Arcane, indeed.

Why don't you love who I am?
What we could have been

 

Tuesday is a slow-motion weekday today, the first true day maybe. Ruth came over and we took a long walk around the neighbourhood, Henry and Lochlan hovering just enough on the icier sidewalks but then forging ahead, deep in conversation far out of reach. The rain is heavier now and I'm glad it held off. 

 

Caleb remains behind us. Walking steadily. Not looking up. Ears tuned keenly forward but adding nothing to the conversation. Ruth is stronger than he is and they both know it and so he is charming but guarded now that she has come into her own. The older she gets the more favourites she plays but she also does not forget or look coldly on her time being raised partially by him too. The rest she knows and we just don't talk about it, but she understands I keep no secrets from her or her brother and the tension with Caleb will forever be a tangent presence. 

I'm reading Dave Grohl's biography and I'm struck by how he glosses over major formative aspects of his childhood in order to wax platitudes on the other side and how that's exactly what we all do once we are past the hard parts. It's a coping mechanism and an eroded emotion. It's water under the bridge you burned. It's the way it's done and you just hope to do better with your own children, only they are still attempting to raise me together as a pack and rarely does that work, if ever.

Green light red light (yellow light, blue).

This morning I am back to business, trying to get quotes for the kiln outlet, trying to order Caleb the vehicle I said I thought he should get and he agreed, trying to begin year end tax forms and trying to pull the whole house back together in one day and at some point this morning Lochlan put his hand on the top of my head and told me to spend the week doing Nothing with a capital N because everything is delayed/shut-down/not in a rush anyway. 

Huh. I mean, okay. If I haaaaave toooooooo. I already caught up on all my chores (laundry up to date, living room is cleaned and my art studio is rearranged to be more user-friendly and the floors have been done. All of them. Everything.), no one's answering the phones at the two different electricians I called for quotes, Mercedes told me the chips are scarce and they'll let me know about ordering the vehicle I want for Caleb and did we want to look at their preowned inventory? (no, thank you we can wait or we'll move on) and why would there be tax forms out? It's January fucking third. 

I cough and Lochlan says see? He's mildly concerned. I have a really bad cold suddenly not really I was sick through Christmas and it's worse now) and I have resorted to carrying around my Victorian embroidered handkerchief with a few drops of thieves oil on it or I can't breathe at all here. I'm big on natural remedies because I hate chemicals but I also hate this feeling so I'm counting down the hours until the Nyquil coma. That's the best part of being sick: the five or sick hours of oblivion that stuff affords me. I don't know what's in and I don't know if I care. I just want to feel better so I downloaded a show no one else wants to watch (Emily in Paris, season 2) and I have my afternoon all planned.  

Fun.

Hello red brick road, where Bridget's wolves ceaselessly howl (liberties taken, Mr. John).

About two weeks, possibly three depending on the weather. Caleb has his hands in his pockets and he's hunched his shoulders in close, as if to deflect an imaginary, impending blow. 

When am I going to have some peace and quiet?

When it's perfect. When it's the way you wanted it to be in the first place.

I have to learn to watch what I say. I made a brief squawk about his car being in the wrong place when I went to back out of where I park when I'm going to be going back out because it was too close and I really had to go back and forth for a bit to get past PJ's jeep which is always in the right spot. Both of my jeeps and PJ's Jeep go in front of the garage or in it, plus the little space on the left is mine for when I come and go. Caleb parks beside the side door. Lochlan and Ben park their trucks up along the side nearer the front door and Duncan, Sam, Matt and Daltondrive down past the house to our actual parking lot between the side fence and the Boathouse. Ruth's car is no longer here much at all, she used the little spot on the left too, and Henry is soon to get a vehicle and he'll share that spot so it's a bit tight sometimes. 

Especially since we're all homebodies now who hardly ever leave. 

By choice. 

So when I complained about his car being two feet closer than usual, Caleb called fucking Ransom again and he's having the driveway extended up around so you can cut left or right at the fountain and drive back around and out. I lose a tiny bit of my pointless and very dark front yard. I will not lose a single tree in the woods though and they will redo the little grotto into a proper garden courtyard. I am oddly fine with saying goodbye to the yard and of course they will redo all of the landscaping in order to have it look like it's always been that way and WATCH ME PARK RIGHT AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PORCH STEPS NOW MUHAHAHA. There will be room for their vehicles or delivery vans to drive past me and things will be great. I no longer have to go in the side door unless we are grocery shopping and then I don't drive often anyway. Lochlan does. Or Ben but only if it's clear and bright out which is never anymore.

Plus this will absolutely eliminate the eight treacherous stone steps leading up to the front walkway, to more stairs. 

I am all for that. And it will be paved in the same brick pattern as the rest of the driveway so super luxe and stupidly expensive and I still don't have to pay for any of it. Perfect.

When can they start? Let's get this over with. 

I'll make a call. I want it done before I trade in anyway. 

Oh really? What are you getting next? (The A7 hasn't performed well over the past few weeks, especially in the rain and he's not going to keep it).

Not sure yet. Maybe you can help me choose. 

I would love to do that.Why me, though? Lochlan's the gearhead. 

You're very practical but also fun. 

(Yeah, story of my life).

This is the golden age/I think I'm gonna make it after all.

 Euphoria's goooooone it's time to move ooooonnnnnnn

This is my brain. Flailing wildly between U2's New Year's Day, a plaintive, seminal New Year's song from forty years ago (WHAT THE FUCK) and Switchfoot's New Year's Day, a fun rollicking hooky song that's only seven years old. 

This is normal. This is me. Either sad or crazy and never sure which power to harness and which one to ride out. 

What are you doing?

I yank off my headphones just as ABBA's Happy New Year starts (it's a playlist I made, okay? Here we are, me and you, feeling lost and feeling bluuuuuueeeee). I am disappointed at being interrupted in my epic once-a-year early morning routine where I finish off the final half-bottle of champagne and sing my heart out in the library where no one can hear me. This isn't a performance, it's a ritual.

The static makes my hair do fucked up things and Caleb laughs. 

Ice cream?

It's eight in the morning. I doubt anything is open.  

Maybe I brought a selection home and it's in the freezer. 

I stand up, never taking my eyes off him, putting down my headphones, my phone. Moving slowly.

He moves to make room for me to leave the room and join him. It's a fake-out. I book it to the door and he blocks me and then turns and runs down the hall to the kitchen, grabs a spoon from the drawer and heads out the back door. I am left behind. Winner picks the loser's flavour is the rule. GREAT.  

His resolution was to be kinder to me so he chooses coffee flavour since it's early. I am mollified and content. I have brain-freeze too but no one notices, or maybe no one really cares.

2022. Feels futuristic and apocalyptic (or maybe that's apologetic) all at the same time.

Two weeks ago I called our favourite Indian restaurant and pre-ordered dinner for tonight and we're leaving in ten minutes to pick it all up. I was so apologetic. They were thrilled to do a whole nights business in one transaction or maybe they were horrified. I don't know but they said no problem and here we are. 

All the alu gobi and keema naan a girl could want. Pakoras up the wazoo. PJ will make me a mean gin martini with three fat olives and Lochlan will have a whiskey with ice (that he'll make himself) and we'll resume watching the Get Back documentary on Disney+. 

We roll hard here on the point. 

Happy New Year. I'll write more tomorrow. There wasn't much time to do it today. I did write my resolutions today though. I wrote them across August's arms with a good sharpie. Things like more sleep, less sugar. More calm, less panic. More happy, less sad. 

Here's hoping.

Yesterday was exceedingly difficult and when I woke up I was alone, PJ was in the big chair by the fire and didn't stir when I shook his shoulder. He was out. He looked exhausted and yet when I went to bed everything was fine (fine being relative). My anxiety is far worse at night and Duncan is in charge of the Christmas gift I mentioned the other day and I get a whole bunch of it right before bed and then I'm out like a stone and it's almost funny. I sleep right through but it's only been a couple of nights so we'll see if it holds. No one liked that mention of the gift in particular which is interesting. It is fully legal here and he bought it legally and for the record I did not know what to do with it exactly but he said not to worry so there you go. 

When I went downstairs, Ben is asleep on the big couch in the kitchen. No lights are on. The sweet part is that Lochlan is beside him, one arm threaded all the way through the kangaroo pocket on the front of Ben's hoodie. He used to do that with me when I was a child and he was afraid I would awaken and go somewhere while he slept. I find it sweet that he covered all his bases and sent PJ up to watch me and I find it sweet that I guess Ben fell asleep first and Lochlan didn't want to wake him up to move him. 

There's a rogue whiskey bottle halfway down the big long kitchen table, but it hasn't been opened. The plastic is still around the top.

(It was $15 a week, and that was a fortune at the age of 11.)

Duncan wants to hear a story and so Lochlan always starts with the music. 

Aldo Nova was playing through my speakers and there was a group smoking in one of the cars-

It was Triumph. I interrupt. Dude. I know this one, I think to myself. I'm IN this story. 

Lochlan pauses. I think you're right, Princess. It was Triumph. Lay it on The-

Moonchild, I correct again. Sorry, but if you're trying to set the stage-

It was Moonchild, he laughs. So a cigarette butt lands at my feet and I look up and this group of kids is coming around with lit cigarettes and they're smiling at me like they're daring me to call them out for smoking on the ride and there are two carts full of them and they're all early twenties so I ignore it and just pretend I didn't see it, but then Bridget comes back from getting a hotdog and she brings me one and she hands me the food and marches right out in front of me at the control box and when they come over she yells, HEY! NO SMOKING ON THE WHEEL, ASSHOLES! 

Duncan covers his face. Oh my god. This is so easy to picture. 

Right? And they all look at me and keep right on smoking as they go around again and when they come down again Bridget puts her hands on her hips and yells I SAID, NO SMOKING!

What are you going to do about it, kid? The prettiest girl flicks her hair and smiles at Bridget.

I'M TURNING OFF THE RIDE. GET LOST.  

They all look surprised. Like they wasted their tickets and I shrug even though I'm not even seventeen yet because the lady gets what the lady wants and technically Bridget's right, I just didn't want to deal with people trying to intimidate me. She turns to me and points backwards and says Turn it off, Locket. 

I did as I was told and the group slunk off while Bridget glared at them. It was hilarious. The boss ended up giving her an official title and a weekly stipend because he said she was making sure to keep everyone on their toes. 

Wow that was generous of him. Dalton laughs. 

Not really. He took it out of my cheque. 

I turn around with my mouth open. Wait, what? You said I could spend it any way I wanted. 

And I meant that. 

But that was your money! 

And I clearly didn't do enough to earn it. 

Why didn't you tell me, so I could have bought dinner sometimes?

Like I said, it was yours because you wanted a job like the rest of us and you were so happy to have it. I didn't want to burst that bubble. Things were hard enough after...everything.

The black cloud moves back in over the point, blocking out the sunny warmth of a memory just remembered and enveloping us in a memory that will never ever be forgotten.  

After what? Duncan asks, forgetting it all.

After everything changed, I say softly and Lochlan nods, his eyes black with regret.

I can give you a bunch of details but they're not the ones you want.

I don't know what day it is. I just know that we put Christmas away today, I had my fourth brunch in two weeks, I never did find the spirit and I am solidly a DC girl, as opposed to Marvel, after seeing the new Batman trailer. My knuckle cracked and bled from the cold and then my nose started bleeding just as someone handed me a gin martini with three olives just now and well, here we are. Have I covered everything?

No? 

I saw five accidents on my way out and home today. I wasn't in any of them, thank God. There's only one spot in the neighbourhood where I can kick out the ass end of the Jeep and slide just enough for a thimbleful of thrills. Perfect. People with all-seasons need to stay the fuck home though.

I watched Don't Look Up on Netflix. This is exactly how it ends.

I got a whole pottery studio for Christmas. Yes, I'm going to go pro, apparently. But they ran out of time and the electrician is all that's left to change the plug for my kiln (also a gift) to make sure I don't burn down the point. This is not in the stables, this is a tiny shed all the way out by the orchard. The kiln and the wheel and my dry supplies will live out there. The clay must come in to be warmer so that will be stored in the stables instead and someone will bring me what I need when I need it. Glazes too, probably. Better safe than sorry and since I'm a newb and hardly know what I'm doing it's the plan as I learn more. I can make a mean cup via slab. Slabs are everything, I haven't thrown in years. Should be a fun time but I'm hoping to enjoy a good solid learning curve and then begin making things for other people 

I also got an ounce of really nice weed and my shoulder blades are marshmallows and my brain sponge toffee tonight. 

Goes well with this ice cold gin martini with three olives. I didn't get any actual medication over Christmas (because they suddenly decided it was cruel) so this is the way to go. Otherwise my default is someone who's skin has been peeled off and they've been left in a salt mine. The anxiety is always completely off the charts and that's the only way I can describe it anymore.

Right. Horrifying, isn't it? I don't know if that's Jake's fault or Caleb's. I don't know if I care. Caleb gave me the prettiest pair of diamond earrings and said they looked really good on me when I wasn't wearing anything else and Ben agreed but promised not to eat them. There were no teeth at all to be found and on Boxing day Lochlan let Daniel cut off all of his hair. Daniel handed me a curl and I thanked him and Lochlan asked why I wanted it. 

A keepsake, I promised. 

Voodoo, he worried.

Never on you. I said it softly and he smiled and pulled me in as I put my hands up to ruffle his short half-curls. His hair is so shiny. I'm jealous. 

Oh my God, you're so fucked. 

Only a little. 

Maybe always though. 

I nod and show him my teeth in a goofy smile and he laughs out loud. 

Long week, Peanut. 

The longest, I agree. We entertained Caleb with our magic and he fired back with his intensity and generosity. We worked. We rested. We celebrated. We had our big dinner, rescheduled due to weather and we made a loose plan for the new year. The only thing left is to write our resolutions for Friday night and count the remaining bottles of champagne. 

Also I need to order a case of soap from the rocky mountain soap company. It really is my favourite and I learned that after buying a ten dollar pretty bar of cold pressed soap at a gift shop only to find out it gave me a rash and had no smell at all. 

Live and learn. Hahaha. That's all I ever do now. 

(Totally doing voodoo, by the way.)

Spirits.

Hope is a feather plucked from a capable wing, now suddenly captive in the breeze. The sand is ice-cold underneath a fresh layer of new fallen snow and the gifts remain wrapped and under the tree as Sam and I pack up our coffees, tie into our most capable snow boots and warm coats and head down to greet the sun on this Christmas morning, Sam half-ruined with joy already and me half-awake as ever but somehow we made it and I got to bear witness to a monologue the likes of which the church never sees but should. The sun warmed our faces while his words warmed my heart and I am reminded of why I refused to follow Jacob into the abyss of nothing. There's no heaven. All of this is it and you better not squander this chance at it because it's on earth. It's now, not after. It's Christmas every day if you want it to be. 

Merry Christmas to all of my readers. Even the ones who hate my guts. Jesus loves you no matter what disdain you have for me and no matter what thoughts go through my head any minute of any hour. He loves me even as my hands touch upon someone I shouldn't and even as I foolishly wish for things long lost, even on His birthday.

A kiss lands on top of my head as I look out at the snow crunching up the top layer of the sea in a rush to hush it all down into a magical holiday scene. I look up and Lochlan is looking down at me, his face cracking into a smile. 

Merry Christmas, Peanut. 

I turn and there's an army of men, carrying a fully lit Christmas tree. They set it up on the beach, back far enough to stay out of reach of the tides, but far enough out to make everyone gasp and then smile if they see it.  Someone has a picnic basket and they begin to pass out juice boxes, croissants and more coffee thermoses. Wreathes are hung along the posts all around the dock and music begins to lilt out from a speaker someone has. Just soft enough for magic and just loud enough for me to hear. 

But then they all start to sing. 

It's the best sound I ever heard and the tears are freezing on my cheeks, mixed with snow. 

When the song is finished everyone eats their waterside breakfast, sitting on the dock and then Lochlan pulls me into his coat. A kiss lands on my nose and my glasses steam up.

Merry Christmas, Locket. I love my present. Wow. This is incredible. 

His eyebrows go up. This isn't your present. 

But you've spent hours off rehearsing

Actually that song wasn't part of the plan this morning so we weren't practicing, but also that isn't your present. You'll get that this afternoon, because we're still not finished it.

Yeah, I can't do this. Please send help.

Hahahaha. The houses are full. There is nowhere I can go to get away. Lay in the bathtub for an hour with my headphones (Ben gifted me with my own set of really ridiculously good headphones) listening to sad songs and drinking champagne and I think I'm almost ready to start the day but honestly not quite. Making dinner for twenty-nine today. Don't have any reserves for patience left. Losing it so slowly I'm like a balloon that gets those tiny puckers all around the edges and you know it's not long for the world.

And you wrote to me and said you wished you were me. 

That was dumb. Hope you've changed your mind.