color. Summer's end. She left in the night without saying goodbye probably weeks ago and I got up this morning and pulled on a clingy black knit dress, black stockings with seams that have to be stick-straight or they make people dizzy and my thigh-high boots that make it hard to bend my knees. Huh. I'll have to fix that soon enough, since it seems I'm on my knees more often than not. I spent the whole day breaking in the boots before midafternoon when I arrived at his front door.

Come inside.

I obey and cross the threshold. I wait near him until he has closed and locked the door and then he takes my hand and leads me down the hall.

How is he?

He's fine. Working hard. 

Do you need anything, Bridget? 

No, I say it softly. Yes, I need something, Diabhal. I need escape. I need protection from your brother, I need you to not pretend to believe me when I tell you Cole is just too busy for me because that's not what this is at all and I wish you would set me free and I'd also like you to know I'm only here because I'm trying to double-cross you, and failing miserably besides.

Who is he?

Who is who?

The new friend you've been spending time with. Wow, someone's fast.

He's nice. Taking his masters. More of an acquaintance than a friend. I just met him and had to give him back a jacket he lent to me. He's harmless.

You don't think things happen for a reason, Bridget?

Which things? I am eager for him to note the difference. Instead he throws me down on the duvet and pulls off my boots. He admires how straight I put on my stockings before he rips them to shreds and he admires his girl before he breaks her soul in so many pieces we never did find them all. We never will.

I’m the one that you need and fear
Now that you’re hooked, it’s all becoming clear
That all your judgments that you placed on me
Was a reflection of discovery
So maybe next time when you cast your stones
From the shadows of the dark unknown
You will crawl up from your hiding place
Take a look in the mirror
See the truth in your face

So how can this be?
You’re praying to me
There’s a look in your eyes,
I know just what that means
I can be, I can be your everything
I can be your whore
I am the dirt you created
I am your sinner
I am your whore
But let me tell you something baby
You love me for everything you hate me for

Hours later when my hands are so sore I can't lace my boots properly, he pulls my hair until my head tips way back and I let my eyes take their time to land back in line with his and he kisses me once more as if it means anything and he reminds me that I am to watch myself around new people and he lets go roughly, pushing my head away. I bite my tongue when my head snaps forward hard and open my mouth in surprise. He does not notice, too busy looking through his wallet. He takes out a piece of paper and removes a pen from his breast pocket and scrawls something on it. Then he gives me the paper and kisses my shoulder. Stay and rest, he orders, I have court, but I want to take you to dinner tonight. He takes his giant, heavy briefcase with him and leaves.

I rip the note into tiny pieces and throw it up into the air, letting it fall all over the room, tiny shreds of whatever horrible little bit of information he has for me scattered on the late afternoon like the fall sun on the newly-turned leaves.

Through a Barlow lens.

When he lifted my chin up he scowled into my face, bonked my nose with his and then kissed me on the forehead when my eyes filled up with tears.

I told you not to do that without me there, peanut, he scolded. I had lifted a wallet from a man who was too inebriated to move quickly enough and crowed so in my victory that I didn't notice his friends, who were just fine, standing just to my right. I dropped the wallet and took off running and was not caught but I hurt myself something awful when I dove between two rows of barbed wire into a empty field on the perimeter of the show grounds.

I lay bleeding in the grass in the dark until I was sure it was safe to get up and move again, since Lochlan said a long time ago if you are caught, drop everything and they will usually stop chasing you pretty quick. This was an offhand remark he made, since he was not actively recruiting me to go out alone and pick pockets. If anything he HATED when I was with him and he had to resort to that to feed us.

Ow! I flinch as the warm cloth touches my abraded ear. I think I left half my hair on the fence.

I think I need iodine for this. Was it rusted? Why am I even asking? Of course it was rusted. Probably filthy. Jesus, Bridget. What have you done?

I close my eyes and he keeps working as gently as he can. Underneath all that blood I bet have no skin left. My shoulder is the worst, I imagine we'll go outside so he can pour cool water over it because if he puts the rough washcloth on it I might punch him in the face to make him stop.

He frowns. Empty your pockets. I think we'll go outside and I'll flush everything out.

I smile and turn around and pull out three twenty dollar bills. Never said I didn't take the cash before I dropped that wallet, because I watch him more closely than he realizes, sometimes.He is my hero, because I'm twelve and don't know any better yet.

His eyes light up and he grins and laughs. Well, isn't this ironic! I get to spend this on a first aid kit.

.nevigrofnU

What are you doing, Bridget?

Listening. There has to be a third song.

Hmm?

There needs to be one more song to complete this. A trilogy, if you will.

Just accept what they give you and enjoy it.

I can't. They're like drug dealers and this is crack.

Nice analogy, Princess.

That's the only way I can describe what some songs do to me, Jake.

You want to know what I'm going to do to you right now? He reaches over and pulls my shirt up over my head, careful not to snag my hair as it cascades through my collar. I'm not going to listen to bitter songs with you, if that's what you were hoping for,  Pigalet.

They did indeed put out a third song, finishing the set, almost a year after Jacob flew. I wonder if he's heard it yet?

How can I be lost?
In remembrance I relive
And how can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?

These days drift on inside a fog
It's thick and suffocating
This seeking life, outside it's hell
Inside intoxicating

He's run aground like his life
Water much too shallow
Slipping fast, down with the ship
Fading in the shadows

Abject and true.

It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds.

Go seek.

You can sing all you want, brother, but she's never going to be your soulmate.

That was all it took this morning for Ben to upend the whole breakfast table (which seats fourteen people) and send Lochlan to the floor. I'm not sure why Loch persists in digging his own grave every fucking goddamned day but I believe it might be deep enough by now.

I'm glad it was only the three of us who were present, since I feed the early boys early, then the kids with PJ and Danny and then the rest of them get their own, and then I can sit and enjoy my coffee and waffles with my two former favorite people, neither of whom is keeping any promises at all this morning. At least they managed to not break any dishes for once but it took a really long time to scrub the coffee off the walls.

***

He is the cat and I am the canary and I sought refuge in his company the moment I had the kitchen cleaned up, opting to practice defiance over obedience, the morning dramatics forcing a new sort of exasperated recklessness. I took my big basket of blackberries and off I went, ostensibly to use Caleb's kitchen and hide out for a bit.

True to form, the moment he comes to the door, he does two things:

1) He tells me I never have to knock. He knows I'm coming and never locks his door besides.

2) He invites me in and was just finishing something or other and has all the time in the world. This is new this year. He's definitely one of the few who reprioritizes when he says he's going to do so. No longer do I need to wait for conference calls to end, or a break between meetings if I appear. He just drops whatever he's doing and gives me all the attention I want or need until I have enough or have to go or walk out on him or whatever.

(He's actually working very hard on making our encounters positive so that I stop walking out on him so much but I imagine that will be a slow process that won't ever end.)

Caleb takes the basket and turns to go into the kitchen, setting it beside the sink.

What are we making? Pies?

Jam.

Mmm. I've never done this before.

I did one batch already but I want to make more. You don't have to stay.

No, I think this will be great. You lead the way and I will take orders. He winks at me when I look up at him, startled, and quickly changes the subject. Up at the house this morning...was anyone hurt?

How did you know?

I heard a crash.

No, they're fine.

Doesn't sound like it to me.

I don't want to talk about it.

Me neither. I want to make this jam. Let's get to work.

Two hours later we had nine more jars sealed and cooling on the counter, in addition to the fourteen jars I already made last week. Caleb hangs the towel on the oven door handle and turns back to me, rolling his shirtsleeves back down. Does the timing mean I can invite you out for lunch?

No, I should go back. I want to talk to Lochlan.

He winces just barely but understands he is caught anyway. What do you say to that sort of behavior?

Not to do it?

Does that work? Does it work like it does when they tell you to stop doing things you do that upset them? He is smiling again. He's poking holes in the way I hold my life and all the good parts pour out through the tiny jabs like an hourglass and when my time is up I know everything's going to change again.

It doesn't matter, it's not your concern.

Sure it is. Put simply, Bridget, if Lochlan was your soulmate, you would easily be able to avoid spending so much time with the one person he despises more than anyone else on earth. But here you are anyway. Maybe you should question your choice of soulmate after all. A soulmate is usually the person who is your other half, your perfect match, and I daresay neither one of them live up to your character. Not by a long shot.

But I always go for the longshots.

You should look a little closer to home. We're cut from the same cloth, Bridget. There's a reason we can't leave each other alone.

Cue the walk-out. Thanks for helping with the jam, Caleb. It wasn't until I was halfway across the driveway that I realized he even knew exactly what Lochlan had said to set Ben awry. Lochlan spoke somewhat softly, just loud enough to be heard and no more.

When all else fails, Tucker, sing.

(On days like this I wish Ben would give up metal for easy listening and I wish PJ would stop telling me these kinds of entries are too personal to post and too cheesy for others to appreciate. I've found the exact opposite to be true.)

I went down to ask Ben why he was being SUCH a fucking DICK this week so far (because we don't mince words, we like them whole), and has been all but absent after throwing rule after rule upon me, to the point where I believe I am allowed in the kitchen, one of the bathrooms and our bedroom but otherwise forget it. I was buried in his blanket orders and unable to understand his motives past trying to find some way to keep me out of trouble when trouble and I are Siamese twins, joined at the hip.

It fucking sucks. I have things to do. I don't like being pegged down but at the same time he just didn't know what else to do anymore so he made a bunch of rules and then disappeared downstairs to bury himself in work.

So it was time we talked past You can't do x, y or w, now just stay the fuck put already, bee!

I had my case ready to plead. I threw the door open and...was put in my place instantly. He was expecting me, and he was practicing. Practicing. By the time he finished the boys were lined up behind me, watching, struck silent.

He was singing Bridge Over Troubled Water and he didn't miss a note, even the difficult ones at the end. Probably a metaphor for everything else, that is.

Sail on silver girl, sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU FOR DECADES, BRIDGET!

Okay, so..Lochlan's still reading the blog.

So noted.

Bond.

Horror movies were my first true love. Not only because I love being scared, but because I liked watching everyone else be scared too.

I sat very still on the couch between Cole and Caleb and every time Jason Voorhees came onscreen I would simply close my eyes. At the end of the movie everyone said I was so brave, I didn't tell them I had missed 90% of the plot but I now knew the inside of my eyelids better than ever before. I thought that was pretty profound at ten years old, but at eighteen Caleb could not read my mind yet and said I was more hardcore than any other girl he knew.

Andrew, at eleven, just nodded. He wanted to be like Caleb but he had a hard time concealing his wide fearful eyes and the hair standing up on his forearms. He pulled Christian aside and asked him if he could walk home with him now instead of going alone through the woods behind the baseball field. I laughed. They never made me walk alone but the first one to jump out from behind a tree and scare me would get a watershed of scared-tears that would scar them with guilt for the rest of their lives, exacting a pledge that it would never ever happen again.

But it did. Over and over again. Cole was probably the worst. He would make some excuse and take off in the other direction, only to double back around and jump out at us somewhere along the path. I learned to walk directly behind Caleb. I still do.

Those were nights that Lochlan was still at the garage, stupid nights with stupid part-time jobs that left-me in the half-assed care of the others, who tended to pass me off on each other and sometimes take me home early, and sixteen-year-old Lochlan would lock up the garage and go track everyone down, unable to find me and showing up at my window at midnight, and I would sneak out the front door and sit on the steps talking to him until the sun came up. He told me about his plans to go on the road with the carnival while I watched the edges of the trees for Jason and he would repeatedly ask what I was afraid of. Sheepishly I finally told Lochlan, and he pointed out as long as he was around, nothing bad would ever happen to me.

That promise has held ever since. Now I just need to figure out how to glue myself to him and then I think I'll be all set. The minute I'm out of his sight everything falls apart.

Noes! Noes!

In other news, the NHL has begun the lockout.

What in the hell are we going to do with all this free time? Oh right, we'll watch the minor leagues for a bit and keep our fingers crossed that it all ends quickly because life without hockey is just..meh.

Good intention, incredibly poor execution.

Those loved have long since gone

I barged into his condo at eightish this morning. I didn't bring breakfast or plan on staying, I just unlocked the door, walked down the hall and entered his room, flipping on banks of light as I went. He rolled over and squinted and broke his handsome face in half with a frown before repairing it into pleasant, although surprised, delight.

Bridget. Did I miss a date?

You didn't go away-away, did you? You just stopped speaking directly to me and have continued to work with Ben?

Did you talk to Ben? Batman sits up and reaches for his pajama bottoms. He swings his legs out and slides them on, standing up. The pants slip down low over his hips and I am immune suddenly. This is good.

I'm talking to you.

He rakes his hand through his hair and smiles in the most cynical, bitter way. Are you really naive enough to think that you could tell me to go away and I just...would?

I don't th-

Right, you don't think. You just act impulsively depending on the day and we run around behind the scenes keeping you safe. Jesus. I completely understand Lochlan when he points out that you, my dear, are a full-time job.

I asked you to stop. I'm not your burden.

I can't walk away from this in good conscience.

I'm not your mess to clean up. Feel free to go if I'm so much work. I let you off the hook. I told you to leave. Don't act so noble.

And leave you to be eaten by the wolves? What kind of man does that? He stops and looks at the sky briefly. Oh, right. Jacob did that, didn't he?

I slap him.

Go, Bridget. Leave. Right now.

(Today's encounter is brought to you by my cosmic ability to repeat history. Note the reminder I am not someone's problem followed by a good hard slap. YEESH.)