Keys + strings (Not piano and violin, but keyboard and heart, my friends).

Sometime around when Ben first fell asleep (threeish?) he woke up soon after and picked me up, moved me to his other side and turned away toward the wall, pulling me in against his chest so that I am almost falling off the bed, tight in his arms, not in the middle anymore. The middle is my spot. The middle is where I live and he had a bad dream or a moment and here I am, wide awake and hung over a four-foot abyss where the Baba Yaga can reach me because you can't tuck the covers in if they're no longer over you and hardly any of you is actually ON the bed.

And then I promptly fell asleep because old times.

And I woke up like this. Still hanging out, mashed sweaty and sleepy against Ben who woke up seconds after me and mumbled something about why I couldn't just sleep in the middle and he was comfortable.

You moved me. 

And he laughed and I got a kiss and then he threw me back to the middle and he cracked his arm good to get the stiffness out and I felt a little bad because that was a DAMNED GOOD SLEEP, you know?

I don't think Lochlan noticed.

He was sleeping great. We always seem to do a little better once the warm weather goes away and the new fall routine settles in. But I woke him up anyway, because the previous morning he was surprised that I didn't. I tangled my fingers in his hair and gently pulled his curls out, rolling them long on the pillow until they straightened. Then they'd spring back and I'd start all over and after a few moments his lashes fluttered open and there he is. My Lochlan.

Morning. Where'd you go?

North of Ben. 

He laughs. And?

Maybe too far North. 

He pulls me in and frowns. You smell like him. 

Aftershave?

Deodorant. 

Gross. 

If you were taller and didn't fit under his armpits this wouldn't even be an issue. 

I'll get him to use my Chanel instead of Irish Spring then. 

That could work. Hey, what should we do this afternoon? (He asks because we garnered the worst of the chore list this week and must work first, play later.)

Eat leftover pizza and watch scary movies? (The local pizza joint takes pity on us and gives us free extra pizzas sometimes because we seem to pay their rent. It has resulted in sometimes having a fridge full of leftover pizza. This is Henry's dream come true. PJ's too.)

Done. And he grins sleepily and I reach up absently into the air.

You can't pause time here, Bridge. 

Oh, God, I wish I could.

Three of a kind.

You're a storm-surge, a tempest in a teapot. 

Nice.

It's true, Peanut. You swirl up and mow through everything and then quiet right down again and we're left to clean up the mess. 

I didn't make a mess. 

It's on the inside, he says gently. I know this but I fight it. I didn't fail to note, however that Sam used Lochlan's nickname for me. Sometimes PJ uses it too but usually they refrain. It's not them, it's personal. It's private. I can only be a circus peanut for one elephant in the room at a time, and you know what happens when you don't feed that elephant, ignoring it instead. It withers and wastes and yet it's still there. Better to feed it, acknowledge it and then when it's independent, set it free.

Caleb laughs at this only I didn't say it out loud. Sam hears the ire in the sound and takes the opportunity to escape. See you tonight, he says, mashing a kiss against my hair. I'm late. See you, Brothers, he says to everyone/no one in particular and heads outside.

Don't be rude, I tell Caleb from my brain.

He sips his coffee, eyebrows up. Which elephant is it today, Bridget? The one where you can't tell them apart or is it the one where you try to keep Lochlan separate but fail because he doesn't stand out?

Someone's cranky. 

I didn't sleep. 

I have something you can take for that. 

Indeed you do. But right now, I am also late for work. He takes his mug and heads upstairs to his mini-office for a quiet morning of overseeing his projects and I am left to my own devices. No kiss. No hug. I make a cup of coffee and start a fire. I take a minute and count my daily gratitudes and then I pick up my book for a moment, because no one will mind if I read for fifteen minutes.

Five words in and Lochlan appears over the top of my pages.

You didn't wake me? It's not a complaint but a curiosity.

You were so deep into your dreams. I couldn't. 

Should have. We could have stayed in for a bit. He smiles. What's happening?

Sam left for work. Caleb went back upstairs to work. I heard crashing around in PJ's room. He might be fighting the raccoons he feeds. We should check on him. 

If he doesn't appear by lunch we will. 

By then the raccoons will have picked his bones clean. 

Serves him right for feeding them. 

True. 

Want to go for a long walk? It's not supposed to rain again until tonight. 

Just let me finish my coffee first? 

Take your time. I'll go grab a shower and then wake up Ben. 

He's still sleeping?

Same. Deep in dreams. 

Aw. 

Right?

Sounds like the only one who hasn't had a good rest is Caleb. He's crabby this morning. 

He hates fall. It's too dark too early. He always has.

I nod, incredulous. They dig at each other. Lochlan could have said something horrible or even mildly stinging but instead he pointed out a very subtle reason for Caleb to feel that way that I never noticed or stopped to think about prior to this moment but he's completely right.

Barometre, post-deluge.

I miss the way you felt to breathe
And it fills me with despair
Stratosphere
You fill my lungs and take away the air

(I'm sorry, Sam but here's what I have for you today.)

 I am a thousand years and a day old. The line that forms between my brows when I weep has deepened into a river carving a path through my alabaster flesh. I stand on the edge of the cliff each morning as the sun rises over my left shoulder, highlighting my black clothing from my neck to the tips of my toes. It's as if life was a dress rehearsal for this time in my life, grief being a feeling I never thought I would touch with both hands, let alone cling to in the face of every last breath by this Collective to knock me off. I would let go but then I might fall, and I'll never let that happen again.

I'm a tiny apple-doll. A gnome whose worries expand and contract like a iron lung, heavy and imposing, frightening, this breath of mine shallow and panicked.

I don't know what I'm doing here.

Do you?

Ben's already made a joke about cup size.

I've been out in my glossy green raincoat picking up fallen branches in the deep woods in front of my house. I think I have enough to start the ark, though we may have to make a lumber run at some point to finish up, as I don't think this is good enough for trim pieces and it's hard as a rock to cut through. I believe it's most maple, aspen and cypress. The blackberry woods have taken a beating this fall but mostly because the summer rain and cooler temperatures made the trees grow these long spindly branches that aren't ever as strong as I am, and therefore they snap off when heavy and wet.

I've made five piles. I look like I'm setting to burn five witches at the stake. Though PJ's probably going to come out and yell in a minute to get the wood off the grass.

I will say: They're not on the grass.

He'll say: Well fine, then. And turn and go back inside.

The rain makes PJ cranky.

But I cheered him up in advance, because I'm good at that.

I went out this morning and bought a Keurig.

YES I KNOW.

For whatever reason, I originally wanted a Tassimo. I borrowed one briefly but I didn't love it enough. This was in 2006. Then after two or five more standard coffee makers I got caught up in the bulletproof, pour-over crazy but after two different pour-over setups and a lot of wasted sludge and tasteless coffee I finally bit the bullet and bought a Keurig and I already had a cup of regular coffee and it was pretty good and really easy to make. Cleanup wasn't bad, I can recycle the parts, the grinds continue to be scattered and mixed into the soil in the gardens as always and well, we finally joined the legions of pod-coffee people, I guess?

Probably better than joining the actual pod people with no coffee in sight, right?

Anyway. The hot chocolate is up next, and that's the part I figure PJ will like the most.

Internet is so sporadic today so we're living like it's 1699. I think I like this better! Maybe it will be back tomorrow. Bye!

The construct is flawed. Sam has already supervised the demolition and the site has been remediated, earmarked for something different?

What, exactly?

New memories. For example, Bridge, what were you doing five years ago this week?

Turning my attention to training camp for preseason hockey. Driving Ruth to work all the damn time. I spent my evenings in the car, I think. 

You remember it all. 

Of course. I have a gold-plated short term memory. 

But if you rebuild that will disappear and you'll remain rooted in ancient history. 

Because we've all moved on?

Exactly. Joel fails to catch my irony and I have to bite my tongue not to cast him out.

In the interest of full disclosure I spend most of my spare time rebuilding. But it's hard work. We're talking one cinder block a week. The concrete guys never showed up for the pour so we're taking it old school now-

Ever think your brain is preventing that progress because deep down you want to put it on the very back burner and turn it to low. 

How many analogies are you going to throw at me this visit?

All of them, if it helps. 

Maybe it does. 

Ah. The princess throws a bone to the poor hungry mind tamer.

I can feed you but you're no longer allowed to tame my mind. 

I can still help when times are quiet. As a friend, not as a professional. 

Or just be an actual friend and stop trying to stir the pot, destroy my progress or be a reminder of him. 

Is that what I am?

Not in the way that you want to be. August gets that designation forever. 

I know. 

Thank you for the honey delivery. 

I knew you'd appreciate it, Bridge. 

I do, and it's not even a euphemism. 

I know. That's sugar, right?

Build it up in a technicolor dream.

In the end after an impromptu vote the households declined my new mega holiday and so we decorated for Halloween only, which is nice because it's also Schuyler and Daniel's wedding anniversary and it's a very special time of year for them.

I will bite my tears back and be happy for them. Which isn't hard to do at all, it just went from one of my favorite times of year my whole life to one that brings up memories of the hardest times and it's not something I can forget or get past. My grief doesn't go away or lessen or fade. It blocks the damned door and I have to climb over it just to get out of my mental cage in the morning.

I'm high-functioning.

I'm actually sure that's not it. After waiting a few years to see the new John Wick movie I promptly fell hard asleep last night during the biggest gun battle and missed the ending, waking up in time for the credits.

For fucks sakes.

Lochlan thought it was hilarious. I even pregamed with a second cup of coffee at lunchtime and then a giant glass of Dr. Pepper with dinner which did nothing.

PJ suggested I watch movies standing up from now on.

It's not even a comfort thing. I do the same thing at the shitty movie theatre with it's hard upright seats, someone kicking my seat repeatedly until they get my murderous suggestion that they stop. It's like movies are my kryptonite. They signal a slow down. A kick back and relax. That's not an easy thing for me to do. As I say if I stop moving I'll fall asleep.

Yes there are narcolepsy drugs that will help the falling asleep. Stimulants. You know, those things that cause anxiety. So yeah, no thank you. And headaches. Double-no-thank-you. I will fall asleep here and there and someone will cover for me, tell me the ending, or rescue my coffee from my hands.

I don't know why I went on that tangent. Anyway, Schuyler's coming home tonight and he's going to be happy and surprised that his house is already completely decorated for their Halloversary. They're a beautiful, loving couple and I'm proud of what they've evolved into. They are what most couples aspire to be, or should if they don't already.

On that note, it's a cozy rainy day (aren't they all, suddenly. Welcome fall in the PNW. If I had known it would be this abrupt I would have asked someone to mow the grass just before it started because now we can't and it's long) and I've deployed one of Lochlan's older too-tight-for-his-arms (ha this is not a problem if you ask me) flannel shirts to warm my bones while I enjoy a coffee and headphones and tunes before the whole house wakes up. Started the laundry (it's Dalton's day but I'll help) and am waiting on the dog. I think he's passed out on Ruth's bed. She ends up with all the pets these days.

I'll get a little while longer in before the house erupts into a typical morning. 

Raising my vibrations.

It's Friday the thirteenth. It's a full moon and a storm on the way. It's the first full day listening to Starset's Divisions and I love it. Everyone was right. The bridge in Telekinetic is so heavy it brought me to my knees and I'm okay with that. The whole album is incredible. I love it. Well worth the wait.

I let Daniel tint my eyelashes and paint my nails dark blue while I played the album for him. He loves it. He loves everything, very easy to please, easy to adjust, way more laid back than Ben sometimes but also wound to a tight spring most of the time so this is a fun departure. Schuyler's gone away for a few days and so we invited him over to stay until Schuy comes back. Daniel's a massive cuddler and he wastes away before our eyes if left to his own devices when alone. That's not happening on my watch. Not in a million years.

Bridge. Do you want to help me decorate for Halloween?

You mean you....put the creepy things away when Halloween is over?

Well, yeah, Christmas needs space. 

We all need space. 

Not outer space, Bridget. Room to decorate for every holiday. 

Right. I just leave my stuff out all the time. 

I know. He pats the black bear skull on the shelf. But think if you start getting into the spirit of the holiday on an immediate level maybe things would be easier.

I don't think things can be easier but thank you. 

Bridget.

I know you mean well. 

I'll always mean the best for you, Bridget. 

Then we should put up all the holiday decorations for every holiday at once and have a Mega Holiday Seasonal Extravaganza. 

Oh my gosh! I'll go get the bins!

That's how Daniel became my favorite. I'm a fair weather favorite-namer but not anymore. Not at this sacred time of year, Mabhallothanksremembramas.

Dreamstate/The Audubon Society of Point Perdition.

What is that bird? Caleb comes to stand behind me at the patio doors. The boys have hung some very popular bird feeders in the backyard and we now have endless entertainment. I could stand here all day and watch. I've named some of them. They are 'my' birds and I eagerly await their antics.

(Joel calls it 'healthy', as if nature and I don't get along much. I mean, we do but it's only because nature comes looking for me most of the time. My own little black cloud.

I swim almost every day. 

That is good too.

Then stop picking on me.

He disappeared from the room and I haven't seen him since.)

It's a junco. 

He's beautiful. 

Agreed. I look up and turn around and am faced with the underside of Caleb's chin. He looks down abruptly and grins.

Bridget's birds. 

I should name more of them. 

What ones have you named so far? 

I turn around and scan the feeders with my eyes. None of them are here right now. 

I can wait. I'd like to meet them. 

If I go outside they fly away though. 

You have to be more quiet. 

I thought I was. 

Can you hear his song? 

No. 

You're really noisy just in general. Maybe you should wear your hearing aids again. 

The ones that have been in a drawer for the summer?

Summer's over, Neamhchiontach. Time to leave the inside of your head.

Distraction is to the mind what _______ is to the heart. Fill in the fucking blank for me because I can't figure it out and I've been trying for decades.

Third cup of coffee today. Nicer cup than what I usually use. My current favorite is a big orange round BB8 cup from Star Wars. It holds a metric shit ton of coffee and it stays warm and it isn't top heavy or weirdly delicate. This cup at Batman's is one of his custom-commissioned designer teal and charcoal-grey west coast hand-fired stoneware cups built to specifically fit a man's hands.

His entire set of dishes cost something like 4k. I remember. Jasper showed me the invoice in the middle of an argument once and I never forget. Who the hell spends many thousands of dollars on dishes. Especially since it's merely a full set for only ten people. Not even twelve. Just ten.

(Any more than ten at the table and no one can carry on a conversation, he theorized.)

(That was another argument, but I digress.)

Not only do I love a circus of a dinner but I love cups that are pretty and work well. His are far nicer than mine and I might steal this one when he turns his back. It's what I do. I actually never brought back one of his little dessert dishes. He brought me a piece of cake and said I could return the plate in the morning. I did not and he hasn't asked for. I guess he's only set up for a party of nine now.

Or two, as it were.

I'm wired but fixed in place, lightning bolts shooting all over the place, burning my world to the ground, all the while nodding at his thoughts as he tosses them at me gently, agreeing with what he says without hearing him at all. My mind is firing from the caffeine. I have no inbetween, I'm either manic or panic and then asleep. There's no sit and talk. I don't have a sit and talk setting. I have to keep moving or I'm going to pass out, snoring on your elbow as you try to tell me your hopes and dreams. I already know what they are. They're tangled in my own.

We're not all that different, though I am exceedingly poor by default and he doesn't even think about money. Richer than Caleb, or so I think sometimes, and yet instead of throwing it at me by the fistful Batman makes controlled gestures based on merit, employment, after a fashion and the rest of the time I truly believe he just forgets he's wealthy.

The thought that someone could even do that keeps me fascinated by his mind.

I finish my coffee and realize he's staring at me.

Waiting.

Well, what do you think?

Mmmm, I nod. Play dumb. Can I change the subject?

No, he says, more kindly than I deserve. I'd like an answer so I can make some plans. 

Go ahead and make your plans. 

You're up for it? Now? 

Wait. What? (midnight green, you say?)

Where the hell are you? He looks so done with me. Gone is the formality and in it's place a lonely, irritated man who's pushing mid-fifties and hasn't figured out the meaning of life even though he already bought it and it's in his inventory. He just needs to level up.

That's a good question. 

Did he give you something?

I'm sorry?

Did Lochlan give you a sleeping pill last night? It's usually the only time you're this scattered.

(ashes on the wind, bitch.)

Yes, I think so. It didn't work but the coffee isn't helping. 

I see that. 

I should go. 

Let me know by the morning and we can iron things down.

Sure thing.

Call me tonight if you'd like a refresher on the conversation. You don't even know what you're agreeing to. He leans down and kisses my cheek, takes my coveted mug and walks me to the door. He's so disappointed the grey in the mug pattern has darkened to black.