Told you not to envy anything about this, but you didn't listen either.

I'm outside on the porch, blanket over my lap, PJ's barn coat over my own flannel shirt and jeans. Cold coffee on the railing, new iPad still in the box on my lap. I'm watching the tiny birds look for leftover seeds in the grass. They look weightless, lighter than air. I never wanted to fly, never wanted to skydive, never wanted to sit on roof save as a means to get away from things, never felt the urge to soar above the walking universe.

Hey. I look up and Lochlan's behind the screen door. He's got two fresh cups of what I think are coffee until he comes out and hands me one and I see that it's not coffee at all. It's whiskey.

What are we celebrating? 

Who says we're celebrating? He looks cross. We're medicating, Bridge. I am, anyway. 

Just say it. 

I can't ban you from him, can I? 

You can limit him. 

He's already limited and it still changed. 

That's inevitable. 

Shut it the hell off, Bridget. I'm not doing this. I'm not on board with this. I said no. I asked you, no, I begged you not to go over there. I beg you to not do all kinds of things and you just go anyway, like I don't exist. 

What am I supposed to do? 

Be normal. 

I snort and burst out laughing. It's not a nice laugh though. It's not happy. It's angry and spiteful. I can't believe you just said that. 

Be monogamous. Cut him off. Cut them all off.

Never have been in my life and who has benefit the most from that? You. What if anyone else had ever said that and shut you out in the cold? 

It's different. 

How?

It's me. 

Exactly. 

I'm either special or I'm just another fucking chump you can take your shit out on to make yourself feel better. But if I'm special everyone can't be special too. 

Jealousy is such a shitty colour on you, Lochlan. 

And I didn't raise a whore. 

Yeah. You did. Remember?

He takes his cup and throws it agains the wall. I did, didn't I? My mistake. Then he's gone and it's cold and silent again. The birds have flown away too and I couldn't fly if I tried, my heart weighs a thousand pounds easy.

Might have fucked up really badly here.

The bottom of the deep blue sea
The bottom of the deep blue sea

He's back and he's incredibly angry that Sam went ahead and let the army close up my ghost adventure park, behind his back, behind Joel's, with a decided lack of preparation and forethought, truth be told. It's like they just woke up with this plan. She has her soul, let's nix the spirits while we can, before anyone can object or continue to let Bridget grieve in her slow-motion sort of way, drifting aimlessly through life pinging back and forth between destroying the living and raising the dead.

Ironic, since a huge part of my draw toward him is that he's as close to Jake as I will ever be again. And I missed him terribly, as he went back for three weeks to Newfoundland and didn't call even once.

Not once.

Who's angry?

Hey, if Sam is calling the shots, what do you need me for? He's got me pinned against him, fighting with me to take me out of my clothes while I work to keep them on. Not doing this. No rage-homecomings. We have to sort out the hurt feelings and then we can move on to all the other stupid feelings because hurt clouds everything.

Stop. I struggle with him but he's not listening. My body is so on board with this but my heart wants to fix everything else first.

Not stopping. Ever think I missed you and that's why I couldn't call?

You didn't text me either.

Are you listening to what I just said? Shirt's off now. Goosebumps all over as it sinks in along with the chill from his loft, unheated while he was gone, just beginning to warm up.

I missed you.

That's a feeling. That's an affirmative feeling, August.

One that I hate myself for.

Don't say that. There go my jeans. I cross my arms in front of me for warmth, for protection from his words.

I wasn't going to go there. I haven't loved someone in a long time.

It's not love.

What is it?

I don't know.

Then call it love until you come up with something that makes you feel better. And he bends his head down to kiss Little Miss So Much Trouble he may have been better off staying away forever.

Parental controls + Jesus, since it's Sunday.

(To be kind, this post contains spoilers for A Ghost Story, if you haven't seen it.)

Today was a little slower, a little more deliberate, a tiny bit foggy, led along by the elbow, shoved with a kind hand, coffee (regular, black, not from Starbucks, thank you Christian) held for me, purse held for me too and maybe I should have stayed home from church but I like to support Sam and it seems especially important to maintain a presence, keep the army close (if you will) when Matt is around so he knows that Sam has us and that we have Sam. I know that sounds awful but they continue to be off and on, but barely. This way Matt will someday understand precisely what it means to be a part of this Collective instead of existing alongside of it, something he asked of Sam and was refused. I've asked Matt to consider joining but he remains wary.

I can't say I blame him but at the same time it's a system that works and works well for the others so why not him too?

Ahh, yeah, I know the answer to that too.

But this isn't about Matt.

Last night while Lochlan was sleeping and Ben was sleeping too, I couldn't sleep and so I climbed out of bed and took a blanket and settled in on the couch with the ipad and some headphones. And I rented A Ghost Story. I purposefully broke a rule made for my own safety. I hit the Rent Now button and I watched it. Every minute of it, including the pie-eating scene that took forever, that I understood perfectly as only someone who has lost someone that close would.

I watched the part where he fell off the top of the building. I watched the whole fucking thing without even falling asleep like I always do and then I was really sad that I had done that because I can't un-see it or un-think it so I put the ipad back on the shelf (they're going to know what I did) and crawled back into bed in the dark and pulled and shook at both of them until they were half-awake and in as close as possible and only then did I feel safe enough to take another breath and close my eyes.

What an incredibly beautiful film.

I had nightmares all night. I woke up dreading my own brain and apparently Dalton had been up late also watching iTunes and got the first memo that it was available to watch and sent off a note to Lochlan who read his phone and swore and got up and left, coming back with a little pill and a glass of water. He sat down on the side of the bed and asked me why I seek out the misery like a sea to swim in, like a blanket I can wear.

It's familiar is all I can tell him. I know what it's supposed to feel like. It's comfortable.

He stares at me for a long time. Get ready for church, he finally says, and when I come back out showered, dressed and moving in heavily medicated slow motion I notice the ipad is gone from it's place on the shelf. Not a word from him as he turns so I can help him finish fixing his tie.

I am marched downstairs for breakfast, we're in our finest but we're certainly not at our finest, put in a chair and he fetches juice and a piece of toast. PJ starts to say something and Lochlan shoots him a look.

Sam comes down and kisses my cheek and I confess my sin to him. He gets down to look in my face, wiping toast crumbs from my cheek from eating from the middle of the slice instead of the corners.

Why did you want to do that when Jacob finally received his heavenly reward, Bridget? 

I just needed to see how other people do it. 

And?

It wasn't like that. It was about him not being able to deal with losing her. He was the ghost and he missed her. It was reversed. She moved on. 

Like you have moved on, because it's good for you and it's what Jacob would have wanted for you? 

Usually I would fight that but Lochlan's magic pills dull my defense mechanisms so I nod like a little kid.

No harm done then. I daresay it seems like it would be a beautiful film. Was it? 

Very much so. 

Then don't let it in, just leave it there as a beautiful thing that you have witnessed and take a deep breath. 

I take one and he smiles kindly.

Ready for today then? 

I nod and Lochlan is back, wrapping his hand around my head, pulling it in so he can kiss the top of it. He sits in the chair beside me and leans over. I watched it already. 

Why?

So I'd be ready because I knew you wouldn't wait and watch it with me. 

And? 

It was beautiful. But very, very sad. I felt like it would be me. And that you would be her and maybe that's how it's supposed to happen. 

It can't. Can it? 

I don't know, Bridge. His eyes are green pools of despair suddenly. He doesn't want to know. Death has gone from a certainty to the biggest, most tangible frightening boogeyman there is and I want to stuff it back into it's appropriate-sized reasonable box and put it back with the rest of the top fears of all time, like spiders, heights, abandonment and very big dogs.

But not bears, because no one's afraid of bears.

How can I be afraid of death but not of bears? I'm not afraid of my death. Just theirs. And they're not afraid of their own mortality either, just each others, just mine. It's unbearable if you let your brain go to those places but sometimes my brain doesn't let me drive.

Okay, most of the time my brain doesn't let me drive. Let's face it.

The coffee was very very good. No milk. The heat was on in church and when we came home I had all the help in the world making the most wonderful Thanksgiving dinner you could imagine, and this time I was sent away with tea while they all pitched in to help clean up.

I asked him where the ipad was when he came to collect my teacup later. He wouldn't look me in the eye. I threw it off the cliff, he said quietly. It was all I could think to do. I'll replace it tomorrow. 

You didn't burn it? 

It wouldn't burn. That's why I threw it.

Thoughts while I watch him eat. Or talk. Or laugh. Or do anything.

We spent this morning having brunch in bed with Schuyler and Daniel while plotting their sixth anniversary celebrating to be held later this month. Ben took up more room than anyone but he also had more ideas and we wound up deciding a surprise party would be better than something they actually plan, and so in between bites of fried potatoes and crispy bacon we passed folded notes back and forth all around our golden boys, who sat back and sipped their very good salt spring island coffee, feeding toast points to each other, getting crumbs all over their t-shirts and their sheets. August would have lost his mind. August doesn't believe in eating in bed. Well, not food anyway.

We got it all planned. 

Ben is good at planning fun things. 

He's been a magnet since yesterday afternoon. He gets stuck inside his head too, down in his warmly lit studio. I bring him his meals on a tray. Sometimes he stops and brings the tray right back upstairs to eat with everyone, sometimes he clears space for us to sit together and he eats quickly and gets back to work and sometimes, on the hardest evenings, he doesn't hear or see me when I come in, and so I leave the tray and when I come back to pick it up it's untouched. 

Then I cry. 

I package it all up and put it in the fridge. I try to remember he's a grown man, if he's hungry he'll eat. If he's really hungry he'll order pizza. If he's lonely he'll come find me. He'll eventually surface, but it gets hard to wait. I'm very happy when he puts down his guitars and comes to just hang out for a few days. It's kind of like old times except there's a lot of time spent in bed eating toast and planning fun things. 

Then I stop crying. 

I know I'm spoiled. You would be too if you had a Ben. Except that he's quite unique and there's only one of him. And he's mine. Still. Yes, I know I'm greedy too. 

:)

Chorus (take her, she's yours).

The sweet surrender of silence forces me to live alone
Locked and loaded, where the hell is peace of mind?
I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue

Welcome to my cage little lover
Time to rearrange with you baby
Still don't know your name miss honey
Let's go up in flames pretty lady

This song starts with the Devil and ends with the Fire Eater and I wouldn't change it now that the dark comes early every night, now that heaven and hell have collided in my world, now that Ben has ceased to appear at all half the time or maybe he has appeared and I didn't see him in the tangle of limbs, in the breathless blackness. If I reach out it doesn't matter who I touch. I play favourites on repeat, I held my head high and I let them hold me down and we buried the past in the possibility of the future, together.

When I wake up it's still dark. That song is still playing in my head and the memories of the night lie against me on both sides, hands claiming ownership of whatever they touch in their dreams.

I take a deep breath and turn my brain inside out.

And Jacob isn't there.

The next deep breath hurts in realization and I sit up but no one else stirs. I try to catch my breath but I can't. My brain is squealing, pushing backwards against my skull, trying to stuff itself back in, unwilling to reveal itself, trying to keep the corners inside dark and unexplored.

But it's too late.

I crawl out of bed as quietly as I can. Lochlan doesn't move, Caleb sleeps even more deeply, I could walk right down him and he wouldn't notice. I find my t-shirt and pajama pants and I head down the hall to my right, down the few steps, in through another door, where Sam bolts upright. Another light sleeper.

What's wrong?

Had a nightmare, I lie.

He lifts up the covers. He's got a faded church camp t-shirt on and pajama pants too. I climb in and he settles his arms around me, chin on top of my head.

Just sleep. Lochlan will find you in a bit. Everything's okay. 

It's so warm against him that I'm asleep within minutes, running down the path in the sunrise, wet leaves threatening to send me flying, down, down until the sun disappears and it's dark again. I run down the hall, my footsteps echoing off the walls but at the end of the hallway there's no door. It's not here. It's gone. I feel along the wall where it was. There are footprints everywhere. Right here. It was right here. But it's gone and it's place is fresh neat mortar. I can't get in. I can't get in and he's gone.

But I'm right here. Lochlan's voice cuts into the dark softly, like a sharp knife. Right here, Bridget. For you. He takes my hand and I sit up. Sam mutters something about talking later and we leave him to sleep.

Lochlan leads me downstairs. He puts my coat on me, buttoning it all the way, then he puts on his own. We head outside for the sunrise, all the way to the beach. All the way into the water. He bends down and wets his hand and brings it up to my forehead, drawing a cross.

I don't remember what he says, he grins ruefully, but it should work. Then he draws a heart around the shape of my entire face with the saltwater. That's my blessing for good measure. This is your sea. All your memories are here, Bridget. She keeps them safe, you just have to touch her and you can have them all, but you can never come to her without me. Try it now. 

I crouch down and stick both my hands into the ice-cold water. The shock of how cold it is after summer is comforting somehow. There she is. Back to normal. I lean forward until I'm sitting on my knees, up to my waist in the frigid surf and he swears and steps forward but he doesn't rip me to my feet. He waits. I lean forward and scoop water onto my face with both hands. Baptize me ten times over but I'm never going to be new, never going to different, never going to be right, somehow.

I don't care, he says, and he pulls me to my feet at last. Dumbass. You're going to catch your death.

(But I could never keep up with her either. She's so fast.)

Back in our room he gets a fire going and Caleb is gone but that song is still in my head. This time I dream of the fair, Lochlan's warm mortar- and salt-streaked hands clutching me against him while I shiver in my sleep. His talent is magic, mine is ruin. I wonder who's winning?

Avenged Sevenfold is trying to kill me and other fun Thursday things.

(This is all yelly and scattered because I'm busy and in a rush to go.)

(sorry)

It's the eve of Thanksgiving long weekend and we have run out of bread but who cares? There's a new Stephen King book out that I need to run and buy instead of responsible things like bread but besides that,

BREAKING BENJAMIN is coming!

Well, they're coming to 'Canada' they say, to be announced next week and yes, for fucks sake now I have to sit through Avenged Sevenfold again. It's as if they are trying to change my mind.

Snort. 

To the band: you better not do that thing where you only book Toronto and Montreal or I'll fucking burn the whole continent to the ground. I've been patiently waiting for fifteen years for a live show. Don't let me down.

And also thank you! Because FINALLY!

Even Relient K came here and they NEVER TOUR CANADA.

David Gilmour and Rik Emmett need to come next and then my bucket list is done, unless Wolves at the Gate or Karnivool hit the road or unless Royal Tusk or Big Wreck come back.

I could go on for days but this is a big one and now I didn't freak out completely when I read they'll be announcing Canadian dates next week. No, I didn't. I may have run around the pool a few times and come back in breathless and sat at the table grinning stupidly. You just don't understand what the songs...eh, I'm sure Avenged Sevenfold fans everywhere are saying the exact same things, just in reverse.

(*hauls out angsty goth teenage wardrobe to check that it still fits.*)

Okay I'm ready. When's the show?

Summer of '75 I didn't know any of these turkeys, Billy. And my name's not Brenda. It's Bridget.

The only prerequisite to coming to be a part of this Collective is, if you're male, is you have to be able to wear flannel easily, if not skillfully, you need to be able to grow a beard that looks good and doesn't make you look like you're part of the Witness Protection Program (Corey. um..) and you need to be able to sing the entirety of Billy Joel's best and most perfect album Stranger, including the dramatic bits in the middle of Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.

I feel like this is something Lochlan started and the rest of them were forced to catch on quick or be left behind, but then Jacob just showed up and knew all of it too and that sort of knocked us all on our asses but here's Caleb giving it a go this morning out of the blue and he's doing great.

We're polishing silver. I use my grandmother's silver every day and my mom's too. There's a lot of it since there's a lot of us. It's an all-day job. I get to pick the next album and I don't know how I'm going to follow this up.

I'm going to have to invoke Miss Saigon, I think. Yeah. May as well kill each other softly with showtunes and knives you can see your face in.

Do you know how long a drive it is?

You're a hard girl to find. 

Not really. I stand up and stagger backwards slightly, over a tangle of plants. Lochlan throws out a hand to steady me but I'm good, and now he's dirty too.

Snort.

I'm pulling the rest of the garden before it gives me any more bounty. As it stands now there are five huge bowls of green tomatoes in the house and every south-facing window on the main floor has a sill lined with more. It was four degrees overnight last night, I wasn't going to risk them, but between you and me, I'm sick to death of them. I'm eating nothing but sugar this winter, once these tomatoes have ripened and been dispensed with. I have roasted, fried, pureed, chopped, sliced, frozen and eaten them like candy for four months straight.

Next summer I have threatened to plant a sea of sunflowers. A whole ocean of yellow directly next to blue. Wouldn't it be lovely?

Yes. I think so too.

(Don't mind me, my grocery store doesn't sell pop-tarts, but there's a Wal-Mart in Port Coquitlam that seems to have about eighteen different flavours of them. Everytime someone is over there (because Long McQuade, a music store they like is nearby, nevermind that there are closer ones, they just like that particular one) I beg them to stop in and bring me all the pop-tarts and all the new-fangled flavour Oreos too. Apparently they get their stock from America, where all they seem to have are guns and sugar.)

So I have brown sugar cinnamon and chocolate frosting flavours but I promised myself I wouldn't touch them until all of the tomatoes are gone. I hid them well too so the boys won't find them and eat them first. I can't wait. Literally. They're practically calling my name.

I have bad news. 

What's wrong? 

PJ found your stash.

SERIOUSLY? FUCK.

Stage five, Sam.

Instead of cleaning up dinner or helping or wiping down the table even I was given a whiskey and sent out to the front porch last night. It's dark and still warm. An owl is trying to talk to me softly. There's no other sounds. So, so quiet. I hear the door close softly, so even the noise of the boys talking and washing pots and pans and loading the time machine inside doesn't reach me here. Not like it usually does, I hate to tell them but I appreciate the gesture all the same.

Oh. This is really nice.

I take a few minutes to myself.

Just a few, here in the dark. A toast to the ghosts. A glass to the past. A shot for the not. I don't shed any tears, though.

For once.

Why?

I have Cole's sweater, his memories, his friends and his stupid temper that lives on in his brother Caleb, who mellows as he gets old in an intense, passionate and sort of defeatist way, forced to conform to the rules of the Collective or be denied all that he wants. That familial passion is what keeps me from missing Cole.

I have Jacob's ring, his son and his best friends too. I have his memories. I have his faith and I have his future tucked in with my own. I feel like he'll be watching over me for the rest of my life and when the time comes I'll see him again. Maybe there's a heaven. Maybe. I hope there is. There's one right here in this house, that's for sure and if this is actually it then it's enough for me.

Perfect Sunday but with milk.

When I slid across the pew this morning Caleb was already there, greeting us with warm cheek kisses and coffees from a tray he had. Yes, even Lochlan got a kiss and a coffee. So did PJ which meant the murmuring and whispering behind us was louder than usual but I don't care because I could sit down for a solid hour and drink coffee and everyone is cohesive and in love and everything is beautiful.

Then I took a sip. It's a pumpkin spice latte. Which means it's fully half milk which I can't do so I asked him to hold it while I dug around in my purse for a lactose pill and he grinned and said he figured I would like a fall-themed flavoured coffee drink and I smiled and said I did and thank you even though I don't because dairy and I aren't friends and I think mashed-up grated leaves would be kinder to my stomach but I think he realized when I took the pill and washed it down and he said oh...ah okay. Lattes. Shit. 

And I winked and said that's what I'm trying to avoid.

Lochlan laughed. Scots can eat or drink anything and never have a problem. They're like Bens. Delicate Bridgets, not so much. I have trouble with dairy, and scents and fabrics and people that are scratchy. Drives me nuts. But the flavoured coffee was a really nice touch on a stormy fall day in an ice-cold church (SAM FIX THE HEAT PLEASE) and so was the kiss. And I heard not a word of the sermon. Not a word.

After church we came home. I'm making pancakes and bacon and more coffee now because Sam should be home in a quick minute. Caleb will be back over (he gets cleanup duty since he couldn't be here in time to help cook) and then we're going to have a movie day at home. It's Ben's turn to pick and since it's October I hope it's all horror.