Under the surface of the water you'll hear the way I hear above it.

I spent the day sitting on a big round towel in the shade by the pool, eating egg salad sandwiches and salt & vinegar chips, drinking lemonade and reading my book (still slugging away at David Sedaris's Theft By Finding, which finally went from weird and sad to hilarious so I can't wait to pick it up every chance I get), while Ben snoozed on a chaise nearby and Batman swam laps or as near enough to laps as you can swim in a huge kidney-shaped pool.

It's so lovely and quiet, breezy and yet calm. No hearing aids. No sirens. No yelling. No music. No anything. The perfect late summer day if ever there would be one, and so I don't wish to miss it. The bunting flags bounce and twist in the wind and there are boats on the water and I already had my swimming lesson review, in which Sam asked if I remembered anything at all and then we had a twenty-five minute debate on the risks of wearing jewelry in seawater versus chlorinated water.

We agreed to disagree and I had a pop quiz in which I had to do my own laps, front crawl, back crawl, tread for five minutes and then demonstrate my knowledge of CPR, using a half-awake Benjamin, who hijacked all of my attempts to be serious with his tongue and left me howling with laughter and covered with spit. I did get a damned good kiss out of it, and Sam said I passed my review later on, because he was laughing too hard and had to walk away for a bit to compose himself.

Officially they're all a full whoppingly ten percent less nervous when I'm in the water now, or so I'm told.

Newton's third law.

Watching Caleb at our big Fourth of July dinner on the patio (because the long outdoor teak table arrived just in time. The chairs did not. We winged it. It was fine) I see that he's struggling to find his place here so I went and sat with him for a while. I'm only a true body language expert on people I know very well and so it's safe to say he relaxed somewhat visibly, taking an open position in his seat, his expression blooming into a contentment that belied his curiosity about my...uh....schedule. For lack of a better word. For my future plans? When he can see me next? Who am I going home with tonight? He caught my eye and so I did what I always do.

I pointed at Duncan.

Caleb swore out loud and looked away, which brought the conversation to a halt. Everyone looked to me.

Nothing! What? Keep talking. 

The conversation restarts slowly and I take my glass and excuse myself, heading to the pool, where PJ and John are floating on loungers, PJ almost asleep, John reading a book. They look content.

Where is Jay? I ask and PJ wakes up.

He's around. Go back to Lochlan, Bridge.

I just want to make sure everyone is good. That's what a hostess does.

I'm the hostess.

You're sleeping.

A good hostess sets the tone for the evening. He winks at me before closing his eyes again. I take a few steps past the pool and he says my name again in warning.

Fine.

I go back to the patio and Lochlan puts down the guitar, pulling me into his lap. Drink?

Five, please.

I would have cut you off at two.

Okay. As long as I can have them both at once.

He laughs and a drink is put into my hand, and the plain lemonade is whisked away. Go slow, he warns. Like he did when I was sixteen and stupid.

Yes, Daddy. I tell him and he flushes with irritation.

Jesus, Bridge.

Ooh. New pet names for each other. I always wanted to be Jesus-Bridget.

They're not pet names. Leave it.

Fine.

I drink my first drink and then accept my second/the last one and I can't finish it. My eyes are so heavy. The string lights get brighter and the air cools down. Soon the pool is empty and the lights are turned off around it too and everyone has amalgamated to the patio proper. Some with beers, some with vitamin water, some with tea. We light sparklers and celebrate the Fourth of July on behalf of our favourite former Americans turned Canadians because we're gracious like that.

Or maybe, like Lochlan, we're grumpy like that. See how fast he went from contentment to ire and how fast Caleb went from ire to contentment? I swear to God for every action with one, there's an equal and opposite reaction of the other and here we go, Bridget's Summer Learning series is here again! This summer we're doing physics. Weeeeeeeee. Pretty sure my favorite years so far were sex and outer space.

But not together.

I mean...

Though, if I had a chance..

Yeah. I would do that.

SIGH.

Don't pity me for she'll not stay
She scorned my love and turns away
Farewell my love for all I've done
By the setting of the sun

Farewell my love of yesteryears
We roll upon the tide
Tomorrow's day should lead the way
And life begins tonight

I needed something to snap me back to place, and here it is. An audible signal. A droning intonation bent on the melody formed by the wind whistling through his motives, threading a story that is watertight. So watertight it floats on the tide, back into my hands before being drawn out again, unreachable, only to come back in again, close enough to touch.

Lochlan is learning the song, and in between his efforts he pulls me into his arms, stripping us both of our disguises, our false fronts, taking us back to blood and bone, to rhyme and reason, to grit and grift.

Aye, Peanut. This is not so complicated. We have the music, the sea, each other and...PJ to get the groceries. 

And Ben to keep our heads above water. 

Indeed. The mood flattens in time to the end of the song, and he begins again in earnest, head down against the wood of the guitar for several minutes while he worked at the tune with diligence.

Lochlan-

Bridget, if we have a dance every now and then and a roll in the clover and a good long hug and enough firewood for the winter, our babies are close, we've got each other and our friends are nearby then I consider it a good life. 

What about the Devil breathing down your neck?

I swear on my life it wasn't my neck he was breathing down. I'm going to call it the cost of being civilized and a good chance to keep him in line and otherwise I don't want to think about it any further. Tonight is for music. And the sea. And each other. Alone. Together.

Don't forget the clover. 

Oh, believe me, I haven't. 

Light standards.

Today people were assholes.

No, you can't change your food order fifteen minutes after you've ordered. 

No, you can't have any more time to decide. You're taking up space. 

No, you can't send it back with two bites left. 

Yes, people make mistakes. Sorry your chicken sandwich was the wrong chicken sandwich but that's what you ordered because I asked you. 

Yes, the coffee sucks. So that you'll leave when you're finished, instead of lingering.

Of course the table is dirty. You sat yourself. 

No, I won't go home with you. 

No, you can't have my number. 

And please, for the love of god don't call me Baby.

Ready to quit now, Bridge?

No. Tomorrow I'll show them. 

Bridget, you can't change people. 

Oh yeah? Look at you. 

I'm a lion masquerading as a lamb. 

Good enough for me.

Devil's advocate.

Gratitude today comes easy. Food on the table, help in the house, the safety and health of everyone I adore beyond compare and Caleb and Lochlan, not only getting along but both still upstairs asleep in my bed when I left this morning in my diner-dress, BABY on my nametag just to see who's paying attention, memories playing in my brain just to see who's keeping score.

Caleb invited us back for a nightcap after the fireworks last evening but we instead extended a drink invitation to him. He was on his greatest and best behavior and damn, I love him for it.

Personal Jesus and the boomerang girl.

(Lochlan doesn't want that memory left up there on top like that but I don't change my words unless it's a safety thing. He thinks it sounds so ominous that he wanted me to remain small forever. It isn't, I promise.)

So here's Sam instead. Barging into my peaceful weekend once again with his good friend Jesus. They each take a side, forcing me to my knees where I am made to remember who gave me this life.

(Technically the Devil, though I've learned not to say that out loud anymore.)

What are you in gratitude for this weekend, Bridget?

That pizza can be criticized as a choice instead of being a vehicle simply to assuage our hunger. That we can afford expensive jazzfest tickets and even parking to go. That my raspberries in the garden are ripe. That my children are healthy, happy, not hungry and spoiled even but that they still recognize their values lead the way. That the tires have air. That I get hugs and am loved. That we have more than five forks that match. That I found good music and can indulge in it as a welcome distraction. That the store had my favorite candy. That it rained. That it stopped raining. That we won a Fortnite match and went for a long humid walk. That Jake went to heaven and I'll see him again (THIS PART FEATURED MUCH CONVINCING ON THEIR PART LET ME TELL YOU FOR FREE). That I'm better today. That you love me. 

Finally, I hit on something that soften's Sam's expression.

We all do, Bridge. 

I know. He helps me back to my feet.

I swear you think up the strangest things to throw me off. 

No, I just grab from whatever's happened in the past few days and remember the little things are as important sometimes, as stepping stones to larger things. It isn't always fireworks that impress, sometimes it's the sparks that leave you breathless. 

Jake said that?

Loch did. 

You shouldn't worship your friends, Bridge. 

I'm not-

Good-

He's my life.

A sound from the doorway made us both turn and there's Lochlan, irritation fading from his expression at finding Sam grilling me to wonderment as my words hit home for him in the most joyful way.

Rhetoric? He breathes.

Not even, I confirm. The truth. 

Eight and thirteen (in the very beginning).

She brings the sunshine to a rainy afternoon;
She puts the sweetness in, stirs it with a spoon.
She watches for my moods, never brings me down;
She puts the sweetness in, all around.
She knows just what to say to make me feel so good inside.
And when I'm all alone I really don't feel that way.
Oh how I need her so,
I know she'll never go.

Lochlan is making me laugh today. He's in pajama pants, with a guitar in his arms, and he's performing his old, well-worn, rearranged version of Yes' Sweetness. He's been singing it to me since I was very small. Like we're talking single-digit small. And he's still singing some of the same songs today even though I recall specifically requesting Sister Golden Hair today. Hrmmmph.

Who sings this?

Yes.

No, I asked you who sings it?

The band's name is Yes.

Well, THAT'S dumb.

He bursts out laughing. Actually it's pretty cool. Short and sweet. Like you.

I'm not short!

Okay, Bridgie. What are you?

Dimmer-you-tive.

Dim-IN-u-tive. That's a big word for a little kid.

Wow. I'm going to go home if you keep making fun of me.

But then you won't be able to hear the song that I'm singing for you.

Okay, I'll stay but you have to be nice.

Bridget if you get any bigger I can't give you a piggyback so I like you this size.

You do?

I do.

Well, then what if I grow?

Christian or someone bigger will have to carry you.

What if I never change?

Honestly, I hope you don't. You're perfect just the way you are.

How can you say that? I'm only eight.

It's not the outside, it's the way your mind works. Everything is stars and magic. Keep that. Be this way forever.

Only if you will too.

How am I?

You're just...you. I like you.

I like you too.

Ripple, roar and rise.

We went to an event for the Coastal Jazz Festival last night. No big deal. Just Robert Plant. Just The Sensational Space Shifters. Just Seth Lakeman, who we're all thoroughly in love with now. Especially Lochlan, who came home at two in the morning and dug out my violin and said we've done life all wrong and the only thing we should have been that we haven't actually been were minstrels.

Well, technically we were. 

You know what I mean, Bridge. 

Last night was weird. We dressed to the nines. We ate bad 'New York' pizza on the streets of Vancouver while we strolled down from the parking lot to the Queen Elizabeth theatre, starving but without any time left for a proper dinner. I had a drink at the theatre and then had no more as I had a hard time finding energy for the show, or so I thought.

Seth Lakeman opened and I fell in love instantly with his music. We bought all of his albums when we got home.  So east coast. Celtic. Folk-rock with sometimes more of one and sometimes more of the other. A one-man show. Where has he been hiding? Incredible. Then Robert Plant played the Rain Song and I cried out loud. The songs got jammed in my head. Then I realized how late it was and the show was done and we made our way home.

Seven drunk driving roadblocks on the way. Seven. Three more in the distance on different roads. Life is strange. If you knew death as we do you wouldn't take the chance. You would live so hard. You wouldn't be stupid enough to risk throwing it away, or worse, taking it from someone else. You wouldn't-

Bridget. We know. 

I didn't think that was out loud. 

It was. 

My ears didn't ring afterwards. And last night I slept for eight hours. Hoping it's just going to keep going up and up. Still not feeling better but really thrilled to see all my boys in suit jackets and button down shirts (no ties) and it wasn't even a wedding.

Trying my hardest here.

"She thought she could have what she wanted; She thought she could see the world from above, as if it were a distant blue ball whose sorrows had nothing to do with her. She had wanted to be a bird, but now she knew, as she looked out the window to see Lewis following, that even birds are chained to earth by their needs and desires."      ~Alice Hoffman, The Rules of Magic

Woke up from a drugged sleep (seven. full. hours. Almost there.) in the arms of Lochlan, who was still in jeans and a flannel shirt and boots. He slept sitting up, almost, uncomfortably so, clutching my head against his chest. Like he was ready to fight off every angel I could find in my nightmares and every devil that exists in my waking life.

We need to stay put, Peanut. This is a good place to ride out the hard parts. 

You think it is?

I think it is. 

Okay. (Eight-year-old Bridget always, always trusted him anyway so why not?)

Let's make some breakfast. Do you want to do toast and I'll do some coffee and eggs?

No, bagels instead. Raisin ones. God. Still slurring words this morning. Still fucked up from the pills that stop everything that wants to destroy me in their tracks.

Okay. (He smiles here, because he always trusted eight-year-old Bridget. She always knew exactly what she wanted and she always stayed put when he told her to.)

We'll take today slow. (We have a big group outing tonight and I'm in no condition to go and yet we refuse to miss this.)

Yes. I'm actually feeling better. 

I'll let fuckface know. He's been bothering me nonstop. 

He's just worried. He watched me slide right into the void. 

Yeah, well, the fact that he watched and did nothing to pull you back doesn't leave me wanting to include him if he can't even recognize it happening right in front of his fucking face, Bridge. 

I know. 

You know what? Fuck Caleb. Let's have breakfast up here. I'll call him later.

Two alone.

Gasping at glimpses
Of gentle true spirit
He runs, wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of good-bye

The holy quad is this: grief, fear, wanderlust and love. They all treat the symptoms of the wrong diseases here. No wonder I'm like this. No wonder I walk in quicksand in the dark all the time. No wonder I can't find the light, can't outrun this shit, can't gain any speed.

I have today off. I have a doctor's note as I'm sort of having some sort of major depressive episode exhaustion issue going on here. Everyone's been so helpful and so kind to me and yet I can't seem to gain any traction.

Put on a song, burst into tears. Told Ben it was my favourite and he said it's too sad to be and until I can survive it without the intense reaction it doesn't count.

But I insisted. That's what makes it this way.

Don't do it, Bumblebee. 

Can't help it, it's done. 

They hid all the vehicle keys, except to the ones I can't physically drive (the big bikes and Ben's truck. He got a bigger one. The seat can be zoomed all the way up to the dash and it's still nowhere near the pedals for me so oh, well. Pretty sure this is on purpose. Where's the car key that was in my purse? Ruth doesn't have it. She looked so apologetic. It's sad when you're light years more mature than your mother. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes.

Actually I would.

I would rather have been protected by them, as she is.

Than exploited.

As I was am.

(I said I wouldn't take no for an answer but I technically already have, here, I guess as I'm not in a position to argue. I'm not in a position to operate heavy machinery so on that note, I'm going to bed.)