Tougher every day.

You stay. And he stays too. Have them come to us. Lochlan is doing his thing where he makes the decisions for me. I'm already mentally packing, wondering what the weather will be like in Lucerne mid-autumn. Wonder if they get spooky for Halloween. 

It's not Lucerne- I can almost hear Caleb's voice in my...oh, he's reading my thoughts again. 

(Fuck off, Diabhal.)

Goodnight, Neamhchiontach. 

That will cost four times as much, I point out to Lochlan, who loves a tight fiscal ship. 

Darn. His mouth curls up on one side. Summon two groups, make it eight times. 

You're awful. 

I need you both here, not stuck on the other side of the world during this bullshit. 

What if they can't come right away? What if he slides away worse? I am panicking now. We're not experts. This is bigger than we are. We are out of our own league here. We have been reduced to weeks now, instead of months. Ben is regressing so quickly now. He says he's just tired.

They will. Money talks, Peanut. He gives me that reassuring wink that is all teenage-boy bravado and ignorance, probably. 

I'll find out.

That's my girl. Now let's get some sleep. Ben, do you want a hot bath before bed? 

Yeah. That would be good. 

I'll run it. Lochlan head to the bathroom and I hear the water begin to run to fill the giant tub.

Can I join? I look to Ben. 

I would hope so. Ben smiles and he looks like old-Benjamin, briefly. 

We'll fix things. I promise, Benny. 

He nods. I know, he says, like a child suddenly. All the trust in the world. It's a familiar feeling to parent him, to take care of him because when he needs us, it's completely.

We'll never be wrong (6:57 of pure absolute beautiful misery)

Together we can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time (all of the time)

I don't know what to do
I'm always in the dark
Living in a powder keg and giving off sparks

I really need you tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight

Caleb is on the phone trying to decide whether he should take Ben to Turkey or Switzerland for a better rehab program than the Canadian one we have/had. Canadian health care is good but also famous for doing the minimum and you have to be really proactive or you can die. 

That is not hyperbole. I wish it was and everyone has been great but it's not enough and so Caleb is spending cash like water to fix it.

He wants to help, bless him. Always trying to undo the permanent, life-changing shit he causes because he thinks money will fill in the gap or maybe if you make a mash with shredded bills and water, you can just paper over the cracks and no one will know we're all falling apart from the inside out and the outside in. 

Ben asked me what I thought and I told him very honestly he should sue Caleb for loss of quality of life and future income and just about everything else, that he can stick it to him now if he wants and I'll back up the character requirements and maybe sue him myself and they'll probably reinstate the death penalty in this country because if anyone ever deserved less of a...what? tenth? chance here, it would be the Devil. 

What will you get from that? He already gave you money. 

Satisfaction. Penalty. Imagine spending your way out of your catastrophic mistakes that you made with intent. Besides, the money isn't enough to cover what he's done.

Ben laughed, inappropriately so, after a minute and asked if I thought Switzerland was a good idea. It's maybe only for a month or two and it's supposed to be good. They have therapies that retrain you from the ground up to move and think and do everything you could do before, and Ben would like that very much. Ben is shatteringly self-doubtful and this whole stupid mess a year ago today (hard to believe) just made everything worse. 

He got really low and started talking about not being here anymore and that's when I lost my shit all over him. It's Thursday now and things are still raw and his skin and ears will never grow back because I ripped them off and ate them, swallowing them whole so he would see how stupid that sounds and that's when we realized the emotional part was so bad we need outside help, and that's saying a lot because some of that help lives here and it's not enough. For someone who was so angry at Jake for checking out it caused an incredible amount of fresh pain and I'm still terrified.

When do we leave? I smile at Ben. I'm going wherever he goes. 

You're staying. 

Hell I am. 

His face breaks into a smile. My keeper Bee. Beeper. Key. 

Ha. Nice. I have a huge skeleton key tattooed on one leg and a bee on the other side. He points to them as he says it. A gentle little portmanteau. 

Caleb hangs up but we've already forgotten our monster is even in the room. Ben is smiling at me and I'm smiling back. Besides, he just showed me this morning how to get a super husky, whiskey-voice so I can sing Bonnie Tyler better than I do and we were having so much fun before he started sliding back off the edge of the precipice before I could grab him properly and now we're hanging by a thread and I'm screaming for help to save him and he's holding his fucking hand over my mouth again and it's not the right time for that. 

Looks like Switzerland is a go. I've got tickets booked and we'll watch the state of things between now and then. Worst case is I bring them to you but hopefully we'll head there in early October. As soon as they have space for you. 

I'm going- I pipe up.

No, you're not, Neamhchiontach-

Oh, yes I am. I'll look after Ben now. You're really done enough. Just get out of my way for once but leave your card so I can do whatever Ben needs.

Before/After.

I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me

I see no volunteers
To co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line

Ben's doing great. He doesn't want me to write a lot and so I don't/haven't but I have permission to today. The part about needing a cane has been a long time coming. He had one after the hospital but then was able to do away with it (or so we thought) through last fall to spring but this summer has shown us that he truly needs it with him for day-to-day use. 

His body is super strong. Healthier than he has ever been, physically. He is clean, he can sleep through the night now and he exercises regularly to keep himself motivated or maybe to prove he is still where he wants to be. 

Emotionally he isn't there, though and maybe that's the part he doesn't really like me talking about.

His brain also isn't getting the signals his body requires. Mentally he isn't strong. He remains easily frustrated, often confused, the words take forever and he's having a rough time coordinating his mind and body to work together. He's way too rough with me, way too gentle with things like closing the fridge or the truck doors, and he can't articulate what he's trying to get across without a mountain of patience from himself and whoever's listening which is not something we have, especially if it's important, timely or dangerous. If it's something funny he begins laughing so late sometimes some of us have forgotten the joke and already moved on.

He is struggling. 

A lot. 

His cutting wit and razor tongue have been replaced with a goofy chuckle and a soft smile. He won't roast you anymore but he'll invite you to come and sit with him and talk. It's like trading an attack doberman for a family golden retriever. He is different.

Everyone is struggling with it but honestly I love him like this. And maybe that's selfish but he finally has time for me. He finally is kind from the beginning instead of always starting off with the defence mechanism of an insult or a slam that is just harsh enough to make you briefly wonder if he even likes you before you see that you're his best friend after all, a position you'd be suddenly grateful for. You always had to brace and hold with Ben. He was honest but he would also call out your darkest flaws for all to see. Sam always said it was the program and that Ben was encouraging you to take your own inventory, never quite making the step of taking it for you. 

He thinks I am pretending and that he isn't what I signed up for and it's taken all my energy every day to teach him otherwise but he is coming around, albeit slowly. Lochlan, too, has had to tell him to knock it the fuck off, that we aren't here playing any sympathy cards, that he is a part of us, because you can't spell us without three. I laughed right away. Ben laughed four minutes later but it warmed my heart so much if you rest your hand against my chest you can feel it radiating right through my skin. 

That's what it feels like. I don't have to worry about being cool enough or quick enough, he is just there and happy to see me. Now his sudden declarations are things like I like watermelon (an hour after we eat it) and you're pretty (said to Duncan, not me) and it's incredible sweet. 

But don't tell him I told you. He would hate it if you thought he was sweet.

Would you kindly.

I'm playing the new Need To Breathe album for Ben. Watching him absorb the music as it plays softly through the patio speakers. He's in his black track pants and an old and faded Dimmu Borgir tee that he's owned at least twenty years if not longer. He needs a haircut and a shave. He needs someone to steady his cup as he raises his coffee to sip in between stanza changes in the songs. 

He's going to need a cane, for balance, soon. Now, probably but emotionally this isn't happening and so we've switched to not leaving him alone much and so de facto we become each other's watchers. I can keep him upright, he can keep me in reality. 

He's always been so good at that with his incredibly global warped perspective that never lends itself to pedestrian, small shit. I know he won't resist for long. I know I'll make Caleb pay for this too. I know we're all getting old and we all have a host of strange new physical things. 

He holds his cup out to the table but he's still four inches away and I reach forward and take it, setting it on the glass coaster. He won't meet my eyes when I do this. 

Awfully nice to be able to look after someone else for once. 

Don't, Bridge. 

The cup is not the important thing here. The important thing is that you're still here and that's all I care about. 

He said much the same thing to me except cup was arm when he cared for me after Trey dislocated my elbow so far the wrong way it was hanging by a muscle. Ben was just happy Trey didn't kill me in his rage. 

God. It's been over fifteen years since we walked down the back lane between the weathered grey fences with their lilac trees colouring the neighbourhood a shade of lavender I would grow to love. I plated a small lilac tree here, it's now nine feet tall and it never fails to remind me of our walks in the prairies. 

It's different. 

How? Someone hurt you by mistake but it's permanent. That's it. Don't get hung up on details. 

It's hard when you leave him and come back to us. He hurt me, he hurt you. He's hurt everyone and yet there he is. 

It's complicated. 

Then don't get hung up on..details, Bee. It took him a bit to find the words but then he spat them out with a frustration I never hear from Ben. 

What do you want me to do? 

Nothing. I don't want you to do anything. Nevermind. Just don't..let them make jokes if I have to use a cane. 

They wouldn't-

Someone might. We're all bitter, Bridge. No one thinks before we talk anymore. 

Since when? No one will say a word about it. You watch.  

I watch everyone get away with whatever they want because I'm not a..threat anymore. He takes his cup and moves to take a sip but his other hand has to steady it first. My heart breaks. I want to shove him in a room and bar the door and keep him safe. Not something I ever thought I would think when it comes to Ben. He's not scary anymore ever. Just sweet, but then again, he's always sweet with me.

 It doesn't matter. What matters is that you and I are here together. Big picture, remember? Burning building, Ben. It's you. That's never going to change. 

Everything changed and I can't keep track. 

I pick up my phone. Group message. Within five minutes everyone is here. Around us. In a hug. Holding Ben in a fellowship I am barely a part of for being crushed in as another subject of their support. Caleb takes a step closer and takes Ben into a fierce hug. 

Tell me what I can do, he says. Tell me how to fix everything.

I don't know. Ben breaks down. I don't fucking know but you broke it good.

 

Boyfriends.

Four in the morning and Caleb climbs over me, pushing me down into the sheets, holding his weight, pulling me up into his arms at the last minute before crushing us both into the night. He kisses me hard, and I am awake enough to respond, giving him permission to keep going as I return the kiss while my arms scramble for purchase around his neck. He lets go soon enough and I am turned away as he pulls me back violently against him, inside and all around me, one hand around my hips, the other around my mouth. God love a fierce lover, I think and I am now wide awake and may never sleep again. The room is cool and dark and he is responsive and in charge. Every sound I make elicits a change or an adjustment for my benefit, every touch is safe and welcomed, a rare match when we are usually at odds with the level of intensity he brings versus what I would like.

But oh, the hunger in the night. The dark makes it more cloying, keening and savage. I can't deal with his sudden attention and my head explodes along with my body and then he follows soon after and he reluctantly lets go so that I can turn away and sleep a little bit longer. 

You don't need ghosts, he whispers against my head. You need me.

Orchard mornings when everyone is still asleep. Possibly me included.

(I'm fighting for us, but most of all for you is the refrain in my head as I make my way carefully to the back garden to check the progress and see if there are going to be table grapes for breakfast. Maybe see if there's a ghost so breakfast can be replaced by total, helpless insanity.)

Wanted to see how you were doing, Princess. 

He is suddenly a familiar-stranger with that friend-you-haven't-seen-in-a-long-time vibe, a casual formality that leaves me feeling weird and hectic, a panicky-prickly feeling and I want to run to the wheel of time and roll it backwards in an applaused hurry, like on The Price is Right. 

The Jake is Right. 

Only he's wrong and this means I'm crazy. 

But am I? I reach out and tug at his shirt sleeve. It comes with me, cool cotton poplin in that ever-present pale blue. Ironed before wearing but also rumpled in that perfect Preacher way. I want to touch his skin and I bite into my tongue to suppress the urge.

What is it? 

What if you are real?

What would you change? 

I let go, retreating back to a safe distant. Nothing. 

Dear God in Heaven, you're so beautiful when you're stubborn. He's really got you wrapped. 

Funny, he said the same thing about you once and look how long it took him to undo everything you did. 

I could undo it faster if you just say the word. He rolls his bottom lip in and then out again. He's trying not to smile. Always in competition. Always blew the rest of them away with his charm that didn't exist for how blinding it is.  

I nod and look out toward the sea. And then it all blows up again and I already did that once and look at what happened?

What if it didn't happen this time?

What if it did? I feel like this is our dance now. You fuck up my head and I let you and then I remember everything and I run-

-And you run. We finish at the same time. 

Gotta run, Pooh. It's a whisper.

See you later, Piglet. 

Oh. It hurts so bad. Why does it still hurt so bad?

Fortunes that no one could earn (I see you, Jake).

I found a place where the past was forgiven

Where my mistakes met a grace I couldn't earn
And so I piled up my excuses and defenses in the night
Then I lit a match, stepped back and watched them burn

 

The dog has eaten his body weight in waffles, one of the cats has a disease that means pills every day forever, and Ruth is packing up. All of the boys range between get your friends to help you move and you sure you want to do this?

 

(We're all helping, for the record.)

 

Ruth takes no shit from any of them. She never has. She holds her own in a way that I could never. She is strong and hilarious and forthright. She's like Lochlan and he is crushed that she suddenly grew up, got a degree, a career, a fiance and a condo all in the same season. We are imploding from the suddenness but also from the pride of watching her go do all the things she said she would. 

 

The sky is an ashtray. The ghosts are lurking, with the wasps (found another nest, did not find it by accident this time) in the back garden, behind and up the hill past the stables and the sun needs to take a break just for a bit as we made it to a 'feels like' temperature of forty-four, which made me want to cry but mercifully at ten o'clock last night it was cool enough to sleep and it's not supposed to be quite that hot today and way less hot tomorrow which is really good. 

And Ruth's room is going to be kept, earmarked for her in case she needs it, but also fashioned into an upstairs den/reading room/art room that's in the house as the stables-studio is cold and full of spiders. Hahaha. 

 

I know, I said ghosts and everyone stopped there anyway in the reading. I get that. 

 

He's there. He's back. I can never make him go for long. Probably as alarmed about my 'alone' post as everyone else. Not what they wanted for me. Not what they pictured. But it's fine. It was a part of an old memory manifested into something positive with no backstory. Like being dropped into a short story that spends far too long on the details, by design. 

Moving on, things to look forward to: 

 

Spreading out things in the house. Ruth stole a lot of dishes, mugs, masks, pillows, cutlery, artwork, etc and now I have unexpected and appreciated cupboard and closet space. 

 

I will be able to repaint that one dark feature wall I hate because boxes will be gone. 

August is half-over so eventually this stupid heat will stop for a bit. Godammit. I hate it. 

Dark cozy rainy days. 

A new Switchfoot album a week from today! Yesssssssssss. Also I'm pretty sure that their cover of Livin' On A Prayer is the greatest thing ever. I just need Bon Jovi to cover Switchfoot's The Setting Sun and things will have circled right back around perfectly.

 

A future trip planned to get away for a day and eat in a favourite restaurant far from here but close enough for a long drive. 

 

A shop at the Korean grocer out in the valley with the really good dumpling soup kits.

 

Finishing Sweet Tooth and Outer Banks on Netflix.

 

Finishing my painting for this season. I do one a season now. 

 

Getting the cast off eventually but probably not before anything else. 

 

Life trucking along. Marvelling at the passage of time and how it intersects with me and how I leave my mark. Did I leave a mark though? 

 

Oh, probably, says Loch.

We are assholes but we're deep ones, if anything.

It started with me chucking a heavy notebook at Lochlan, who wouldn't give up the mood and it takes a tidal wave for me to shift from despair and frustration to anger. A literal tidal wave. I never get angry. Ever. Until I do and then look out. 

I threw it overhand. 

I got him right in the face. 

And cut his cheek. 

And the book fell apart and all of my worksheets went everywhere. 

And he didn't even mind. He felt bad. He sat down and started reading. All the scenarios. All the re-dos. All the times I've tried to write Jacob right out of existence. Every single fairy tale in which Lochlan is the prince and he shows up and I turn into a princess from a frog and we live happily ever after. I chose him every single time. And the one time I do what is asked instead of writing him into everything, no matter what, he reads it and decides I've written him off. 

I go and fetch the butterfly bandages. Not like we don't go through boxes of these things every year every time he throws punches with someone over something so much less important. 

I get him fixed up, standing in front of him as he sits surrounded by pages on the couch and he pulls me in, resting his head against my stomach, arms tight. I can't breathe from the sea-change, blink and it's there, defocus and you'll miss it all. 

I'm sorry. 

Sam pokes his head in and asks if everything's okay. PJ is glowering beside him. I put up an okay sign  but say nothing. They leave, mercifully. Privacy to have our meltdowns as we try to navigate life with all of these suitcases full of baggage we never packed and never planned to bring. We're Bonny and Clyde. We travel light.We need to burn it all. 

Maybe we should. 

Burn what? 

This. 

I worked so hard. 

Doesn't that mean since you did that, that you can move on now? 

I suppose it does. 

Because I think I've read enough and I wish I had seen this all ages ago. 

It's not really a sharing sort of thing. 

Maybe it should be.

Only if you do it too. 

I'm game for that. Whatever makes us stronger together, Peanut. 

Life does. 

He nods. Yeah. It does. 

Sorry I cut your cheek, Locket. 

Sorry I broke your heart, Peanut. 

Troubling.

BRIDGET!

I was outside (spoiler alert: I am indeed allowed in the garage which is a bad idea since that's where the saws are and I can cut this cast off but it's also where the ice cream freezer is and that's all we eat these days) getting ice cream sandwiches (a case of them) to bring inside and I hear Lochlan's holler from there. That's how loud it was. I bring the ice cream in through the side door, I swear I can feel the cold right through the cast and Lochlan almost runs into me. 

This. He holds up his phone. There's yesterday's post. What the fuck is this?

A...therapy exercise. I didn't just do it for entertainment. It was for my worksheet. 

Well that's not how this story ends, I guarantee you that! 

And then he's gone again and I'm there holding a box of Neapolitan bars.   

*** 

Wish us luck. Another heat dome has arrived. Not as exciting as a pleasure dome or even a thunderdome, I pointed out to Caleb who also scowled at me, as he was reading yesterday's post too. 

Funny not a single person asked who the man was in the post. I find that interesting, unless they each assume it's them. 

Anyway, I'll keep those exercises in the private physical notebook from now on, just to keep the peace. I just thought that one sounded exactly like what's in my head and that's rare. 

Right now the weather station on the kitchen wall by the door says 'Feels like 34.6' so far. For fucks sake.

"I want my life to be perfect."

I could see him walking up the beach. Just a blur at first, features coming into focus as he got closer to where I was watering the snow-in-summer flowers in the big grey half-barrels at the end of the walkway. The sand is blinding in the early fall chill, my favourite time of year. The beach is empty again, all mine again and I am selfish and quiet. I want to keep it this way. I want to be here by myself. 

Hey. A kiss on the top of my head and then on my cheek as I stand to greet him. Crinkles around his eyes and white in his beard take my breath away as I still see us like a mirror of who we used to be. 

Hungry?

I shake my head. Not yet. We can open wine though. He follows me inside. I leave my watering can and my shoes on the step and duck through the curtain that keeps the bugs out as I never close the door during the day. I like the salt air. I like the curtain. It billows out into the breeze just enough that it feels romantic and cozy to be here. Exactly like I planned. 

He opens the wine, I put grapes, crackers, cheese and olives on a small plate. He likes to graze. I put on some of my favourite winter jazz cafe music and he smiles and sits back. 

You don't change, Bridget. 

Maybe no one does, I avoid his question. 

Maybe we all would benefit from living a little outside of our comfort zones. 

I tried that, remember? I smile gently. I shake my too-long bangs out of my eyes and my hoops jangle against my cheek as I pick up my newly-filled glass and clink it against his. 

This life will be wasted if you're alone. 

Says who? I raise my eyebrows and take a sip. It's a dry viognier. It's the only kind I'll buy now. It's easier on my body and my mind than my beloved whiskey, and it's easier to find too. Up at the tiny bottle-shop in town they don't have Lagavulin off the shelf and I wouldn't ask for it if they did. The taste reminds me of death, and time, an undercurrent of terror I don't ever wish to revisit. This is new. New for the new me, reinvented each time the tide snakes up to leave treasures on my doorstep in the sand. Why I ever left I'll never know, but I'm back and that's the important part here. This is probably the only place in the world where my brain doesn't engage in an endless distance-sprint, overclocked and overwhelmed. Here it doesn't even simmer, it just hums to itself and I haven't had to push a panic button on myself in years. Here if something breaks I just try and fix it and if I can't someone else will. Here things are different and better and the way they are supposed to be.

Says me, maybe. 

Sorry, I can listen to advice but at the end of the day I do what's best for me. 

It's admirable as much as I hate it. He looks out the window, smile leaving his face. I don't think it should be like this. 

It needs to be. I follow his gaze. There's a sailboat way out on the horizon heading home. I may have seen it before, maybe not though, and it's really not something I focus on. The horizon is my backyard and I feel like I can breathe here. 

We should start cooking. He finishes his wine. I haven't really touched mine and so I bring it as I follow him to the kitchen, bare feet on wide softwood floorboards, cool to the touch, the occasional grains of sand reminding me I am home. 

After dinner (he mostly cooked, and I cleaned up and packaged up leftovers) we go outside to the big Adirondack chairs on the patio to watch the sunset, turning our chairs to the west.We slide back into our seats for the show and he reaches out with his right hand for mine. I let him take my left hand and he holds it, cool in his warmer one. He gives it an abrupt squeeze and lets go. 

I'm thinking of heading somewhere warmer for winter. I'd like you to consider coming with me. Then in the spring or whenever you need to, you can come back here. My bones hurt in this cold. I guess I got used to the milder winters out west. 

I nod and say nothing. I know my answer. He knows my answer. 

What would it take to change your mind?

Maybe next year. I soften it with white lies, bleached from the sun, from years of use. 

We don't speak any more and once the sun has set we head back inside, leaving our glasses on the weathered turquoise table, a practiced routine but never a habit. He kisses the palm of my hand and old feelings well up around the edges even as I work hard to push them down. Once in my room with the beautiful old quilt he turns back, pulling me against him, taking me up in his arms tightly so that I can scarcely breathe. He kisses me, a long familiar motion and then he takes our clothes off, putting them carefully on the back of a chair instead of leaving them on the cool floor. We remember everything for the next several hours. We lose years from our history in the dark and then as the sun begins to come back up the past comes rushing at us, a dark tunnel in front of a runaway train. A reminder that we can't go back or forward but we can remember any time we like. 

That's the joy of this independence. 

What if we winterize? 

What do you mean? 

I mean if I put in better insulation and rewrapped the cottage? Make it safe for you for winter. Then would you stay?

I would stay if you truly want me to stay. 

You seem so sad. 

It isn't your problem, Bridget. 

Sure it is. I care for your feelings. 

If you did we wouldn't be in this predicament. 

What predicament?

The one where I became a drifter and you dug in and made the life you really wanted. 

Everyone can change. This works for me.

It doesn't work for me.

Then you need to change it.

I will but she won't listen. 

I look to the ceiling for peace. I don't want to do this. Every time he comes into my life he turns the screws and I promised myself I wouldn't let him. Ever again. 

'She' made you an offer that would see you have company for the winter. That's generous but if it's not what you want then move on. 

That's my cue to go. And we waste another six months when things could be different. 

But maybe not necessarily better. 

From your side maybe. I still say I'd rather be miserable with you than miserable alone. 

I know. 

Get some sleep, Princess. 

I put my hand up against my chest to quell the impending lurch but it happens anyway. I will. Drive safe. Safe flight. 

And he is gone, into the early morning. I watch the headlights as they disappear around the curve of the highway along the coast and the solitude crowds back in. Any regret is engineered, I tell myself. He's still trying to manipulate me emotionally. It's not exactly true but it helps me when I feel like I might bend from my convictions, sort of like the old One Day At A Time coin Ben stared at for decades. It didn't mean you will get through this one day at a time. It actually meant I will haunt you one day at a time until you give in, give up or give out. 

And I refuse. 

I rattle off a quick thanks for the night to his phone from mine and leave the phone on silent on the desk afterward. I pour a glass of orange juice and throw a load of laundry in the washer. Once it's done I'll hang it on the line in the front yard (the little cozy garden between the cottage and the highway) and then have a nap in the sunroom, where I'll dream of what life would have been like had I stayed. 

***

Who is it? Who is the man in this? 

Does it matter?

This is not what I expected when I asked you to write your future. 

It wasn't what I expected either.