Shifting my dream for one chance to breathe
And the blue in my eyes fades out.

My time ran out and I'm home now.

Blah.

On moving heaven.

Ben didn't know I was coming to see him and so when I was shown into the reading room, as they call it, he was standing in front of a shelf trying to choose a book. I walked up behind him and stood there peeking out around his right side as he picked up Hemingway and then Brown and then finally pulled out a Lee Child book, a Jack Reacher novel to be exact and I waited until he was a page or two in and just starting to turn on his heel to take the book with him when I said,

I hear Mr. Reacher is only an inch or two taller than you are. 

He spun around far too quickly for someone so large and dropped the book on the floor.

My first thought is What the fuck, beard?

My second was He is fat. I love it. 

My third I forgot because he pulled me right off the floor and up into his arms and CRUSHED me like a little fucking bug but it was fine because that hug lasted something like twenty-five minutes and only when they came and got us did he finally let go.

As far as I know the book is still on the floor.

So Ben is sober, fifteen pounds heavier and seriously unshaven. His hair is still short though and freshly trimmed. I guess they have a barber but he said it's cold outside and he's doing a lot of walking so he grew a beard. There is snow here, I might grow a beard too.

He told me not to grow a beard.

The more he talked to me in that sweet only-for-Bridget way he has of addressing me the more my resolve dissolved and the less stoic I became. It was hard to remain angry. It was hard to keep my distance and hard to talk about things like how our plans are coming along at home when all I really wanted to do was stay in his arms and let the world disappear.

I'm still here. I can't leave. I don't want to go home without Ben so I'm trying to move heaven and earth to have him moved closer to home or something. I need a little luck now. All these resources at my disposal, I'm finally going to utilize a few of them to get what I want, which is a little help in keeping the promises Ben made to me because he had a hard time keeping them himself. I can manage it. I promise.

I might be tougher than I look after all.

Inner pedagogue.

There are things I don't tell you as I narrate life in twenty-minute or four-minute or twenty-four-hour increments here. Just because I'm good at recounting (or is that recanting?) conversations form thirty years ago doesn't mean I'm necessarily good at anything else.

So while I sit here waiting for the plane, let me talk about some stuff that maybe isn't so relevant, exactly.

(I'm on my way to see Ben.)

Because he won't talk to me over the phone and he's not in a position to come see me, I'm going to see him. Thank you to Batman, who once again intercedes when he sees that everything is wrong and everything isn't going to get better on its own. I don't want to go right now. I'm fighting the flu. Things are understandably good with Lochlan and August, strained with PJ and Caleb and...nonexistent with Benjamin.

Batman told me I was fearless as I slammed around the room throwing things in a bag, extracting promises that I can fly home first thing in the morning, telling him he just can't keep barging in and changing everything in my life. He stood with his hands in his pockets admiring my tenacity and complimenting my action. He said I was so annoying. He said I looked pretty when I cried.

At that point I knew for sure he was full of shit, for when I cry all the color pours out of my eyes and runs away and I flush like a little baby tomato. It isn't pretty. It's saturated misery. I shrivel up and blow away. And the worst part is? Tears are sort of the beginning of every emotion now. From joy to surprise to frustration to helplessness to love.

So fuck it. That's not fucking pretty. That's just...dumb.

But I packed and I sat in the passenger seat of Batman's car and I said goodbye to Lochlan for the fifteenth time, and Batman pressed the button and put my window up too soon and Lochlan turned away because he works for Batman now and what are you going to do? And we drove away and now here we are and I'm sitting here thinking Huh, I should write in my blog. 

But all I can think about is to point out that the only hobby I have left is writing. Which is also work but I didn't tell you I am painting again because it's probably a phase. Or how much I still love collecting meaningless and meaningful things, only so long as the meaningful things are very big (hearts and loyalty and forevers) and the meaningless things are very small (keys and sea glass and....cake) and that I really really am not feeling well or brave enough today to go anywhere at all.

I'm not brave. I'm afraid.

But I'm doing it anyway.

Okay so maybe I am brave.

And now I gotta go.

Stanley Park, possibly my favorite place in the world.

I found a really cool shell today at Third Beach. B for Bridget!

Roughly yesterday, or thereabout.

Burn me alive
Set me on fire
And watch me die
Burn me alive
Watch me resurrect
Right before your eyes

The liquid in the glass goes around and around. It's making my eyelids heavy but the conversation terrifies me to the point of permanent wakefulness. I raise my eyes up to watch him as he stares out the window, holding his own empty glass.

The scorched earth policy was my plan. Ruin you so that he wouldn't win.

I nod. I'm fascinated when he lays his thoughts down, naked and uncensored, covering themselves fruitlessly in the glare of so much sudden attention.

How am I doing? He turns with a smile and I return to staring into my glass. Bridget. It's a warning to pay close attention. I ignore him and continue drowning in the fumes. Straight Canadian whiskey and I could light my breath on fire from a hundred yards away. How close are you going to get?

I look up and smile. The truth is the only escape I will have from the Devil and yet I made a promise. We buried the truth in the cornfield at the end of the fourth row on the inside, away from the highway. In the pitch dark. In the dirt, digging with our hands and we chose to leave it there instead of redeeming Lochlan and crucifying Caleb.

Because we had to. If we had a choice we would have chosen it, as it were. As Lochlan told me while I stood there and cried because I wasn't old enough to understand why this was so frightening, only that it was and we had to make it go away. Everything is simplified, dumbed down and covered with dirt, turned over and packed down hard and left forever to rot in the ground.

But secrets don't rot. They just fester and linger and wait.

You're going to ruin us all, Bridget and through us the children too. We're tied together now and if one of us sinks, we all drown.

I wish Caleb would shut up now, I'm worn out. I finish the drink and stand up.

ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? He crosses to me and wrenches my wrist. I drop the glass on the floor and nod up at him. He softens marginally and I can respond without flinching so hard. He likes it when I react to him with fear. I maintain that I can't help it but he certainly can.

Leave the sleeping dogs. Leave your failed attempt at young love to the past. Leave your giant addict husband to his altered reality and come to me, Princess.

You are...

What? What am I?

So fucking completely delusional-

My quiet effort at speaking back to him is rewarded handsomely, just as I hoped it might be. I'm not afraid of Caleb. He's too smooth to be as frightening as Cole was, too in control to ever be out of it, too hopeful still to go too far and I know precisely how far he will go and I learned a long time ago that I can take whatever he gives me.

By midnight Caleb goes to refill our drinks and the knock on the door is less of a knock and more of a battering ram. I walk down the hall without my shoes and Lochlan is in the kitchen, in Caleb's face.

Lochlan drops his argument when he sees me. I am twelve, standing in the doorway in a dress that's threadbare, slightly too big so the ties are wrapped twice around my waist and knotted in the back, and my too-long bangs are in my eyes. I am covered with scratches and razor burn and the daze in my eyes leaves them unfocused. My eyes and lips are swollen and I have seen too much for such a young age.

He crosses to me and takes my hands. Come on. I need to get you out of here.

The secrets don't go anywhere, Locket. You know that, right? They wait for us.

He looks at Caleb and then back at me. Don't you listen to him, Peanut. He can't hurt you anymore.

Caleb's voice is sharp and sure, cutting through the whiskey like a bright light.

That's not true and we all know it.

Sleeping on wheels (circa 1983)

Is this long-term, staying on the road? How can we keep it up? Will it last? I mean...um...is it something we can do for a while?

Sustainable, Peanut, that's the word you're looking for.

Is it sustainable?

Yes.

Why?

Because I have no expectations and very basic needs.

What about me?

You have pretty basic needs too, Bridgie. Food, shelter, safety. Education. Fresh air. Vitamins. A really good wide-toothed comb for all that hair of yours.

No, I mean do you need me? Am I part of your basic needs?

Yes.

Why?

You ask too many questions.

Just answer this one and I'll stop.

Why are you part of my basic needs? I feel better when you're around and something's missing when you're not with me. I worry about everything that has to do with you and at the same time you teach me things about myself. I'm selfish. That's why. I just need you.

Goodnight, Locket.

What? Was the answer good enough or are you angry? Just goodnight? No comment on my commentary?

If I say anything I'll cry. That reason was a thousand times better than I thought it would be.

What did you think I would say?

Oh, some dumb thing about me being easy to spend time with because I mostly learn and don't talk back.

Yeah, no, that's not a good answer. And for the record? The one I gave you doesn't even begin to cover it. There aren't enough words I could teach you or enough ways to convey exactly what's happening here. Soul-mates comes close.
 
We're not soul-mates.

Oh really? Then what are you to me?

I'm your muse.

No, the circus is my muse. She's dirty and exciting.

Wow, from awesome to asshole in fifteen seconds flat.

I'm the best at what I do.

Yes, you are.

Goodnight, Peanut. 

Night, Locket.

Hey, Bridget? 

Hmmm?

I love you. 

I love you. 

You're supposed to say 'too'. 

No, then I'm just returning an offering. My way means I am confirming my feelings to you independent of your own and it's a random coincidence. 

Okay then. Sweet dreams. 

You too, Lochlan. 

You used 'too' right there! 

'Sweet dreams' is not nearly as profound or important a declaration as 'I love you', now, is it? 

If I had said you don't talk back would you be doing it right now?

Of course.

Brigadoon.

Today Daniel ventured a fun suggestion of having a lunch picnic on the roof in full Victorian costume.

I was all for it but then I was shot down because the rain is ceaseless and they didn't want me up there tripping around in a full-length velvet dress. Or Daniel with the top hat that works its way down over his eyes half the time, making him look drunk when he walks, because he can't see. Schuyler also took offence to the potential destruction of their wedding clothes in the process and that begat a huge endeavor to endear them all to the nuances of the Wreck the Dress movement and we forgot about making a trip to the roof.

(My wedding dresses are safe in the closet so that Ruth can either choose one when she gets married or eschew all of them and then I will wreck them with gusto. I just wanted to leave her some options first. So of course I'm a fan of WTD. Who wouldn't be?)

Lochlan refused to let me go to work today. He says no work-from-home mogul on earth needs an assistant present ten hours out of every day unless they are lonely. Then he said he was hungry. Then he started in on me for writing too close to the memories, shaving little pieces off, letting in too much light, stripping back layers he worked so hard to build up.

Jesus. Loch and his litanies. I tell you. He followed me around for half an hour. I had zoned right out, making lunch, gathering the other boys for food, etc. until he got to the part about being on the run.

What if we are? I asked, my eyes very wide, while chewing a bite of a ham sandwich as I sit, warm and dry, inside my kitchen instead of up on the roof.

Then I should have probably changed our names by now, for starters. He was very serious indeed.

Maybe we're hiding in plain sight! Doesn't that work best, anyway? Right under their noses?

Who's noses?

Umm...I don't know. The bad guys! 

What if we're the bad guys, Bridget?

Then we can pack heat, right?

What? No! Jesus. We're in enough trouble as it is. No killing. Now hurry up and eat. We have to get out of here. He winks and takes a bite of his own sandwich. I don't budge. It's always far more fascinating when I can convince him to play along.

Daniel finishes faster than anyone. Can I come too?

Depends. What did you do? Lochlan asks him.

Um...I wore a coat yesterday that I shouldn't have. I was in a rush and I couldn't find my wool blazer...

And how is that bad? Lochlan is completely flummoxed.

Daniel rolls his eyes and sighs.  It was a light wool and I should have worn winter-weight.

Lochlan nods, eyes wide suddenly, matching mine, for I had stopped eating. It's not often Daniel goes full-on fashion diva and I can never really tell if he's joking or not. We look at each other and nod and Lochlan looks back at Daniel.

You're in. 

Subversion.

Coffee with Matt yielded all kinds of illumination on Sam. Don't worry, I had Sam's blessing. Matt proposed, Sam turned him down and it's over. Matt's ready to settle down. He wants to be married. He wants to start a family. He doesn't want to sleep alone and have to schedule meetings to do everything from have lunch to see a movie.

Sam just got finished being settled down and isn't ready to jump in again in case it doesn't work out. He has cold feet. He's afraid.

I see both sides of things. I only wish I could knock their heads together until they saw the light. Them being together is better than them being apart but for now marriage seems to be a dealbreaker.

Matt promised he would keep in touch. He's such a beautiful liar.

***

I went to the dentist today. No cavities, no problems, just the usual lecture on flossing too hard and not coming in often enough. Yeah, yeah. My teeth are so smooth now though. I guess I can continue to live on marshmallow fluff and sour soothers. Doesn't seem like it's causing any problems, so far.

***

I worked a shortened day for Caleb in which he mostly sent links to my instant messenger showing me different lines of designer lingerie, dresses and jewelry. When the overseas real estate links started up I closed the laptop and asked him what he was doing. He shrugged and said he was just trying to get a feel for what cities we should shop in this spring when I accept his proposal.

I asked him why he thought I would accept it at all when he's already been thoroughly forewarned that I won't. He just smiled and told me stranger things have happened, that he warned me things would become difficult, and that I need to listen better.

I rolled my eyes at him when he turned away and he laughed.

***

I was turned to face the wall in the shower, Lochlan's fingers up over my mouth, his head pressed against mine.  I bit against the palm of his hand as my knees buckled and I gasped for air. We ran out of hot water, time and energy. We went in circles. We went to sleep sated in the dark, cleansed of our sins and queued for the next round.

As I slept I dreamed we stood in the cornfield again in the broiling summer heat making sure the hole was deep enough and I felt so ashamed but it wasn't my fault.

He woke me, telling me I was talking in my sleep. When I sat up in the dark I wondered if anyone had ever found our hiding place. That maybe we should go back and dig it up so that we tie up all of our loose ends. He shook his head, pressing it against mine in the dark, telling me Shhhh, everything is okay now.

I lay back down but didn't sleep, staring up into the darkness as it rested just out of reach and I wondered if we can't go back because it's pointless or because he's too afraid or if I've made a nightmare out of something that was only meant to be a dream.

I wondered why he never truly settles down. After all, you wouldn't tell a child you are going to take her with you and live a life on the run. She might inadvertently give you away.

Samwise redux.

I would have liked a little slack for being down four (five if you count PJ) boys this week. My nerves are sprung and grated and my heart is soft and ruined but you know, PJ isn't going to give me any. Instead he gave me a whole lot of grief and said that maybe she (the new girlfriend that he has known for six weeks) was right, but then he refused to tell me what she was right about, save for the fact that maybe it's time for him to move on.

It is? This is news to me. 

It was enough for me to put down my gloves and stop the fight so I could hear him out but he didn't want to talk to me and he didn't want to talk to Sam so he left, slamming the door as he went out. Telling me to tell the children he will see them later. He doesn't need to be here when they get home since I am home today. Another headache has the Devil sleeping today to try and shake it before it becomes critical and so I called Sam and asked him if he would come and help me sort out my feelings, organizing them for me because I would rather just splatter them around the room today, with not a lot scheduled since I planned to be working.

Sam is pouring coffee and he turns to me after the door slams with raised eyebrows. His defensiveness is very telling. He knows something isn't right with this and his loyalties are going to snap back and scar him for life. 

I look at Sam for a long time. That's amazing. 

You said it once about Ben. 

Jesus. What I wouldn't give for a mind like a steel trap. All I have is a rusty bucket. 

But it's a fun bucket. 

Not this week, Sam. This week it's a pailful of tears. 

He held my hand as we sat and I told him everything that is wrong. Everything I'm worried about and every fear in the world that I have right down to biting into celery that's too stringy to chew and Sam sat there and listened to all of it. Sometimes I wish Ben could do that, or Loch, but then I drive them crazy with my bottomless anxiety and I know you're supposed to be able to tell people everything but when I do I just want to put it back. You're not supposed to tell anyone anything. They have their own worries and fears and expecting them to balance yours too just ruins everything.

Sam is a special case though. He can let God be the sponge and Sam will wring himself out when he is too full with my negative emotions that spill over all the time. God fills up like a bucket too, just like Bridget's brain.

He thinks everyone will be okay. He's got this faith that I won't acknowledge in myself. Jake tried so hard to help me find brighter days, silver linings and hope for a better next time but I was too busy standing at the bottom of the well, covered with mud and still digging for solid handholds to pull myself up on and still coming up short long after everyone else had left. I couldn't breathe, couldn't come up for air and couldn't hear a thing from down there. Sometimes it feels like I never left rock bottom.

But Sam assures me I am wrong as he leans down as far as he can, holding a lantern so that I can see how far I've come. It isn't far but it's something.

Distract me! I call up. Tell me something about you.

I see a strained smile cross his face. Matt proposed. 

Oh, God. Here he is listening to my misery and meanwhile he was bursting with his own news. Sam! I can't believe it! You must be so happy!

I said no, Bridget. I turned him down.

Or maybe I should just introduce her to Satan and save us all the effort.

Over toast and eggs, PJ tells me this song should be my pole-dancing soundtrack if I ever go back to that. Several months out of my life that I'm never EVER going to live down. But hey, it came in handy later on.

The song was Trigger Finger. Chimaira. PJ likes his music in audible-concrete form. The heavier the better. If you can see through it he doesn't want to hear it.

I used uh...Pour Some Sugar on Me.

I cringe at some of the things I did back then but I could only keep it quiet for those few months (which I have mentioned before so don't ever pretend to be shocked if you come here in the first place). The second that the boys found out they showed up and that was the end of that.

It wasn't for naught, though. I made enough cash in six months to almost equal around two whole nights with Caleb.

Woo, look at me go.

I went back to doing things the hard way. I wasn't given much of a choice. And in my defense, I have earned every. last. penny. he has given me. You really have no idea. He will even say it's not enough but I don't want any of it. It just sits there. I'm lousy at sugar-babying, I've been told. Good. I'll own it but I don't feel it.

Anyway, PJ is just smarting because he finally introduced me to his girlfriend (NOT FOR LONG) and I didn't have gushingly-wonderful things to say about her. Here's the part where I point out it's not jealousy. I love PJ. I adore PJ. Half the time I'll side with PJ to everyone else's wrath. He's my Tweedle-dee.

But I would cut him loose before a heartbeat was up if I thought he had a shot at getting out from under the collective and having a normal life.

However, it won't be with this girl.

He's so smitten he can't see what several of us saw within moments. She thinks he has money. She's pretty damn sure of herself and boy did she ever have big stars in her eyes. And I stood there and smiled graciously, playing dumb while she frowned at me, wondering precisely what my reason was for being here, while PJ made repeated references to a job he doesn't actually have and things he doesn't actually do. PJ wasn't PJ and that worries me.

PJ is not going to find a girl who loves him for himself if he can't tell the truth up front.

 And yeah, I know I'm a paragon of how to have a successful relationship and all but this is something else entirely.

So over second breakfast, instead of asking me to spell out my concerns he started taking potshots at my character in order to feel better about himself. I let him. He's scared he's going to lose her and he thinks something is better than nothing. He somehow thinks she will soon love him enough to weather the truth whenever he decides to reveal it. She's already told him she can picture them together when they're old and still in love.

Fucking gag me.

You're laying it on really thick for someone skating on what you've been told instead of what's right in front of your tall, airbrushed-to-within-an-inch-of-walking-photoshop fucking face.

Yes, WAY TOO MUCH MAKEUP. Maybe she's hiding things too. Like fear and desperation? Yeah. Let's go with those two, for now.

She also called him Patrick. Repeatedly. Which is just...well, for starters, it's NOT HIS NAME. 

God, I love PJ. Really I do. Think he can stay here and lick his wounds alone, while I take my bitchy little self over to the boathouse and work on my own game and maybe when we both cool off we'll be able to share a meal without our knives aimed for each other's hearts. I'm sorry. I get incredibly angry and defensive and mean when people mess with their hearts.

That's my job.