Of course.

Caleb said absolutely not to our trip this weekend but no matter, we're already packed and he doesn't get a say.

The way it should be, no?

Microdetermination.

If they made me crawl
Would you love me then
If I was small
Would it be okay
Well I can see
The need in everyone
A change of season
A change of season

The presale code for Matthew Good is EXCLUSIVE. Just putting that out there if you're buying tickets like I am.

Against all good advice, mind you but the Devil offered to take me and how could I refuse that? He was the one who found me sitting in my car in the garage with the car running while listening to Matthew Good many years ago when they left me alone in the prairies for a winter. They keep trying to teach me self-reliance and I keep demonstrating that I'm just not ready. There's something about coddling a person their entire life and then suddenly thrusting them out over the flames and telling them not to get burned that smacks of hypocrisy and ineptitude. I told them they weren't parents. They didn't know what they were doing and now decades later they're discovering that their human experiment is failing. She's in agony. She should probably be put down but then who would be the entertainment? Who would make you feel alive?

It's cruel but here I am so I may as well make lemonade, right?

Right. So he's taking me to Matthew Good and probably dinner too but this is in November so I'm not going to get excited yet. I wonder if he's going to expect me to dress up. God, I hope not. Concerts should be fairly comfortable affairs.

Loch and I are packing up to head to Victoria for the weekend for part two of his birthday gift, in lieu of the Burning Man experience. Even though all four boys said they're done, there won't be a next year it's still on my radar for the future. But since it's done I instead booked a sweet two night trip to Victoria and thereabouts to so we can have some time. He forbade the concert with Caleb and Caleb forbade me to go on a trip with Loch so the rules cancel each other out and I'm going to do what I feel is right.

Which is mostly everything I want to do and nothing I don't.

I've always gone to a vote.

Stop the clocks and turn the world around, let your love lay me down
And when the night is over there’ll be no sound
Lock the box and leave it all behind on the backseat of my mind
And when the night is over where will I rise?

What if I’m already dead, how would I know?
What if I’m already dead, how would I know?

Blisteringly present, always right here in the moment ripping it to shreds only to gather it up and chew it to a pulp until my teeth meet, grinding into each other attempting to leave ruts in my brain. There's a fix for Stockholm Syndrome. It's very intensive therapy coupled with a definitive and glaring absence of the perpetrator.

Perpetrator. Every time I see that word I think Penetrator.

Oh well, what's the fucking difference?

What do you mean by intensive therapy? That sounds like a catch-all.

We would teach you right from wrong, Bridget. Boundaries. What's appropriate. What is okay and what isn't okay. From scratch. We'll start over.

Safe and not safe?

Exactly.

Ever since I was very small 'not safe' held so much more appeal. It was always further, faster, darker, stranger and off I went like a duckling imprinting on a...carny named Loch. But mostly that was because I didn't want anyone to go anywhere without me at all. Those are called abandonment issues. You can't talk people out of those, you can only medicate them into a fine light stupor and they don't make you feel bad about it anymore, they just sit there and scream on the inside.

Makes things easier for everyone.

At the same time I chased the dark I was deathly afraid of it. Afraid of going too far, stepping off the wrong ledge, hooking up with the wrong person, feeling a feeling that might be too strong and explode me into pieces (I guess I don't have to worry about that one anymore, I'm stronger than my emotions. They haven't killed me yet and oh, how they have tried.)

Then I won't be who I am anymore. I won't be Borderline-Bridget anymore and no one will want me.

Lochlan let out a sob and buried his face in his arms as if I am worth him being exploded by his own feelings or something.

Let's do it, Bridget. We'll take it slowly (they started talking to me like I'm eight again, I notice things.)

He's right here. This doesn't work and I may not like the Devil but I still love his little brother and you can't just come and take more people away from me. I'm getting loud and kind of panicky now. Pretty has given way to crazy. Didn't take long. Never does. Just leave it alone. Just don't change anything right now. This works. I try to keep everyone happy but you need to let me do it and stop fighting me all the time. I stand up and PJ's hand goes around my arm, like he's going to keep me there if I run but I'm not running, I'm just terrified that I'm going to have to deal with more absences. More empty chairs at the table. More time for my mind to savor the moment that I've destroyed so fast instead of being good. Normal. Whatever the fuck everyone else is. They want to take my ghosts, they want to take my master. They want everything. They're selfish. They're just like me. Just leave it all just like it is right now. What harm can that do?

You're getting worse. 

I don't see how. I really don't. I mean how can it get worse than it is? And if this is as bad as it gets I can handle it. He just gives empty threats. He wouldn't hurt me. He loves me too and you all can't stand that. You're traitors. You turned your back on him and it made him mean, that's all. It's not my fault. 

Who said it was your fault that he's like this? 

I did. But it's not. I didn't do this to him. You did.

It's like he's doing this on purpose.

#2.

I feel dumb.

She's a technical he, hitching a ride now to Alaska. They got him her halfway, anyhow.

(Update: I didn't have to worry about Charlotte after all. Not only was she a he, he left a big cheque to pay for having the RV cleaned and detailed as a thank you for the ride and as it turned out, Caleb knows his father. Charlotte is neither pre- nor post-op. He's a cross-dresser who hits up Burning Man annually and has known August for a couple of years already. He loved all of us and our arrangement here and promised to come by the next time he/she is in town. He has a furlough from his law firm and will be traveling for close to the next year. I wished him luck and got a huge hug in return so it worked out well and I was relieved it wasn't what I thought it was and yes, I am well-aware someday I will have to deal with that*.)

(* not cross-dressing, I mean some of the boys meeting girls and leaving the nest. )

#1.

THEY'RE HOME.

Plot twist. They brought an extra person with them. Person's name is Charlotte. Charlotte is kind of pretty and really freaking funny. No one will tell me who she is with exactly and I can't figure this out. Everything needs to be burned. Not sure about Charlotte. Possibly. I'm not sure if I'm fine with this or not.  Will update when I am less green, of course or maybe I'll just dig myself a hole and fill it with my shame for being so selfish.

Outwardly I'm all like Hey! Nice to meet you! Want some lemonade?

Fifty and sixteen.

Ruth has a job. She also has a learner's permit now and is sixteen years old. She steals all my boots and scarves and wears thigh-high socks to school and we all cringe and wonder if she can handle the attention she gets.

Yes, of course I can, she says and rolls her eyes. Because mom and dad are squares.

Or so she thinks because we've sanded down the sharp edges of life and history for her and while it's essential that she builds as much character as she can as early as is humanly possible, there's just no need to burst this perfectly round bubble that she lives in and needn't leave any time soon. Mom and dad were never squares, we just tone it down to a flat line on purpose around her in order to preserve this fairytale of childhood, the bubble, as long as possible. I don't want her learning the same lessons I learned in my early teen years but at the same time I refuse to spoil her or her brother much at all.

She loved her party. All her friends were there along with most of their parents and a few grandparents for good measure. The teenagers (Henry had a few friends over too) congregated around the pool with tables full of pizzas and music that was loud enough for them to dance to but not so loud that the 'squares' couldn't carry on a conversation up on the patio at our house, where we had other music playing anyway and tiny white lights that were static instead of the pulsing, color-changing LEDs. It was too cool to swim but I believe several of the boys pushed each other in.

(None of the boys seemed to notice how steely the stares were coming from the wall of uncles up on the patio. They maybe should have but eventually they will clue in, I suppose.)

Lochlan loved his party. His whole family came and I flew in a few familiar faces that he was so surprised and touched to see. The food was good and the cake (that I made) was better. He smiled and pretended he had energy when it waned and room when he was stuffed. He was operating at maybe eighty percent by then, I think. The antibiotics are working and he is feeling better. So is Benny, thank heavens.

The whole thing went off without a hitch. Every dish in the house was used. Lochlan is a man of few wants so he got at least fourteen bottles of scotch. He's a man of even fewer needs so he got to dance with his daughter for the first dance of the evening when we merged the parties briefly for some speeches and a joint present in the form of a large photograph of the two of them standing at the water's edge, their long red hair the same exact shade, their hip tilt when standing still a mirror image and their love of faded jeans sealing the deal in almost matching outfits, topped with green and black flannel shirts. His hand is on her back. She is looking up at him. I took it and never showed anyone until now.

They loved it. It's going in the front hall.

The speeches once the guests dwindled down to Collective-only were unbelievable. I can't even. It was amazing. He's fifty. I keep telling myself how weird this is. He's always always a teenager to me and I can't quite sort this out.

But I'm going to bed because cleanup took all of us most of the day and I don't feel so good. At least August and crew are definitely on their way home. They burned the man last night and so the boys packed up and headed out and they're in Oregon now for the night. Too square to drive all night, I guess. The family meeting is delayed until they are rested not only to defuse the whole mess but because August is the house conscience and Duncan? The bouncer.

The last party of the summer, now in full swing.

He's fifty years old today.

Lochlan.

I kind of want to cry but also I want to ask him if he has finally grown up yet, if he's settled, if he's happy at all. I know sometimes he truly is. I know he loves waking up with me and being close by most of the time now. I know he's not as tough as he once was when we were forced to be, and I know that inside of him lurks a total, off-the-rails bonafide freak because I've seen it with my own eyes. I've seen him waver on the brink of insanity. I've seen him give up only to come roaring back. I've seen him stand by his word time and time again and I've seen him struggle to keep his integrity pure. I've seen him grow up. I've seen him go from an indignant little boy to a pragmatic man to a cornerstone of my life and my memories with nothing more than his attention and love. So focused. So good.

He's a good human. He's the best human. He's a wonderful father and an understanding, patient co-husband. He's a good friend and an honorary brother to all. He's a prince. He's a flame. He is mine and I am his and I really find this birthday stuff getting heavy, getting strange.

I love him and I can't even describe what that's like for us but it's amazing to have known him then and see him now.

Fifty.

Wow.

Rodolfo will be played by Loch, duh.

Today was so busy, I'm sorry. I have a blistering headache now, but I'm up waiting for Ruth who is out with her friends being girly and having fun and tomorrow is the big party.

Everyone's on their best behavior, don't worry. We struck some sort of deferment. A moratorium, if you will, and everyone will just hold tight until at least Sunday and we'll revisit it at a family meeting when the kids are both otherwise engaged and see if we can't figure out which way to go now. Lochlan's done with everything and everyone and I'd follow him off the cliff if he told me to, and he would love it if he could lay down the same kind of law Jacob did in banning me from going near Caleb but...then there's Ben.

Ben's legendary, unwavering plan of attack is to let Bridget do what she wants, an attitude that saved my life once. But is it okay to be so selfish and centered at the expense of someone I love even more than death?

Don't ask me. That question is for Baby-Preacher. Sam didn't have any answers though and lobbed it gently back into my court. Who is most important? He asked. Lochlan? Caleb? Or you, Bridget? 

Is this a trick question? I asked him and I threw the freshly folded stack of bulletins into the air and walked out.

He didn't chase me. He never does. He's more like Ben than like Jake sometimes and that's probably a good thing.

Caleb had crashed the call anyway, suggesting the family meeting before shutting it down and then to add a little salt to an already infected wound he drove over to the church and was sitting out front in the purring R8 in the pouring rain when I walked outside, as if he knew I was going to leave without Sam.

He puts the window down on my side and leans over. Neamhchiontach. Get in. It's raining. 

I can walk. 

Twenty kilometers? Get in. Now.

I do what I'm told.

He didn't even come around and open the door for me. How the mighty, tiny princess has fallen, I guess but then once he belts me in he apologizes for not getting out and opening my door but that he is in a hurry to get home.

He's reading my mind, I think.

Sometimes that's the only help I get from you, he says out loud in response.

I don't say or even think much of anything on the way home. I play music in my head. Classical, sad. Puccini was famous for being sad and difficult so it fits. I annoy the fuck out of myself and probably Caleb too. He HATES La Boheme. It shows all over his face.


Good.

When we stop to wait for the gate to clear at the top of the driveway at home he turns to me and says if I think we're going to get away with cutting him off or pushing him away at this late stage of the game, to be prepared for the fight of my life.

I remind him I've been fighting all along.

Trauma bonds.

This sugarcane
This lemonade
This hurricane, I'm not afraid
C'mon, c'mon no one can see me cry

This lightning storm
This tidal wave
This avalanche, I'm not afraid
C'mon, c'mon no one can see me cry

Sam put on R.E.M. this morning (GOD WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU BRING ME) and left me to fold bulletins while he went to his office and closed the door. He's right this moment on a conference call with Claus, Loch and PJ, Ben and Joel because I keep pinging back to the devil like one of those cup and ball games. They cut the elastic and Caleb ties it neatly back together by being nice.

I don't wanna be with you anymore
I just don't want you anymore
I don't wanna be with you anymore
I just don't want you anymore

I know that's who he's talking to because I had my ear pressed to the door for the better part of twenty minutes before he got smart and turned on the bluetooth speaker in his office and brought it over and set it on the floor facing the door.

That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight

It's not like he can do anything. No one can. Caleb holds the whole world hostage through me. With Henry. Cole. With everyone else too and they don't even know it, it seems. All of them who refuse to abandon me to him but can't afford to stay without his generosity. Everyone gets so mad when I go to him but I'm just trying to keep them here. To keep the peace. Both inside and outside my head.

I wear my own crown and sadness and sorrow
and who'd have thought tomorrow could be so strange?
my loss, and here we go again

I don't think Sam should have picked this album (In Time/Best of) but I know he did because it's one of the few that I can listen to on a loop if forced without minding at all. It's sad and profound and also weird.

Broadcast me a joyful noise unto the times, Lord
Count your blessings
We're sick of being jerked around
We all fall down

Its been a bad day

Don't know anyone like that. Oh look, found a mirror. Wow. I look so tired.

So hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on