Lit from without, lit from within.

That's how Lochlan described himself once when I caught up with him at the lake. I was eleven, and we hadn't yet gone our adventure that year. We were busy swimming with everyone and watching Caleb roll over from teenage to adulthood, like a life odometer. Like a boss.

What's wrong with you? I asked Loch as he struggled to navigate the path to the tire swing.

I am, how do they say it? Lit from within! He announced with the typical bravado of a sixteen year old boy.

Did you drink the gas from your torches? Are you poisoned?

No, it means drunk, Bridgie. It means I've caught fire on the inside with the help of a little juice and I'm burning up. 

Juice?

Not that kind of juice, sweetheart.

***

Sunday afternoon was much fun after I greeted Lochlan with my violin roundabout noonish, playing an agonizingly slow, frightfully loud rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star but he grinned with his eyes closed and bore it, saying he slept more Saturday night than ever in his life. I wasn't sure if I get credit for that or if he was just happy to be home so I ruined the good humor of the day and asked what the fuck he meant when he told me I should have gotten it over with. He wins so he concedes first place? Wants to share his trophy out of goodwill? No longer cares? Come on, what gives?

I didn't say that. 

Yeah, you did. You said I should have done it while you were away and Ben was around, in case. It's the stupidest thing I ever heard. 

Most stupid. 

Yes, that too! 

No, I mean-nevermind. What I said was I thought you had gone and done it while I was away, and that Ben was there to protect you. That's why I came home lit from within to get through having to hear about it. The emotion was relief that you didn't, not regret that you didn't. Jesus, Peanut. What kind of monster do you take me for? You need to put your ears in. 

No, then the violin is too loud. 

But if you don't, you're going to get your feelings hurt and it will be your own fault. 

I'll think about it. 

And Caleb can wait for you for the rest of his life and then some. It's called Hell on Earth. He brought it, now he can live it. 

Oh you came back in fine form.

Actually no. I came back in shameful condition. I won't do that again. 

But it was a good trip? 

Very productive. Got my bonus. And wait until you meet Alfred. 

What?! Alfred isn't his real name, is it? 

No, but neither is Batman's, so we may as well keep with the theme. 

Monsters come in many forms.

Lochlan did make it home yesterday, alone and drunk from the plane because Batman had to stay behind and finish up and Loch was ready to leave. He drank the whole flight away to combat boredom, exhaustion and fear.

I get that. I drank on the ride to the airport.

(No, I actually did. PJ had a flask. No one tell him it's empty now, shhhhh.)

He's home now and that's all that matters, and not the fact that Caleb is now tapping his watch, reminding me I've crossed over into borrowed time and there will be interest to pay. And not the fact that Loch actually told me last night that I should have gotten it over with while he was too far away and too busy to worry about it and while Ben could bounce Cale if he crossed the line.

Wait. What??

Broke my brain, that did and so this morning I skipped church and went with Schuyler and Daniel to see 10 Cloverfield Lane. 

It was great. Really fun with perfect sound design and a breath-holding plot, the kind I like best, rooting for the heroine to see if she's tough enough to make it out alive.

(Or taking notes in case it comes to that.)

AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

LOCHLAN COMES HOME TODAY.

ALSO WE GOT TICKETS TO SEE PAUL MCCARTNEY.

Why am I yelling?

I'M SO EXCITED!!!

Keeping the peace (away from you).

(STOP FUCKING ANALYZING ME.)

I'm not one to waste my time
Searching for some silver lining
But somewhere out there past the storm
Lies the shelter
Of your heart

(I love it when a former grunge/heavy hitter quietly matures into someone who has to be one of the most prolific and under-acknowledged singer/songwriters of my time. I say this because this morning I tripped over my ears and fell in love with Chris Cornell's new album, Higher Truth. Especially Before We Disappear, but really the entire album is perfect. I've had it on repeat all day.)

Caleb, to his credit concerning yesterday simply pointed out it's been barely three months, thanks, but who's counting? 

He's a wee bit ragey that I failed to take a direct invitation and Ben and I continue to enjoy our mini-honeymoon together with fun pastimes like enabling, sabotage and demolition. Ben actually does this regularly and often and usually we ignore it because Ben is impulsive and thoughtless and a little bit removed from reality at the best of times. All things I can't actually fault him for. Whatever he didn't arrive with was taught to him by the rest of us and sometimes the idyll of a Utopia such as this is clouded by the feelings that sometimes get in the way. Sometimes we get jealous. Sometimes we get wild. I didn't say we were perfect but I'm also not going to make excuses for myself even as I make them for Ben. Ben's only endgame is sudden perfect happiness. Why do you think he's had issues with substances? He'll never understand that happiness isn't real or that if you always do what you want the rest of the world becomes a miserable place to exist and people have rules for a reason.

Bridget has rules for a reason because Lochlan tips the other end of the scale in that he always has his eye on the prize and any deviation or momentary comfort might fuck that up and so we continue to deprive ourselves for that contented almost-happiness where all truly is right with the world, or the world as we know it, I guess.

Everyone else basically went apeshit, including John, who took great offence to any real or perceived danger, in bed or otherwise and took a piece off of Ben for that. John may be slightly shorter than Ben but he has a great way about him that makes him almost scarier and God bless him for giving Ben that extra perspective.

Ben is trying to learn but again, there's that shitty impulse control that makes him so much fun. It's not like anyone actually feels sorry for me for having to put up with him, rather they give him all the sympathy and support in the world for his weird ability to put up with me.

But the true amusement of the evening is left to Sophie, who got wind (don't know how, geez. LOL) that Caleb might be..lonely...again...and managed to get her arse on a plane this morning to invent some reason to 'stop by'.

She came down the driveway as I was standing there with John (bodyguard duty until Lochlan dismisses him and no, I don't get a say). We were eating chocolate pudding, standing on the bricks with little silver spoons and everything. She got out of her car and smiled at me really fakely and crazy/excited and headed straight for the boathouse. John looked at me, spoon in mouth and raised his eyebrows in horror. I winked as I watched her come back just as fast.

Is he in your house? 

I shake my head and remove my spoon from my face. He's not home.

I can see that. Where is he? 

John's face is killing me now and I burst out laughing. I don't know. I'm not his secretary. 

She stares at me for a moment and then remembers why she came here again* and tells me she'll find him after her meeting. She gets into her rental A4 and drives out through the gate as I finish the last of my pudding. Or, you know, you could phone him.

*(Money. The answer is always money.)

Caleb calls me a half hour later. If she comes back don't open the gate, just leave it locked and pretend no one is home. 

What if we're outside?

Then pretend harder. This is something you're good at, Bridget. Don't play dumb. 

You really don't want to see her? 

I don't have time to waste on complications. 

Maybe she's as lonely as you are, Diabhal. This seems like serendipity to me. 

Then you're as impulsive and immature as your husband if you think the only interest I have in you is physical. 

All this time and it was spiritual? You actually took my soul so that it would be saved instead of destroyed? All of this to protect me? From what? But the minute I said it I knew and whatever heartless banter we were having was over.

From all of them because they don't deserve to have what should be mine. 

First of all, I'm a who, not a what and secondly, how dare you decide what another human being deserves-

I would have said more but John took the phone from me and pressed end.

Just don't get into this with nobody here. Please, Bridget. It's Friday and it would be nice to have a quiet weekend instead of a war.

Mildly Judas.

(Stranger indeed.)

It turns out my brain is the time machine, not the dishwasher, after all. It's not a matter of coming back in the future to a world full of clean dishes, but rather a matter of visiting the past to relive a memory or take something that I might need. Sometimes, like last night. When Loch is away I dream about him. I hardly have time to miss him and he'll hardly have time to sleep. But now like clockwork comes the inevitable dream. I don't even know why I'm in this one but I'm wearing a yellow t-shirt and black shorts. Lochlan was sitting outside the camper writing out our budget on the back of a payroll envelope and listening to Circus of Heaven when he asked if I liked it.

I like the slow part of this song but the Tomato album? Not honestly.

Add an R, Peanut. 

Tomator?

Not there. 

Tomarto!

Tormato, Peanut. I can't teach you classic music if your head is in the clouds. 

Where else would it be? Also that isn't classic music. Classic is Tchaikovsky and Beethoven. 

Classic rock, I mean. 

I like Zeppelin and Floyd already. You know this.

Then you're most of the way there. I'm just helping round out your knowledge base a little.

So in the future Ben will be surprised?

Who is Ben?

Exactly. Because we don't know him yet. This is how my dreams work.

At least until I am pulled right out of them, physically lifted right out of the quilts and into Ben's arms. Still mostly asleep and unable to figure out what he wants until he cradles my head against his face, waking me up with kisses before pulling me all the way down toward his dreams. I can please him in my sleep. He pulls my hair into his fist, keeping control of my head, choking me on his body, gently forcing me past my comfort levels, bringing the night right to the brink before lifting me back up into his lap for a spell. I shiver when he does this, because he throws the covers right off. It's not long before he pulls me down onto my back beneath him, because he's already pushing the limits of his self-control and doesn't want me to get hurt.

At least physically.

Do you want to take this down to Caleb's? 

What?

We don't get a lot of chances now. 

Ben-

You've held out for a really long time. You did good, Bee. No one expects you to go so long. Even Loch. 

Not so long.

Almost six months.

Almost. 

No one's going to blame you if you want to. 

I shake my head and ask him if we can go back to my dream now because we were just about to meet him.

Your dreams are right here. Everything you want. 

Ben, I can't do thi-

Don't apologize. 

I'm not. I-

Say the word, Bee-

No! 

He stops and stares at me in the dark. I don't even know what the look is but the act of convincing has stopped completely. So have all the words, apparently as he resumes his efforts in silence, making sure he goes to the other side of control where he almost has some but not really, ducks his head down against the top of mine and keeps going forever. Through the rest of the night and into the windy sunrise. I hold on to him even as I try to shut out all the bad things he wants for us, how his penchant for living in the moment does nothing but ruin lives and futures and worst of all, dreams.

In my dream I go inside for lemonade and when I come out there's a strange boy sitting at the picnic table across from Loch. He is tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed and brooding. He's in all black even though it's warm and sunny and he's sitting in the shade even though the table is in full sun. He looks at me curiously but he doesn't smile.

Bridget, meet Ben. Just be careful though. He's a bit dark and really marches to his own drummer. 

I see that. Nice to meet you, Ben. 

Do you ever feel like a freak, Bridget?

All the damned time. 

How old are you anyway?

Eleven. 

Okay, yeah, no. That's too young. What the fuck are you doing?

Long story, Loch says it but he still isn't paying attention while Ben and I stare at each other with some sort of instant bond that screams equally mutual weirdness and predilections for danger together in perfect harmony.

Yeah, well, I'm not interested in getting arrested like the rest of you so I'll be back when she's like twenty-five or something. See you around. Good luck in the show. 

Come see us when we get to Atlantic City?

You're going to Atlantic City? I've been there. 

What's it like?

It's dark. Be careful, little Bumblebee. Or wait for me. 

I nod. You won't remember me by then. 

Sure I will. How could I forget? 

You forget everything. 

No, I don't. It just means I don't agree with it if you think I forgot. 

That's a weird personality ticket to have, Ben. 

No it's not. Look at all of yours. 

They're not my fault, they're Caleb's but I don't know that yet. 

Are you from the future?

Yes. 

Then you know you're going to fail. 

At what?

The thing you want most. 

I look at Lochlan but he scribbles furiously.

No, not him. 

What do I want then?

Everything.

That's a terrible thing to tell a child. That they're bound for failure.

You said you weren't a child. You can't have it both ways. 

Yes I can. That's why we're going to join the circus. 

You should stick to the freakshow. 

You think so?

Hey. Don't discourage her. She's a child. Lochlan finally looks up and is horrified by the conversation we have damned near weekly at this point.

I know you'd like to keep her that way forever but it's too late, Brother.  She's going to go somewhere that makes her end up even darker than you. It's inevitable.

Loch sits back and stares at him. She'll be with me, thanks. She always comes with to me. 

I wouldn't put my faith in things that are so small. 

This is the biggest thing in the world. 

Then maybe you should protect it better. Her, better. Because the dark is coming for her and it's coming for you and whether you like it or not it's real and it's worse than this. 

Maybe you should come back in ten or fifteen years and we'll see. 

Done deal. Take care. 

You too. 

And I woke up again, bathed in sweat with Ben still moving against me even as the new light comes in through the windows to burn his skin. Our hair plastered to our foreheads, his hands slip on my hips, grasping tightly, painfully. He says into my ear that I don't have to fight against something that's not even there. And all I want to do is cry but I know he's only advocating for me in the best way he knows how, which is not at all.

Don't give me the silent treatment. I told you I wouldn't fix you because from where I stand, there's nothing wrong with you.

There's nothing right with me either. 

Why did he teach you to talk in circles, Bridget?

Because he knew it would be the only talent I would always have at the ready. Because it's fun to walk the tightrope or do acrobatics but in an emergency you can't pull out tricks like that. You've only got your wits. And he said I'm too much of a dreamer for even that so I am to use my words. 

Is that why you don't talk when you're upset?

Yes.

Ben gets up from the picnic table in my dream and leaves, heading straight into the bathroom where I hear the shower turn on. I roll over into the damp warmth of the sheets, pulling the nearest quilt over me, a place to hide where I can close my eyes and wish for sleep without dreams, men without preoccupation and girls without memories.

On marrying this perfect stranger.

What is wrong? 

Ben is standing in the front hall, his entire frame holding open the front door and the screen door and still managing to block out all the light. I kick at the toe of his motorcycle boots with one sock foot and he smiles so gently I wonder if he had to practice to make it look that soft. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days. I noticed because I didn't wake up razor burned nor did I go to sleep that way. He looks a tiny bit wild and a whole lot of sweet right now and he watches me frustratingly kick at his steel-covered toes and try and come up with some words that will work for him.

What if you stayed home and we hung out? 

(I'm losing my mind here. I've already made all the boys that are home lie in a circle, heads in and took their picture from the loft. They did not appreciate nor did they understand it.)

I could do that but you have to sweeten the pot. 

We could chocolate fondue things!

I'm pretty sure every tooth in my head has a cavity thanks to you. Something else?

The kids have no cavities and I only have like four so it can't be from my influence. I think you just have soft teeth. 

If I do they're the only things that are soft. 

I don't doubt it. We could...go snowshoeing. Ben loves snow like Bridget loves cake.

Needs to be sweeter. 

We could go snowshoeing...naked?

That sounds like a fine idea. Let's do it.

Wait, what? We'll get arrested. 

Not if we do it in the bedroom, Bee. 

What will we do afterwards? I try and wink salaciously at him and he's not even looking, he's taking off his boots.

Watch movies? Better yet, we'll make a movie, a documentary about naked snowshoeing in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest and then we'll send it to Loch. 

He's a terrible critic when it comes to docs, Benny.

He'll love this one because it stars us. We'll get him to facetime while he watches it so we can see his reaction to our moves.

Our moves? There are moves in snowshoeing? I thought you just walk. 

Oh, Bridget. There are so many moves in naked snowshoeing. I'm going to teach you everything I know. 

You've been snowshoeing before? 

No, but how hard can it be? I can guarantee one thing, it won't be as hard as watching you ask me if I would stay home today while you broke your toes on my boots and my heart with your eyes.

The easter egg hunt this year will take place on PJ's face (why that sounds so dirty I don't even know).

Someone left a bag of mini Cadbury Creme Eggs on the counter. They're not there now.

*Shiftily looks around*

The concert was amazing but on three hours sleep now I have the intelligence of a mashed potato, the reflexes of a manatee and not enough energy to finish words, let alone sentences.

PJ says this is nothing new so I wound up and threw a mini egg at his head. Nailed him right in the beard where the wrapped egg stuck and he said he would leave it there for a snack maybe later but then every time I saw him I would double over laughing so he finally took it out and did eat it and then went back for more.

So yes, whoever they belong to..we're...sorry? Or something. You have to guard your chocolate in this house. You just can't go around leaving it everywhere, unattended, unlabelled.

PJ says Perhaps it was a gift?

Perhaps, I repeat and smile with chocolate all over my teeth.

I actually think Lochlan left them there as a treat for me since he had to leave so early. This is why there was so little sleep. Batman and Lochlan had a last minute work trip and so we took them to the airport and I was too tired to cry, if you can believe it. Maybe that's the secret. Exhaustion. Though they say exercise and being tired is so great and I ran and ran for years and nothing changed except now my legs don't ache constantly and I buy really cheap Nikes instead of the spendy Sauconys.

Lochlan didn't want to go but it's only three nights and really Ben seems to be doing well and PJ is in charge and so now or never, I guess. Batman will be bringing home his new personal assistant (they need to be imported I guess). Loch is going to bring home British chocolate which he says will blow my tiny little mind but I reminded him that's been done and there just isn't enough left to risk so I'll make do with a tacky souvenir plate of Kate and William if he's in the mood. They should be buying plates with our faces on them, he tells me as he kisses me goodbye.

Well, fuck, NOW I'm going to cry. Great.

Kind of love it when Ben leaves the house with the rest of us and it's not for food.

My eyes are blind but I can see
The snowflakes glisten on the tree
The sun no longer sets me free
I feel the snowflakes freezing me

Let the winter sunshine on
Let me feel the frost of dawn
Build my dreams on flakes of snow
Soon I’ll feel the chilling glow

Tonight, finally, after a delay, is the Black Sabbath concert. The last one ever, as it were and so everyone is going. Everyone except the children, so that means if you see us and want to come up and say hello we really don't mind. If the children are with us we go into full Avengers Assemble-mode and it's a little scary. People sometimes get reallllly excited when around someone they kinda recognize and at this kind of event it's far more likely. Long story. Anyway, if you see us and you want to come say hi, just be gentle, LOL. We won't bite but we also don't like a big fuss.

(Caleb is even going. He'll be the inappropriately dressed one in a blazer and nice pants.)

I'm excited. I have maybe fifty pounds of eyeliner already on and am broadcasting Snowblind to the point. PJ is very appreciative of my swaying around the kitchen singing it. Or maybe it's these skinny jeans? I should probably stop before he gets a full-on metal boner but who cares?

I'm even going to break my own golden rule and drink a beer tonight.

In public.

(If the jeans can take it. They're tiiiight because metallllll.)

Because this is the End.  Goddamn it. I know I'm going to cry. But also SNOWBLIND.

 LIVE.

This is the shit dreams are made of, right here.

(I am such a boy. Eyeliner included.)

(All the destruction, it was quiet.)

All of the interesting turns of events from birthday to now and Caleb is fixated on the title of yesterday's entry as if it's a label I have put onto him, stamped across his forehead as a reminder to learn from my mistakes and grow.

But let's face it. I'm done growing. I was done at eleven or maybe ten. Maybe the Midway food stunted me or maybe Lochlan froze me in time, perfect to fit under his chin or maybe I don't learn from mistakes and therefore are doomed to repeat them over again, ad infinitum. Maybe Caleb wasn't ever a formal enough of a relationship to be considered a mistake, more of an ongoing kind of dalliance that we've never solidified into anything further, as I was always otherwise engaged. Literally engaged. Positively uninterested in ever giving a voice to a marriage of monsters.

In consideration I have thought about it many times and I often wondered if I did, if he would change. If he would be nice or at least somewhat less cruel to me. If he would be kind instead of frightening, loving instead of forceful. Sweet instead of always mean. His charm, his frailty is a mask and as long as I keep that in mind I do okay but his charm is also magnetic, dangerous and deceitful and I am no match for the Devil as I am forever frozen in a time period I would have gone back to if I could find the way. Not for the bad things but for the good and now no one seems to understand that when I write 'My Yesterday', it simply means this is how the day before today went and nothing more. It's not a proclamation or a hidden message. It's just a descriptor. A marker. A heading. It's a story.

It's a shame, is what it is and now I'm going to move on. Fifty-four is almost a year away and so I can let out a long deep breath and plan for the next catastrophe which seems to be the mystagogue in this house, who pretends to be a minister but I swear to God sometimes Sam, like August channels just enough Jake to warm my cold broken heart in the form of these men who keep me going to see what they do next. He's lying on the floor in the living room with headphones on listening to music, which would be quiet and acceptable save for the fact that he's singing so loudly he woke the whole house up.

(He found that Shooter Jennings song. Man. What an amazing fucking song.)

That's exactly what Jake used to do each early March when Lent was under full steam and we all stopped going to church regularly enough for him. He would make sure we were up and at 'em so that we wouldn't be late. We didn't all live together back then so he would drive around town knocking on doors and singing and checking his watch when they would come and open the door in pajamas, rubbing their eyes, probably hungover with no intentions of hearing his service.

And it works now like it worked then. Perfectly.

So off we go. Maybe I'll add more later. Maybe I'll go back to bed.

My yesterday.

BRIDGET.

Friday morning, 8:05. A heartbeat after the kids have left for school and the Devil has come to claim his due.

Where did you get them?

Everyone is all up in his face before he finishes the question and he struggles against them while I stand in the doorway. He's screaming at me to tell him and then in a moment of silence I shrug.

Where did I get what? 

The benzos you put in my drink.

Are you saying you think something fell in your drink?
 
It's a sad day when you feel as if you have to poison me to avoid meaningful contact. 

I didn't poison you. It must have been some kind of accident. Love how you call it 'meaningful contact' now. That's amazing. Everyone is staring at me with amusement and I have no poker face so I burst out laughing very inappropriately.

That's an extraordinary length to go to, Neamhchiontach. 

The stress of trying to hold out dissolves me and the tears come. I must look insane. I don't know what you're talking about! I thought you were tired. I was relieved, I admit. I came home. I didn't do anything to you. 

He softens just enough that they let go and those who have some manners leave the room. Bridget, I'm sorry I frighten you so much. I wanted to end my birthday the way I began it. Alone with you. 

I'm sorry. I whisper, well aware that it sounds like guilt even though I'm apologizing for leaving his house before his birthday was over.

(My inner twelve year old kicks me in the shins and scowls. Lochlan leaves the room. For fucks sakes. Social engineering is as exhausting as a birthday to me.)

Did you put something in my drink, Neamhchiontach?

No. Maybe you're just more tired than you realize. It was a long day. I smile through tears and he wipes them off my cheeks with his thumbs.

His eyes though.

Blue right through with obvious doubt.