The pixie that roared.

(You can turn around right now and kiss me if you want to.)

I had a plan and Daniel didn't even bother to ask me if I was sure. He just took the scissors that I brought him and started cutting and pretty soon the pale blonde halo was all over the floor and my head was colder than I thought it would be.

He peeled the pictures of Jean Seberg that I had brought with me for reference off the mirror and nodded. You're so cute you I would almost go straight for you. 

From your lips to God's ears, Danny. I kissed him on the cheek. He was alarmed. Wait. He could blow dry my hair and put texturing mud in it but I was itchy and wanted to go home and shower. I borrowed a knit hat and ran across the yard like a tiny strike of lightning. No one caught me which is weird. Usually they know where I am and I can't get away from anyone. I wondered if I should take advantage of this sudden freedom but no. Itchy. Haircuts make me crawl all over.

Ben opened the shower door just before I ducked fully under the spray.

Let me see you. 

I walked back out, naked. Shoulders squared. Foolish and brave. Your brother's a rat. I was saving the surprise for the party!

Jesus, your head is tiny. 

What do you think?

I think I love it. You look beautiful. 

I smiled. I wasn't sure what anyone would think. I'm not sure which part of me cares. I needed to do this. I needed to lose the mermaid princess hair. I needed a fresh start this fall. I need a lot of things. I probably would have been better off asking Daniel to shove those scissors straight into my forehead and twist and remove the contents of my skull but hey, nothing lifts one's spirits better than a 'makeover', according to common advice so weee, folks, here we go.

It took one pea-sized drop of shampoo and exactly eight seconds to wash it and then I think it was dry before I hung up my towel. I high-fived myself in the foggy mirror. At least I think it was me. I look so different now, maybe it was actually someone else.

I walked back out into the bedroom and Loch was standing right there, in the way. Well shit! No surprise for him either as I watch the shock give way to pleasure. Not sure if that's because I'm naked or he sees my hair. Er..lack of it.

Okay, so maybe both. Let's just say it's definitely one strategy worth trying. Always present new scary things sans clothes. It softens the blow.

I try to square my shoulders again, try to look taller but apprehension squeezes me back down into a ball of anxiety so I fake it.

Let me see you. 

I square again. Got a well-meaning trapezoid this time, at least. Maybe a parallelogram.

Who cut it? Oh. He thinks Caleb shaved my head and now he's gearing up for war. I kick the weapons and armor to the side and deliver the forfeiture in person, with relief.

Daniel. He did a really good job, didn't he?

You look....

I hold my breath. Maybe I can pass out cold before he finishes and spare myself his disappointment as he doesn't like strangers anymore and my hair was his security blan-

Brand new.

Really?

Really. I don't even believe it. You're all eyes and bones now though.

Oh. 

No, I mean you look graceful and beautiful. Just. Wow. I don't even have the right words. Maybe you should have done it a long time ago. Just...so beautiful. We're lucky. You know that? You're so beautiful. 

The stranger blushes. Oh, well SHIT. No hiding that now, I guess. I try to be gracious. Thank you. 

Hours later I have heard good things from everyone save for one. The party was amazing. A great send off and a fun belated birthday do-over. Everyone was very kind and helpful and fun. It was a good evening.

 I am gathering up some of the empty dishes left in the barn when he fills the doorway.

Let me see you.

I turn to face the Devil, amused that he used the same words as both my loves. Amused that they all need a moment. I can't even square anymore, can't muster a lazy rectangle even so I just stand small and look at the floor. My bravery would have been smartly fueled by alcohol tonight but the party was dry.

I note he has one of his own glasses from the boathouse and is drinking whiskey. I hold my hand out for the glass and he flashes a bemused smile before handing the drink over. Once I've had it I can easily gather myself into a cube-type-thing and I wait for his reaction.

He holds his hand out for the glass and I hand it back, empty. He holds it up to his lips anyway and tilts his head up, eyes still on me. Not realizing that there isn't anything left.

(Oo. A metaphor.)

Wow.  He says it softly. I almost missed it.You're breathtaking.

No, I'm the boy I always wanted to be. We both burst out laughing.

No, no one's going to mistake you for a boy, Bridget.

Oh well, wait til you see phase two. I'm going to start wearing Loch's shirts and 501s and then I'll pass for one for sure.

Don't do that, he says. Just be you.

I didn't want to be Jacob's princess anymore, Caleb. Or your doll. I just want to be me.

I think you're doing a hell of a job then. Because you look like you.

Does this mean you're going to set me free? 

Of course not. But I very much like your haircut. 

Bash.

Tonight we're having a big party here, a belated birthday celebration for Lochlan (now a rocking ONE on the pain scale, he's a tough bastard) and a Bon Voyage party for Matt, headed overseas tomorrow night. It will be catered and servers are coming. I already cook for twenty people (give or take) on a thrice-daily basis so no one was willing to add any more work to my day. The only thing I was tasked with was making the cake and finding something suitable to wear to an event that will begin while it's thirty degrees in the shade and end when it's less than ten.

I used the wedding pans from the nineties, when Cole worked as a chef and we did wedding cakes on the side for friends and family. The cake is huge and gorgeous. I covered it with chocolate dipped strawberries and it's filled with strawberry cream and I want to eat all of it, now.

But I won't. PJ took it to the bigger fridge next door and extracted promises that they don't eat it either until after it is presented.

Now I have a date with my favorite hairdressers (Daniel and Schuyler!) and then a shopping trip to find a dress. I will tell you all about all of it tomorrow, unless it's still going on then, that is.

(Probably not. I rarely make it to midnight anymore, and if I do I turn into a pumpkin.)

Lines of credit.

I think I'll die if you deny me
Swallowed alive in eternity
Give me a way to be the agony
That knew you all along

I woke up today in an old familiar position, under Lochlan as he kissed up underneath my ear, my hands pinned over my head with one hand, his other hand around my throat.

Oh, well, someone's feeling better. Finally. But only a little. We took it slow. I'm not sure it's forbidden, exactly and we didn't spend hours or anything but he's whistling a happier tune this morning as he draws cartoons and drinks his coffee and says he's at a 3 on the pain scale today so hey, should I get credit for this or what?

***

Ben didn't sleep last night. I found him face down in a laptop on the big couch in his studio downstairs this morning and he woke up quickly, shook off the sleep and told me he had to show me something. He put the headphones on me and spun my chair away and I closed my eyes. We have a rule, no watching my expressions when I hear his music for the first time.

I'm terrible with them, honestly and it destroys his fragile ego to pieces so I turn away and I get three listens through and then he asks for my thoughts.

Not my opinion, which I don't and won't give, just my thoughts.

And Jesus. I struggled to be sure I heard the words correctly on the first listen. On the second listen I cried and on the third I was thinking, Damn, boy, you've still got it but you keep it locked up so tight and yet it shines through.

Even though it's a song about a tug of war, not with a rope, but with my heart. He credits me with giving him so much mileage as his reluctant muse. It's just dumb.

He pulled the headphones off me and spun me back around.

Tell me what you feel when you hear that.

***

Matt is being sent on some sort of scientist-exchange program. They delayed it for a long time based on his newlywed status but the time has come.  He'll be in London for seven or eight weeks working on a project. Sam is completely nonplussed and I remind him loudly and insensitively of the completely stupid things he said to try and comfort me with when they all moved out here and left me and the children in the Prairies for thirteen weeks straight.

He now sees why they didn't work, at least. Nothing makes it better except living for Facetime. At least he has the rest of us here for distractions and cuddles. I hardly even got that. He said it just proves I am tougher than he is. Who knew?

Well, I knew, but I probably don't get credit for that either.

***

Caleb found out that some of the boys were calling him Canadian Psycho behind his back and sent out a half-page email detailing the very definitions of respect and concession, that we all have to coexist here peacefully for the sake of Bridget and the children and inciting arguments via name calling would not be tolerated.

Or what, I think?

Because credit goes to me for not allowing him to banish anyone without my express approval. I'm not hanging anyone out to dry unless their behavior crosses MY lines, not his. Everyone has struggled and fought and built their character to a degree where they have earned the right to be a part of this collective and it would take a lot more than deploying a freakishly accurate nickname wrought by a beloved movie to change that. Besides, we won't give up who started it.

(I might get credit for that, too.)

Music makes us extremely melodramatic.

(Not sure if you noticed.)

I can be a better artifact
Or I can be a bitter king
I should know what I'm made of
But I'm starting to believe
That I can never leave

Maybe that's how like-minded individuals find their kindred spirits. In any case,  I went to check on Satan this morning and I could hear the record playing through the window before I even got near the steps.

I almost turned around but my muse, oh, sweet troublesome Curiosity, well, she demanded to know what was going on in the mind of the Devil himself.

She's so difficult sometimes.

I stole a glance back at the main house and went up the steps and down the walkway and was about to knock when the music stopped and he opened the door. I can almost sense you now. Exciting times.

I laugh at Caleb's face. Your deck is loud with these shoes.

Don't you mean your shoes are loud?

Yes. So you heard me. You didn't sense me.

No, I sensed you.

What do you want, anyway?

You're the one who came to visit me? What can I do for you?  Is this business or pleasure? He grins, clearly relieved that I'm..talking out loud. It's been a long quiet week here on Testosterone Point.

Neither. About Henry's thoughts-

Okay. You know something? First, you're compromised so if Jacob tells you something I tend not to take it seriously because he can't do that and secondly, I am flexible enough to comprehend the whimsical thoughts of a thirteen-year-old boy. I'm not taking it personally. I was his age once.

No, you were never.

Only because you never knew me at that age.  

Right so you were never. 

Is that proper grammar, Miss Writer? 

Nope. Not hardly. 

He laughs. Am I forgiven then for the awful Nevada incident?

Nope. Not hardly neither. 

Jesus, Bridget, why did you come to me? And speak proper English, please. He waits, handsome in his navy cashmere t-shirt and volcabularic perfection.

To make sure you were okay with what Jacob said and that's affirmative so....see ya. 

Wait! Don't go so fast. Want some lunch? I know a girl who really loves her cheese toast. 

Another day, maybe. 

Promise me. 

Can't do that. Gotta go.

 The whole walk back to the top floor of the main house to check on Lochlan and report for inspection since I was granted seven minutes exactly, all I can think is, 'compromised'?

Shade.

Today when I got to the empty shelf under the drill press on the workbench in the garage, I found a care package.

In it was a blanket, a pillow, a comic book, a granola bar, a bottle of water, a flashlight and a rubik's cube. I don't know who put it there, I just know I'd rather be out here than in there today.

***

Ben finished a song for Loch this morning. Loch was singing really quietly but then he started coughing like crazy so Ben picked it up and sang it softly to the end. Then he told Lochlan it was amazing how the stronger he gets the weaker Loch gets and is it a ploy to get more of my attention? The sarcastic Scot came out swinging, telling Ben he can get my attention without any effort and that if Ben thinks he would risk his life for a little more quiet time with the girl then, well, he can go to hell.

Oh dear.

I warned Loch softly in gaelic to stop. Just a couple of words and Ben came rushing across the room asking me what it means. What did I say? Are we going to leave him on the outside forever or just when it's truly important?

It made me want to cry to see him like this.

But I didn't cry. I taught him the words once taught to me and then I left them there together. They can sort this out. They can figure out where they stand with each other because they both know where they stand with me.

***

Jake asks if I know who left the package.

Go away, I tell him. You're not real and I'm crazy and I don't want to talk in case Joel hears me. 

Joel is working. We have the place to ourselves. He sprawls out on the floor across from me. He's all long legs and seventies wavy hair. His grin slows my heartbeat down to a flat line. I don't want to die under a drill press. I may not have a say.

I'm as real as you need me to be, Bridget.

I need you to not be anything so I can get better. Please go away. 

When you're done needing me, you'll let me know and then you'll let me go. 

What if that never happens?

I don't know, Bridget. What comic book is that?

The Starman Omnibus. 

Ah. Lochlan's fictional alter ego. 

Richard Swift. This has nothing to do with Lochlan.

Oh right. Accent. Top hat. Magical powers. Not a villain but not a hero either. Seems about right. 

Wow. You guys really have it in for him lately. Can you cut him some slack please? He almost died last week. 

I succeeded in that. Do I get slack?

Not a chance. 

See? Loch is the lucky one. Your loyalties are ironclad. 

To my boys. Including you. 

The hierachy with him at the top. 

So? 

You admit it? 

I don't know what you want from me today, Jake. 

I wanted to know if you knew who left you the care package. Because it wasn't the magical fire thrower looking out for your best interests this time. 

Then tell me who it was. 

It was Henry. Now you'd better start pulling your shit together a little better than this, Princess, because you have to be the parent he needs. Don't let the Devil turn that beautiful child into a mirror of himself. Because that child wishes out loud to God that a miracle somehow makes him Loch's child so that he and Ruth can match and so you and Caleb won't have to fight anymore.

Bleak light.

And we find what we're made of
Through the open door
Is it fear you're afraid of?
What are you waiting for?

She's still a stranger, I assure him as he catches up to me on the beach. I walked as slow as I could, but invariably I move faster, close enough to touch, close enough to be coated in salt from the heavy air down close to the water. He doesn't begrudge me that, it's something I can't control.

He asks for a barometer on my relationship with the Pacific in all of her newness, a face I don't recognize even though I have studied her now for the better part of the past four years.

He isn't pleased with the result. You still want to go home? 

I don't think I have a home anymore. I feel like the memory, the thing that sort of drifts along with the rest of you and you indulge every now and again but then I go back to hovering on the sidelines while life whips past me so fast I can't focus on any of it. It's all a blur. 

That wouldn't change if we went back, Bridget. 

I know. Maybe that's why I stay. And also I don't have to deal with the snow here. 

Well, there is that. He laughs and it's only slightly hoarse now. Things are better. A little less pain, a little more air and we are go for heal. Go for marginal activity. Go for slow walks. Go for kisses in the middle of the night without him shutting me down as he fights for air without pain.

His eyes are crinkled up in the sun, curls starting to lift again after a radical hot-weather haircut that makes them hide for the first couple of weeks afterward, possibly in fear. His lips are chapped, his moods are fluid, his temper so short I'm bigger than something else in this life finally and his immune system is shot so he's getting a cold now and we'll have to deal with that too. His doctor said mostly keep sleeping. Keep taking it easy, so sure, let's climb down the cliff onto the beach and then have to climb back up later. No big deal, right?

We took our time. It wasn't so bad, actually. He said he felt better for the fresh air blast. That's just like home even though what was temporary for him is everything to me, as always because I have no capacity for temporary or in the moment. Or fleeting.

I just latch on for dear life to every damned thing and I hate that about myself but here in the sun and the wind and the corrosive, heavy salt it doesn't seem like such a destructive thing. It seems normal and touching and not at all fatal, as they say it's supposed to be.

We walk slowly down the beach, stopping to pick up glass, pointing out boats to each other and he asks how do I come to accept this sea in place of my own?

That isn't possible. 

Why not? What if we never leave here? 

What if we did? I'd be a traitor. 

So?

The first thing you ever taught me was loyalty. One for all, all for one. Put each other first, back each other up, be supportive. Find allegiance. Focus. She would know. She'd kill me. 

The Atlantic?

Yes. 

You're not supposed to personify things to the point where they have the power to threaten you. 

It's not a threat, just an inevitability. 

I can't tell if you're being dramatic or resigned.

Both. Neither. 

Bridget-

I think we should go back now. I'll call Ben to meet us half way just in case you need a push or a piggyback or something. 

Bridget-

Let's go, okay? I'm cold and you shouldn't be out here anyway.

(Pretty sure I'm getting sick because I don't care about much of anything.)

Today's high points include a baking sheet loaded with bacon, a one-point decline in the pain scale for one guy and just a random dull aching whole face for me, a kid who really freaking loves the Destiny game we fretted over when we lost the pre-order receipt and a pewter envelope from next door with only a polaroid inside.

It was a picture of a plate of toast with cheese.

A peace offering.

I shredded it. The picture, not the toast. I didn't get any toast. I don't want any toast today.

Still a girl of few words.

I'm cranky today. It's Monday. The teachers are still on strike, Lochlan's still a six on a pain scale of one to ten and I just came home from an appointment in which my dentist (who is my size) climbed all over the back of the chair, assistant in tow, to place a dental dam on me to fill a couple cavities, finally telling me I have a very tiny, tight little jaw.

I know.

Speaking of people who complain my jaws are small,  I sent the thousand-dollar bill to Caleb. What fun that was. He sent back instruction to just use the credit card. It was four tiny cavities, all told. I was caught by surprise.

Because candy.

And Bridget.

Two things that go well together. Pretty sure that whole bag of Orange Crush Twizzlers that almost killed me this summer (in one sitting) had nothing to do with this state of affairs but I'm also pretty sure that one sitting today doubled the number of fillings I have, though the first half are silver because I'm old.

Also speaking of old, Caleb is just completely, utterly put out that I won't actually speak to him.

Between the awful trip, the I-told-you-so horse debacle and the fact that as we were leaving this morning for the dentist I caught Batman heading up the steps to the boathouse because he thinks he can run this whole show and Caleb sometimes won't stand up to him), I have zero things to say to Caleb. Maybe that will change when the children go back to school but since we've already procured all of their supplies and clothes, their teeth are clean and cavity-free and we're good to go, there will be little to say.

My heads hurts so bad. I don't care if I don't know where I'm going with this. Come back tomorrow.

My guts are all in my head.

Today's progress included showers (!) and getting dressed (!!) and then Lochlan summoned up the energy to be all indignant/accenty over Scotland's move toward independence. He had a little bit of coffee and a lot of juice and then...

He fell asleep mid-sentence.

Face-first into the front of Ben's flannel shirt.

It was probably the sweetest thing I've seen a long time and also a brutal reminder how fragile he is right now. I don't like it. It freaks me out and makes me compensate by being so outwardly tough I could stop a tank, I swear.

But no one's got one so I think I'll go to bed early and watch movies on the iPad with the headphones while they sleep.

It's funny. The children stay up til midnight every night reading and we can barely drag ourselves through dessert anymore.

(Dalton just said 'Outwardly tough'? Say what? Bridget you're peanut brittle. We'll look after things. Go get some rest.)

Blankets.

Lochlan spent most of last evening and today sleeping. Ben and I went to get Ben's iPhone replaced (swelling battery wtf?) and on the way to the Apple store he was pretending to be the radio and every time I pressed an invisible button on his chin he would change the station. Sometimes it would be a different genre (opera and country included and a hell of a rap channel), sometimes it would be commercials, sometimes a soothing voice in a made-up language, and sometimes just static, white-noise, oblivion.

It was so funny. I laughed and laughed in the truck beside him. We sort of figured a tentative date to reschedule the birthday dinner and when we came home, Ben went up to snooze with Lochlan and I settled into the library to start Blankets and have a good stiff drink (well supervised, of course.) An hour later I've finished a third of the bourbon in the bottle (well supervised, of course) and a third of the book and I'm not sure if I want to escape into sleep too, like Ben, Lochlan and Craig (in the book), or just sit here and ruminate on how things are okay and maybe levelling out and how badly we complicate everything God has given us to the point of total destruction. I'd talk to Sam but I hate to subject him to my drunk self. I'd talk to Ben but same. I'd talk to Lochlan but he needs more sleep than worry and I'd talk to Jake but he would just tell me to believe and to give my heart up to Jesus and everything will sort itself out.

Last time he said that I laughed in his face and asked him how the Jesus nickname was working for him and he clued in and told me that he wasn't Jesus, he was only a messenger for God and I laughed in his face again and told him I didn't think so. That if Jesus was here and he was perfect and flawed and would die for our sins that he was definitely Jake and then I asked him why he died for someone who wasn't worth it and he disappeared again.

But that's okay. I have this book to read while I wait for the second coming. While I wait for everyone to wake up. While I wait to be saved from myself. It hurts to read this book. It hurts to be me, maybe. Hence the escape in a Tennessee whiskey and a fifteen-pound graphic novel. Some days are just like that.