Update, because I know you've been checking back regularly.

PJ doesn't fit in the dryer.

Of course, I do.

Pineapple Express (five by five).

Maybe it's the neverending rain but everyone in the house seems to have become a little bit shack-wacky. I might be the worst.

This morning I pulled on my favorite old jeans. Then I checked the mirror and wtf. The jeans are too short. Maybe they're not the right ones so I ripped them off and tried a second pair. Same thing.

Oh my God. Could it be?

I push Ben out of the way and run past him down the hall and yell for him to hurry up. I stand very straight with my back to the wall, where the children's growth chart hangs.

So? So? I start jumping up and down.

Ben bursts out laughing. No, Bridget. Your head still stops at the 5-foot mark.

GODDAMMIT. 

He's still laughing.

I'm never letting PJ touch my clothes ever again. Doesn't he know you can't put cotton in the dryer by now? 

I think maybe he did it on purpose just for that one shining moment. 

Fuck PJ and his fucking shining moments. 

I heard that! PJ yells from downstairs.

GOOD! YOU'VE CRUSHED MY DREAMS, YOU FUCKING PRICK!

The whole entire house laughed at that. God, we're something. I hope the rain stops soon or I might put PJ in the dryer to see what happens. I'll keep you posted.

Stop, Drop and Roll: Fire safety techniques for children.

Don't say I'm better off dead,
Because heaven's full and hell won't have me.
Won't you make some room in your bed?
Well you could lock me up in your heart,
And throw away the key.
Won't you take me out of my head?

He dozed hard. Head thrown back, turned to his right side, face expressionless save for the slight creasing between his eyebrows. Focusing on napping while the house is quiet. I stare up at him. My instructions were not to leave the space I'm in, wrapped up in his right arm while his left dangles over the arm of the couch. He stirs briefly when I reach up and try to flatten the curls on the side of his head. He lifts both arms and settles back to sleep without opening his eyes.

Just a little break, Peanut. Setup's before dinner. Close your eyes, he orders and I ignore that. He always told me I have ants in my pants. I can't sleep during daylight hours. I'm a reverse-vampire. I'm a wingnut. I'm his, he tells me when I can't sleep. Give in to my naps, he cries, laughing. Please God, check out of the afternoon just for a little while, Blondie, so we have enough energy to stay up for the fireworks for once. 

(Those were at midnight. They're highly illegal and set off at the opposite end of the parking lot from where the trailers were, no matter what county we were in. If it's your birthday they would come to you a week ahead and ask your favorite color and that would be the only color set off on your special night. Since I'm a spring baby I got to pick first. I asked for pink, naturally. Lochlan went last because his birthday falls after school starts again. He also chose pink, just for me.)

I reach up again and wrap the errant curl around my finger. His hand comes up around my chin and he pulls my face in to his. Again without opening his eyes. Stop it, Bridgie. Sleep.

But I can't. It's two-thirty in the afternoon and there could be things to do but we're not doing them. We're here on the couch. One of us is chasing sheep and the other is chasing raindrops with her eyes as they roll down the windowpanes in endless patterns. Because it's endless rain.

I'm waiting for the bribe. I can count down to it.

Just let me have fifteen more minutes and I'll draw with you. 

There it is. Things to look forward to. I like those. We sit up at the island with all the lights blazing and draw caricatures of everyone we've ever met. Then he burns the pages, because some of the drawings are, as we say on the circuit, not nice.

It's like midway voodoo, something you don't ever mess with.

Similar to Lochlan's naps, I guess.

Tell me how it ends.

Ben was slightly more receptive today.

He offered up the whole afternoon, my Maple Leafs plush blanket and the theatre door locked until dinner. I could pick the movie. We would snuggle and eat popcorn and drink ginger ale and burp really loudly without saying Excuse me. Nude.

So I picked Magic Mike.

I'm surprised he hasn't gone back to his vow of silence.

And I missed half the movie because of being naked and being near Ben and...oh darn.

Yup. Fucking magical alright.

You said you envy me? Why, exactly?

I get nervous, perverse, when I see her it's worse
But the stress is astounding
It's now or never she's coming home
Forever

Oh (She's the only one that makes me sad)

Hard to say what caught my attention
Fixed and crazy, Aphid attraction
Carve my name in my face, to recognize
Such a pheromone cult to terrorize

When I came downstairs this morning, Lochlan paused midway through drinking a glass of orange juice. He then proceeded to stare at me as he finished the rest.

Then he came over and put his hand on my shoulder, digging his thumb in right where the tender spot is (it hurts) at the base of my neck, in case I'm distracted (I'm not) and then he bends his head down until our eyes meet.

You're not making this a fair fight, Peanut. Why don't you spill some of their secrets and make it even, at least. He's all accent and earnestness this morning and it's hard to be cold. I close my eyes.

Because he would take you down with him. 

I'm not the bad guy. You make me seem like the bad guy. 

What? When did I ever say you were bad?

This. This stuff. When I open my eyes he's waving his phone at me. There's yesterday's journal entry on the screen. I close my eyes again.

That doesn't say you're bad. It said I was an adult and that I can make my own choices and that when I had enough I came home. 

Also my fault. 

I don't like it when you're-

Like the rest of them?

Yes. Exactly. Like the rest of them. 

You know, Peanut, you can close your eyes and wish really really hard for the early days on the fair circuit when everything was fucking magical but that was the first thing to disappear out of your life and try as hard as I have, I can't bring it back for you. I would love to, I swear on my heart I would do it if I could but you won't let me. I don't think it's ever going to be there again. 

His eyes are glassy when I open mine. I yell in his face. Don't say that! 

Oh, Jesus Christ. It is my fault. All of it. He let go and backed away and then turned and left.

Lochlan, come back! My plea was met with silence. Absence. Resignation.

 ***

I don't chase Lochlan, instead I eat breakfast and text with Caleb, who is asking a thousand questions a minute. He has to have my record of employment and final cheque ready for noon. That's when I'll come get them. I quit. He's going to use a temp agency until I come back or he actually retires. Both answers are never so he'll be temping it for a while. I hope he has insurance, most places don't enjoy sexual harassment the way I do.

He doesn't even know where I keep his cheques currently. This is going well.

I thought you had a handle on life. 

So did I, Bridget. But please know that at all times I had your best interests at heart. I didn't want you to wind up penniless and hungry and cold. That's what life with Lochlan would have been like. 

I hate you.

I put the phone facedown on the counter and leave it there. He changes his stories to suit the colors of the day like my mood ring. It's turning black faster than I can warm it to blue today.

***

I go downstairs to see what Ben is doing. He's barely unpacked his guitars. He bought new cables and didn't bother unboxing the old ones. His studio is a godawful mess, worse than ever and he seems happy as a clam to sit on the floor (stool still packed) and strum away. The outlet is behind a wall of boxes. He's unplugged until he decides to get busy.

I ask him if he wants me to collect some boys and help him resettle the room. He is noncommittal.

I ask him if he wants some breakfast. He doesn't know.

I ask him if he knows that everything in my life was supposed to be fucking magical.  He doesn't answer. I slam the door but stay standing in one place, pretending I have left to see what he does.

He keeps on playing.

Hostile witnessed.

Maybe you should let sleeping freaks lie, Princess. 

You mean you should. 

He was the circus freak. What does this have to do with me?

I was in the show, Jake. 

When?

With him. Just...oh...a few years ago. The whole time he was there, give or take a week. I came back early but he followed.

 The freakshow. The fucking circus sideshow, love?

Yes. 

What did you..do? In the show? 

I walked the wire while he threw flaming hoops around me, I lay on a bed of nails and he would eat fire and then kiss me and I'd light candles with my breath afterward. Um......he did slow burns on me.  I also filled in for burlesque nights sometimes and we did private gigs. I got to lecture a few times too, even

Jacob sits down heavily on a chair that's already stacked with books. They slide off the chair and onto the floor but he doesn't notice. He pushes his glasses up his nose and tries to wrap his brain around my words to insulate them from all things good and clean.

Private gigs? What are those?

Uh..private shows. Mostly we did his act at private parties.

The fire routines?

Mostly.

Jesus, Bridget. What else? 

We put on a show. Okay? If people paid enough we would do all sorts of things. 

With the customers? 

No! Jesus. Never.

I don't fucking believe this. 

It was a lifetime ago. 

Apparently not. You said it yourself! Just a few years ago! Like yesterday, I bet. 

I didn't know you. You can't be mad at me for this. 

I can be mad at him. 

He was trying to make as much money for us as possible. 

By whoring you out.

By keeping us in demand. I was never out of his sight.

What made you stop doing it?

He changed. He couldn't cope. He got very dark. He's not like that and it really freaked me out. 

And when you came back did he return to his usual self?

Yes. 

Did he ever ask you to go again? 

Yes. But he said things would be different, that he wouldn't exploit our relationship for money ever again. I didn't go again though.

Jesus fucking Christ. I feel like I'm looking at a little stranger in front of me. 

I'm not. 

The hell you aren't. 

Would you have felt differently if you knew this about me first? 

Hell, no. 

Then don't act so outraged. We did what we had to do. We made a lot of money and we learned alot about ourselves in the process, about people in general. 

I bet. 

Shut up, Jacob. 

You first, Piglet. And next time I ask you something very serious please lie through your teeth to me, okay?

I can do that, but I don't think you'd like it any better.

He took it up when he realized that I was afraid of the dark.

He's out there in the night, on the stones with torches lit. All of them tonight to protect him from the cold. His fire goes up into the air lighting up a circle around him that highlights his drive, his underdog efforts, his true heart, content to reveal the flaws and hopes in tandem so that there is nothing hidden, nothing unsaid, nothing perfect. Just our harsh, burning reality in a most unreal sea of fire and light.

I wasn't watching you perfectly still
I'm near perfectly dazed
Out of our hollow and into a space
Fire and water and space
Yeah further and further away

I find you watching me turn out the light
I find you turning to stone
You lost control when the air became thin
You say you always pretend
It's always the way in the end

And you and I are thoughts in the minds

Up come the dark lines and further away
Logic is out of control
I wasn't paying attention at all
I was just counting the gold
Yeah I was just caught in the cold

And you and I are thoughts in the minds
You and I
You and I

Brash tacks.

Civilization is the lamb's skin in which barbarism masquerades.
                                                                        ~Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Batman is all apologies, no growl. He sipped his coffee and listened to me prattle on for an hour this morning over breakfast and then he finally looked at his watch, rolled his eyes and said he had a few things he had to say before he took me home.

He signaled for some more coffee and I drank it while he talked and then he looked at his watch again and swore in its face, saying he needed more time that he didn't have. We walked out under the grey paintings and the glass, the rainy lavender-charcoal colours muted in the clouds, the whole room giving off a vibe of austerity and severity and cold. I hate it but he likes the discretion he is afforded in a meal, content to leave the servers on the sidelines completely until he signals.

I wanted to take out my sketchbook and draw the orchids, draw the rainclouds, draw the silver service but he does not appreciate drawing implements at the table. He believes meals are conversation times and nothing more. Not sustenance, because he hardly eats either, and not habit because once he called me at four in the morning asking me if I wanted to go for lunch with him and seemed surprised when I corrected him to ask him if he meant breakfast.

He didn't. He hadn't eaten dinner yet and so it was obviously lunch time.

Oh, I see.

He is feeling very incredibly surprised that I have had such a profound effect on him. I'm not. Not anymore. Maybe I'm older and wiser or maybe just dumber but I truly think half of the effect they pin on me is their own competitive streaks running through them at breakneck pace. Fight or flight. Win or lose. Get the girl. Be the man. Win the war. Whatever. I don't think I have testosterone running through me or maybe I do but not in the same concentrations because I don't think there's any winning here, just a lot of trouble most would love to forget.

Except that they can't.

And so moments happen like last week when Batman asked for his own...arrangement, because maybe he deserves something for being there, for helping out with resources Caleb could only dream of. Because Batman is rich and bored and used to getting what he wants.

Except that with a girl like me, what he expects he will get and what I can actually offer are not the same thing. I may be submissive but I will not bend to your charms based on bottom lines or net worth. I can't be wooed with diamonds or trips or simple charm. I can't be explained.

He is learning that the hard way. I stood in his suites a week ago while he stood at the other end of the room assuming the fact that he had taken off his shirt and asked would be enough to sway my loyalties.

It was not enough.

Standalone, physically, it would have been enough. He is lovely. So lovely I would change my mind if it weren't already made up like a bed at a hotel with new guests for the night. We already danced this dance. I can't take it any further than where we brought it back to years ago and it makes me sad that he sees what everyone sees suddenly when they look at me.

Someone to fight over. Someone to take advantage of. Something to save.

But I only live for love now and I don't love him.

And so tonight I took the bourbon outside and the bitters too and I made Old Fashioneds with Duncan, on the freezing cold patio, and we toasted to the lovesick with desperate hearts, to favors with payback implied and then he asked how he was supposed to blame any man who looked at me and didn't instantly fall in love. I threw my drink into the grass and told him because people should have standards, and I am at the bottom of any conventional list of those. He drunkenly shook his head and grinned and pointed at the sky, telling me I could probably have the moon if I just asked for it.

I asked him about the concept of love for love's sake, without expecting anything except love in return.

That's a myth, Bridget. Someone always wants something. 

I don't want anything back. And I won't trade what I have for anything more than what I need. I just want to be loved.

Then you're the myth. How does that feel?

What great problem do I explain?

Why some people can live on love and others set out to destroy it. 

Really?

Yes. And now I need one of those drinks because I'm depressing myself. 

You know what you need?

A drink. Jesus, Bridget, don't you say anything else or you'll just wind up hating me too. 

I passed him one of the four that I made and watched him drink it in one gulp. He put the glass back on the line and told me I was unequivocally and utterly doomed.

I know, I nodded and drank a drink as fast as he did. I've actually heard that before.

Rare/Gift.

What is that? May I see it?

Sure. It's a card for Daddy's birthday. He said it's a big birthday this year so I started early. 

This is really cool, Henry. Daddy will love it. 

He likes everything I make. I could do a bad job and he'll still tell me it's the best. 

Because it is. Just because you made it for him. That's special in itself. 

Do you think he's going to have a good birthday? He told me he's not going anywhere, that he wants to make some plans here and spend it at home. 

Isn't it better if he's home?

If he wants to be.

Maybe you can spend the day with him. 

He said the four of us would do something special. 

Did he?

Yeah but he didn't say what. 

I see. 

Is it okay if we do that?

Of course it is. We're a family too. 

Like a family within a family. 

Exactly.

I want it to be a really great birthday for him. He seems really sad lately. 

Does he?

I think he's lonely. You don't work there anymore so he's by himself a lot.

Henry..did he tell you to tell me that?

No. Do you think he'll be mad that I did?

Not at all. I just wondered if he told you directly. 

No, I just feel it. Sometimes I feel what people are going through before they say anything. 

I know you do. It's hard, isn't it. You get that from your father. He can do that too. So can I. 

Can Ruth?

Not really, Ruth is a little more cut and dried. 

What does that mean?

She doesn't put much value in feelings? That's not exactly what I mean though. She waits for confirmation of how people feel. 

She's logical. Like Lochan is. 

Yes. 

Which do you like better? My way or hers?

Oh, that's not fair. I like all of it equally because it's what makes you you and it makes Ruth who she is. 

What a diplomatic answer, Mommy. 

Gee, thanks, buddy. I do my best.

I was actually going to name Ruth Allegory but they talked me out of it and so I named her after a chocolate bar instead.

I am an ocean, I am the sea,
There is a world inside of me.
Lost in the abyss, drowned in the deep,
No set of lungs could salvage me.
Save yourself, save your breath,
The tides too strong, you'll catch your death.
So breathe for me, just breathe.

There is a Hell, believe me I've seen it.
There is a Heaven, let's keep it a secret.

Let me get something straight. I'm not considering any of his proposals. I asked Caleb for his latest one (when it's ready) purely for amusement purposes. Because I'm horribly curious and difficult and weird. Because I get off on his anticipation.

Lochlan was angry we came back but Lochlan doesn't make me flinch in the same way some of the others do. I've known him too long, too well to be surprised by his emotions unless they are of the devastatingly touching variety because he keeps those under lock and key, doling them out when he's run out of the others. He understands why I turned tail. He gets that the arrangement we have here on the point is unique and incredible and worthy, that it features that built-in safety net one should always check for before letting go. Not just for me or for Ben but for everyone involved.

At the end of the day nothing I do surprises anyone anymore, least of all him. This is what happens when your life is a circus. When you are raised and loved by a bonafide carny. Nothing is ordinary. Everything is extraordinary, colorful and amped. Unpredictable. Everything is an adventure, bad or good. Everything hurts and bleeds and rejoices all at once. You laugh and cry, live and die, lie and tell the truth all while making plans to do something else. You blink and the lights and the speeds blind you, sucking you back into a whirlwind of chaos that never ends.

It's why Lochlan is so practical. Because our life is not easy, lived the way we have lived it. He tempers the chaos with logic, routine and rules designed to keep the compass in hand when you don't know which way to set sail.

He serves as an anchor in a bottomless sea.