Logic is no match for magic and that's why we're in this mess, truth be told.

Too hot. In the pool all day. Japanese for lunch. Traffic-snarl roads drove us back early, back into the pool. So tired. So warm. I wanted to go down and talk to Duncan about a few things but he won't answer me. I haven't seen him since yesterday and he said nothing. I haven't talked to him. I need to see him so I left a couple of messages but he hasn't read them. I feel a little like a one-night-stand who was promised a second date and has arrived at the front door only to be met with silence or an empty room.

Duncan remains untouchable, too cool for me. Too awesome to reply, I guess, as my messages remain unread into the late afternoon and finally I go and knock on his door.

Took you long enough, Poem. You didn't think I was going to do this over text messages, did you?

Do what?

Let you down easy. 

Is that what you're doing? 

I think I should.

Why?

It's complicated. He laughs. I don't. I'm panicking so hard whooshing sounds of my blood pressure-heartbeat obscure his words. He takes my hands. You make it hard to keep my focus and I have to put Lochlan and the good of the Collective first. 

God. If one more man throws me over for Lochlan I'm going to get my own sex change-

I answer to him, not to you. Don't worry. I don't find him attractive. Well, I mean I do but I don't go that way. 

But you still put him first?

No, by aligning my loyalties with him, I put you first. That's all any of us want, Bridget. That this is a safe place for you. 

So we can't have any more fun?

We can. It's fine if it's only every few months or so. 

Honestly, that's what you prefer?

Of course not. I'm human. But it's for the greater good. 

My own good, you mean.

Yes. 

Great. You're all so earnest and sweet. It makes me sick-

Don't do that. Don't be angry-

Why not?

Because look at it from my point of view. 

I don't see any problems with it, Duncan.

Sure you do, you're just being stubborn. Stop it before I take you and teach you a lesson. 

Can't. I smile. I have to learn somehow. I shrug.

Jesus Christ. He smiles back and I think Gotcha, Poet. That wasn't hard at all.

On getting caught up in a moment that never ends.

Okay so we're home and we're up.

And dressed, coffeed and awake as ever and I think we've cemented the lineup for Burning Man as there is limited space and specific personality conflicts and this is the perfect, serendipitous group to go so...

I should probably pick other people or there will be nothing left of me.

The only thing left anyway is glitter in my bloodstream as my hands are shaking, my knees tremble when I try to walk quickly and I can't seem to pull my head out of the dream clouds. Suggest free love or love is love and suddenly we're all in, all hands on deck, all aboard the love train and it finally came in to the nearest stop and we had to get off or I might have been finished forever.

But in a really really good way.

The parade was long. Saw the Prime Minister (again). Saw a lot of men dressed like women, men who used to be women, women who used to be men and all variations of in-between. Saw a lot of love, is what I saw. All flags flying. All people welcome. All in, indeed.

Got overheated and very very tired. One day post antibiotics and maybe not really ready for a party of that magnitude. Not like last year. This year I stayed dressed and stayed with my group and at some point when I got very weak and very sweaty Lochlan pulled the plug and he and Caleb and Duncan and I came back to the house together. It was already dark so I didn't understand the full magnitude of trying to brush off all the glitter before coming home, or the fact that this morning the trail of glitter led from my bed back through the house, down the front walkway, down the steps to the driveway and ends in a large radius around Lochlan's truck. It's rather funny and I would laugh but I'm too tired as somehow we managed to navigate both freaks, the devil and the poet in one bed for one night and wow.

Just WOW.

Four is too many and somehow wasn't enough until the sun came back up and the glitter sparkled in the dawn and I think I reached my absolute limit and may have crawled down the hall to the bathroom pleading to be left alone while laughing because I couldn't believe it.

Still can't. Let's just say everyone was feeling the love and had the reminders not to be at war constantly and that was the best suggestion ever and I can never speak of this night again.

I'm not even going to describe it but let's just say my absolute favorite moment of the entire night was being lifted back into Lochlan's arms from between Caleb and Duncan. I might not forget that feeling any time soon but feeling safe with Caleb is something I always am jarred by because it's so sudden, so extraordinary. And the relief anyway when being returned to Lochlan was like a warm bath to my soul.

When I came down and everyone was in the kitchen/great room hanging out and PJ asked how our night went and where did we go and then burst out laughing and I shot a look at Duncan who shrugged without looking back I realized it wasn't as transparent as I thought but also not as obvious as it could have been as they both left very early, before the house was awake. Now Duncan is showered and in fresh flannel and cargo shorts and Caleb is outside digging out the leaf blower for the glitter and I need to go stop him. It's fine. Leave it.

I love it.

Best Pride weekend ever.

Going to go die of a slow shame now but it was worth it.

(Snort.)

(P.S. the shame is not for reveling in the pride week culminations but in managing to shoehorn both Duncan and Caleb into the same night. Greed is a sin, right? But love isn't so maybe one can cancel out the other and I'm good. Time will tell.)

Jesus rainbows.

Should I live blog? I should live blog but we're actually late, sitting on the bridge trying to cross to the west end to see the Pride Parade, a caravan of trucks and boys in glitter. We have a place reserved that is a great vantage point to watch and dance and have a blast but it's just a matter of getting there before it begins.

More later. Happy Pride!

The scraps you don't burn/Saturday, August 4, 2018.

All my words sucked straight into the void
Same black hole where my heart was destroyed

The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive
The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

Fresh hillside raspberries in a glass of chilled rosé and five men playing water polo, water pouring off their muscular arms, the droplets glinting in the late afternoon sun as they torment one another with gentle insults meant to distract, not crucify.

I'm in heaven.

Absolutely.

Lochlan sleeps easily beside me on the chaise, its sunshade pulled up against that cruel sun, keeping me cool and protected. My book long forgotten in favour of watching the boys play so nicely. Such a rare sight. Such a rare day overall, in which we woke up early, made love easily, hungrily even and then made breakfast, also hungrily, in order to get our errands run and chores done.

So we could do absolutely nothing.  Like right now.

John comes and sits on the edge of the pool. What's for dinner, Bridge?

What are you making?

Let's make tacos. 

Sounds good. We have tortillas and beef. 

Perfect. I'll go pick some tomatoes. He smiles contently. He looks like I feel.

Cool. I settle back against Lochlan, who throws his arm around my neck, waking up slow. I ask him Is this heaven?

The only thing missing is our Ferris wheel. 

Caleb offered to buy us one once. 

We'd never get a permit to build it. 

I like it to be hard to get to. It keeps the magic that way. 

True. It does. I raised you right. 

I think you did. 

You know what we need?

A wakeup like the one we had this morning?

That was stellar. I was thinking an evening like this morning is in order. Maybe some candles, incense, music. Sam can join us, if you're up for it. 

Ben is going to come up early. 

Better still. 

My relief is tempered by Caleb getting out of the pool. I'd watch him any day. Especially soaked. He towels off his face and hands, checks his phone and then comes around to us. Hope you don't mind, dinner is coming and will be here in fifteen if you want to get everyone organized and dressed. 

What is it?

Mexican. 

That's amazing. We were just discussing making tacos. John's gone to pick tomatoes. 

We can have them sliced, along with the dishes I have coming. He grins. It is a perfect day.

Okay. I return the smile. Jesus. Pinch me. There will never be another day like this. Only one thing would make it even more perfect.

The quicksand tugs at my toes and I yank my foot away at the last second. Hey guys? Time to clean up for dinner. We always dress for dinner. It's just a thing.

A chorus of confirmation rises up and Lochlan pulls the shade all the way down so no one can see us before bending over me for a kiss the likes of which I dream about on a daily basis. Time to go, Mrs. MacIntosh. 

This girl is only gonna break your heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,

No, I wanna fall in love

When pressed to choose, I'll tell you that Keith Wallen's cover is by far the best one. Second runner up would be Lochlan, if you can believe it. I might be biased but he can hit the notes and buckle my knees all in one go. The only caveat is he won't (Absolutely not, Peanut) sing it sober and he's rare to be drunk enough to begin in the first place. Maybe tonight if he is angry enough by the time I get home with Sam he can sing it to me while he takes off all my clothes.

Or maybe he'll let Sam do that. I don't know. They can figure it out when the time comes.

My first order of vacation was to paint my nails with glitter. Then I promptly had to take it all off. It was starting to make my fingertips turn red and swell and it felt so heavy. I threw the bottle out and am giving up.

My second order was a long hot bath, in which I put conditioner in my hair, filled the tub to the top with bubbles and then got in only to realize it was too deep to read so I had to let half the water out. Then I dropped my David Sedaris book into the water. Now it's wavy and thick and won't close all the way. At least it's making me laugh out loud regularly, finally after over three hundred pages.

My third was a lemon poppyseed muffin out on the front porch, with a huge hot cup of coffee. I stole Gage's BB8 mug. It's gotta be ten ounces, minimum. I filled it all the way to the top, as I do at work, and easily carried it outside. Yeah, by myself. Without assistance.

(It's the little things that bring me so much triumph. You would be surprised. One attempt to soothe myself out of three worked perfectly so I'll call it a victory while you call it a mess.)

They tried to keep me from seeing the news, but I found out anyway. Rick Genest took his own life yesterday. He was thirty-three. Like Jacob, he did it just before his birthday, except it was a week instead of a day. Like Jacob he's gone now, never to find a way out of the dark. Never to realize how many people were there for him because he didn't wait to ask for help.

For fucks sake, tell someone. Then maybe you'll stay here.

With me.

I need to do something different today. The sadness is quicksand and I prefer to look out into the world from within it, nonetheless. Today I think I should be without that sadness. Dalton and Duncan are taking me golfing. I don't know what part of golfing is cheerful (or even fun for that matter) but I guess it's better than drowning in this hole.

Oh, Duncan just said it's mini golf. Or in your case, normal size, Poem.

Will you let me win?

Hell, no.

The things that make me different are the things that make me.

Joel just left. He came to see how I was feeling, talk preseason Leafs to me, and gossip about Trevor Linden's exit from the Canucks but on the way out he invited me to go and see Christopher Robin tomorrow night. Sam is already taking me.

I think they paid him to offer because they didn't want to have to do it, honestly and he's willing because he vividly remembers Jacob's Poohisms, his endless reflections from the books that broke my heart, and that was before everything else.

Sam says he's going to wear his Tactical Preacher Pants, stuffed with kleenex, sedatives and a bucket to wring me out in, as I haven't made it through the trailers yet without crying. I laughed because he means his cargo pants. They look especially great with his Argentina flag belt buckle. I can't take him anywhere. They're a faded salmon color. When he wears them PJ calls him Mr. Pink Pockets. 

So in a way, it's the perfect thing to wear to a movie about Winnie-The-Pooh.

Joel nods. Glad he's taking you. The aside to this is he's glad Lochlan isn't taking me. Lochlan doesn't have a lot of patience for anything related from the Hundred Acre Wood. I always found that amazing because Lochlan has infinite patience for glitter, sprinkles, sugar, magic and basically anything related to my childhood, but this is just too "Jacob" for him so he gave it a hard pass. They're going to get shitfaced and play pool at Schuyler's instead. He and PJ are, I mean. The rest will drink tea like civilized adults and they'll all be ready for bed by the time we get home from the theatre, I bet.

The other aside to this is that Joel, Sam and August are the father, son and holy ghost of Jacob's memory, as they were his best friends and there's a clear divide right down the centre of my life in that regard. As much as Sam has made the leap from Jacob's person to my person, Joel and August haven't. But that's not a detriment to their character, it's just a fact. August rarely opens up at all and no one's going to let Joel open up ever. But they somehow wound up keeping care of my brain and the rest can fight over my body, I guess.

A tiny little chit-chat, because I'm on my way out.

Oh well, surprise indeed. This morning they closed the beach at Whytecliff, which is the closest one to my house. Because of E.Coli levels.

I've been jumping off the cliff for days and days and like two weeks straight and then I got this 'flu' with some weird and awful stomach aches and the doctor came and left the biggest antibiotics I've ever seen and great. Just what I need.

Don't swallow water, Bridget. 

Kind of hard if I'm screaming all the way down. Because eight years here and it never gets old and I'm terrified of heights and I'm never ready to jump/be pushed/be thrown off that cliff, no sir.

But it will be a few weeks before we do it again.

Ben and I can be the E.Coli twins. Yay. He's on antibiotics too.

Also, guess what? I'm beginning my first vacation from work in almost twenty years. I don't go back until after (shhhhhhh) Burning Man.

I don't even know what to do first. Probably chores. Yeah. Chores. Fuck.

Well one of us watched all of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy all the way to the end.

Ever walk into a room after being gone a while and everyone's holding their breath, waiting for you to notice/comment/react to something that's hugely different?

Yeah. That happened to me this afternoon and even after realizing they were waiting I still didn't know why and I threw my bag down on the island, cracking open a Gatorade because it's three hundred thousand degrees outside still and I'm actually taking antibiotics for a bacterial flu bug.

(But still working because DEDICATION. LOYALTY. WORK ETHICS and also MONEY. And free breakfast plates after 1 pm, huzzah!)

I finally snapped at Dalton with the most Lochlanesque order I've ever given. Go on then. Out with it! 

He nodded toward PJ. I look and then look back at Dalton and then around the room. What is happening. I don't get it.

Then PJ stood up and turned to smile at me and I realized what was different. I may have shrieked and dropped my Gatorade on the floor and now my whole kitchen is vaguely tinted orange.

PJ cut off all his hair. His elbow-length hair. His Obituary hair.

All of it.

He still has the beard and the chops but now he has a wavy, short do, streaked with some serious salt and pepper mixed in with his light brown.

You look amazing. 

I was so fucking hot, Bridge, I couldn't stand anot-

I love it. 

You do?

Yes. Also you look taller. 

See, I TOLD you I did. PJ claps Duncan on the back of the head. Fucker.

Each one more beautiful.

Caleb had my car collected and taken home and was there when I came outside, keys in hand, wondering who STOLE MY FUCKING CAR. No one had, he said, having sent one of the boys who listened, God knows why, and left me captive with my monster the whole way home. I put on Starset in the car, the new acoustic recording of Ricochet, and proceeded to sing along with my newly scratchy lower-mainland-forest-fire-air-quality voice, which is hella interesting to me, thinking he might listen to the words for once but instead he turned it off.

And I kept singing.

They won't know my heart
It's the darkest parrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt

Neamhchiontach. 

What? (Interrobang. Put it here.)

Are you warm?

What gave you that idea? I'm slippery like a fish, pouring sweat. Soaked through my dress. Wet hair. Completely unintentional smokey eyes. Smeared red lipstick. Hot? Yeah, no. Not me. Not right now.

I was hoping we could go somewhere for an early dinner. 

Sure. Pick something. And I give him my crazy smile.

Maybe another night. His silence allows me to turn the radio back on and I resume my singing. I have no shame.

When we get home I get out of the car, shouldering my bag, staring at him through the simmering waves of heat rising off the top of the car. I note my Porsche neatly parked under the tree by the garage. Good. At least one thing is how I like it today and fuck my legs hurt but I give Caleb my brave smile.

Why did you come pick me up?

So I could talk with you. 

But you didn't. 

It didn't seem like the right time. 

For what?

Another day, Neamhchiontach. For now it was just nice to treat you to a drive home. One less thing for you to do. 

I know what it is. 

Pardon me? 

You're still here, Diabhal. Still an alpha. Still my boyfriend, if that's what you want to be. Sam isn't taking anyone's place. He doesn't come before you. 

He smiles, suddenly looking like that handsome teenage boy who used to offer to drive me home from the beach. Bridget, you've just extended a generous peace of mind to me when I don't deserve it. 

I know. 

Thank you nonetheless.  

I would want to know where I stood as well. 

What do you mean?

If you had..others-

I don't.

What about Sophie?

There is only you, Bridget. 

No wonder you're lonely. 

Yes, well. I made my bed, as it were. I can't even say it's hyperbole but this is what I ended up with by trying to have everything I wanted. 

I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted here. 

Be flattered. I only ever wanted you. Now the time I do get is short and measured, tempered with supervision and suspicion and fear. I didn't want to be a monster but my need for you made me into one. 

Sorry. It's a whisper. He could say here that it's not my fault but it is just because I'm alive. Anyone could protest that I didn't ask for this but I did.

I'm sorry too, Neamhchiontach.  Life could have been so different.

Someone to hear your prayers.

I'll make you a believer

Oh. Oh.

The few few gestures warmed my heart, watching such an easy affection wash over them, as they found their places in the warm early morning against me. Comfort turned to an undercurrent of mild panic as they continued to extend those touching moments, almost threatening to leave me out in the process and I realized why he isn't worried that I'll fall in love with Sam and shut him out again, isn't worried that I want to divide my attentions all the time but also seeks him out, extends invitations without even checking with me first, folding Sam into our nights so easily.

Because Lochlan is in love with Sam.

I don't know if Sam is a life raft in Lochlan's sea of spiritual indecision or a concrete attempt to fill any space Caleb might try and occupy with someone he trusts. I don't know why Ben doesn't take this place as he and Lochlan are always loving and affectionate to a fault, possibly beyond with their grand displays some times and yet this is something different.

It's as if maybe Sam is Lochlan's security blanket. His safe harbour. His own personal Jesus, where Ben carries an air of vulnerability that makes you want to take care of him, in spite of his size and his easy humor in even the scariest of situations.

Maybe it has nothing to do with me, I think as I watch them look into each other's eyes as if they've never seen each before or maybe they have seen each other and they've come back hungry, looking for more.

Maybe it's that I've demanded Lochlan open his mind and accept having his personal space invaded on such a visceral level he's finally embraced it.

But only with Sam.

It makes me wonder if maybe some night I'll come back and my space will be taken, filled in a way I can never hope to fill it. With confidence and strength and righteousness. With a masculine security I seek out too.

But then my fears are smothered by their attention, all on me suddenly, as if they just had to figure out how to coordinate their efforts to bring together the well-practiced midnight choreography I crave so hard it hurts, and my jealousy evaporates in the early morning heat. Now that it's daylight I'm not sure if it really was jealousy after all, or just the usual fear of being left behind that developed at such a young age, imprinting on Lochlan like an orphaned ugly duckling and sticking to him ever since.

Those worries aren't necessary, Lochlan says, bruising his lips against my forehead, hard as ever, stubborn as always. It's just a safe place to get carried away. He winks at me. Lochlan likes to keep his freak flag flying indoors these days, trying to be a standup dad and husband (sometimes both at once with all the wrong people) and keeps his darker side hidden in dark places. Like our room.

I kind of love it. When I'm not scared I'll be replaced. 

He laughs gently in the morning light. That's definitely never going to happen.

But what if it already has?