Help less.

Today didn't happen. Today was kind of a shoving-embrace-rejecting, double-Ativan, ghost-craving, fight-picking, uncontrollable-crying, miserable awful terrible no good kind of day. It was a day in which I made soup and bread for dinner after making soup and bread for lunch. I couldn't manage the day at all. It started up and took me over. It swallowed me whole, not letting me get a handle on it before flinging me off and I never did get control of it and so Ben said that's enough, Bumblebee and I've been sent off to bed momentarily, in clean pajamas and a freshly-washed face and I can't feel my chin or my elbows anymore but I also can't feel my past and tomorrow's going to look a whole lot better, he said. I asked him why and he said because you and Danny and I will spend the day at the park if you like and I told him it was going to rain. He said that was okay, that I'm not made of sugar but I wasn't convinced. What if I am? He smiled and said it would explain why I'm so sweet. But I'm not sweet, not anymore. And he stopped smiling and Sam came in and kissed my forehead and reminded me that being tough isn't an around-the-clock job. Sometimes you need breaks.  

It's a break all right, I told him and then everyone left and Lochlan came in and shut the door and stripped down to a t-shirt and his boxers and he said eight hours straight of sleep would help me and I said help me what? and he said he didn't know but I guess we'll see. I never liked surprises but I'm anxious for tomorrow nonetheless now. See you then.

Calls of the wild.

Batman called this morning. Told me he was having the time of his life, and the only thing missing was me. That this should be a required life event and that when he comes back he hopes to spend more time with me, having fun. Not in any sordid way, just in general. He was envious of our night of dancing, he said and he'd love to join us for the next show.

What if it's like Slayer or something non-danceable? 

Then we'll dance to it anyway. Why the hell not? 

(Well, there's the biggest indication that he's taking the drugs right there. Batman is not a 'why the hell not' type of guy, honestly.)

Bridget, you there? 

I'm here. 

I love you. 

I bet you do. 

August called too. He said it's even more awful than last year and he'll probably come back before Saturday. He wants to know how I feel, what everyone is doing (to me, probably and not just in general), and if I want to talk for a while, if so he can go find a charging cord and we can continue in a bit. I let him off the hook. I'm too tired for barometers and too sad that he's not here to listen to his voice without the accompanying physical presence.

Caleb called and said he'd bring me next year but only if we have a private RV. He said he transferred some money to me for the children's school needs, since school starts in a week. I told him he didn't have to do that and he said he likes to, that it's important to him to have a hand in taking care of us. Then he said he should be taking care of me and when he comes home from the desert he's going to do just that.

Gage called and said I should be there too. That it's perfect for me.

Keith called and said Gage is full of shit and that I am too good for the whole of Black Rock City.

New Jake called and asked if I really was worried about him.

I always worry about you, Jake. But the k is silent. My mouth won't finish his name out loud. Mostly his name seems to be 'Jay' now.

Bridget, I'm a grown man.

You're a diabetic in a shitty environment for staying healthy.

I'm not doing drugs. And I'm testing. And I'm fine. If you're that worried I'll go get on a plane.

What? Why would you do that?

To give you the peace of mind no one ever affords you.

No one can afford me, I tell myself. The cost is far too high.

What was that, Bridget? I don't think the connection is very good. I can barely hear you.

Nothing, I say at a normal voice and his voice smiles. Ah. You're back.

I never left, I tell him. Have fun, okay?

It is, actually. August and I are talking a lot. It's nice to have brothers. They're all good guys.

Yeah, they are.

It's like a deeper bonding experience but with less distractions. Not like at home.

What do you mean?

You're not here. You're the punctuation. You're the focus of the point, you know? Worshipped and watched over. The sun rises and sets by you in a way that totally supersedes any random girls walking around here. There's zero energy in any of them. They throw themselves at us and no one bites.

Oh, Jesus.

Yeah, I'm not sure if that's really really bad or very very good. We were trying to figure it out.

And?

There's just no one like you, Bridget, and we wouldn't trade you for the world.

He broke my heart via phone. They all did.

Glitter cannons. Yes. I'm getting some for the house.

Last night I grooved in the same room as Nile Rodgers and Chic played Get Lucky, We are Family and Good Times. Then I proceeded to cry through most of Duran Duran's set so whatever but at least I could dance while I cried. Lochlan cheered and said maybe I finally learned to multitask but maybe I was just sad that my metal plating wore off thanks to my caustic tears, revealing the beautiful truth underneath that from the age of 10 through 12 I lived and breathed for Duran Duran. I still know all the words. To all the songs. At least the ones up until the mid-nineties

Lochlan assured me that I still have all my cred. That as long as I'm a music lover genres don't matter.

What about country?

Okay, maybe that would matter. 

(Fun fact: In the very early nineties I would sing along to Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood because DAMN. The boys HATED that stage of me until they saw me in a cowboy hat and braids.)

Lochlan danced too and Lochlan doesn't dance. We got very sweaty. All my pictures and video are ridiculously blurry and terrible but that's okay, I didn't put any effort into looking at my phone anyway. It was an in-the-moment moment. We had a blast. Everyone in the arena did, by the looks of things. No one, not a single person that I could see even used their chairs.

Fire extinguishers + church ties.

Why didn't you go with them? I ask Duncan this morning over breakfast. He's ready for church. I'm not. I've got bedhead, I'm in pajamas still and there are toast crumbs on my cheek. Maybe I am ready. Sam and Jake both always said God doesn't care if you're presentable. He just cares if you're present. 

Duncan grins and pulls at the neck of his shirt. The action is here. This is where all the cool people are at. I mean, look at this. The epitome of cool right here. He turns and gestures at PJ, who shambles into the kitchen in pajama pants and the beard from hell. He looks like I feel. Why didn't you go to Black Rock City? Duncan asks PJ, still with that wide sweet smile.

I hate camping, PJ reminds us with no shortage of irritation. He really does. He hates anything less than total luxury. He won't even tolerate his beer warming up as he drinks it. He's amazed someone would go to all that trouble to breath dust into their lungs and live like savages for a solid week in the name of 'feeding ones soul' or doing drugs or whatever it is they get up to. I'm not sure if he's just getting old or if he's trying to disparage the image of it so I don't want to go so badly. Either way I love him to pieces for it.

Lochlan comes down and reminds me it's getting late and I should go change.

I think I'm going to go like this, I tell him as he reaches out and wipes the crumbs off my face with a smile. The smile spreads. It's contagious. I stand there grinning like a fool at him and he turns and says Thank you to PJ before turning back to smile at me some more.

For what? PJ grumbles with a mouthful of toast.

I thought she was going to be a brat about Burning Man for the whole week, he says as he stares into my eyes. You seem to have put some common sense into her. 

Funny, normally Lochlan would slay any man who attempts to inject reality into my fantasy world. He's gone out of his way to keep things magical and hates it when someone paves over his endless fields.

Wasn't me, PJ laughs and heads off to clean up. We're already late for church. God may still love you when you're messy but not when you're tardy. No sir.

Next year I think I'll charter a plane, an RV and a staff. Idgaf.

Caleb, August, Gage, Keith, New Jake and Batman have gone to Burning Man.

I stood inside the door after they left and let out a solid scream for at least a minute, maybe longer. It smacks of unfairness. It boggles my mind that no one will fulfill this bucket list of mine.

They're afraid.

Afraid that my self-reliance will be so apparently absent that even I will figure it out and get scared.

Afraid that I won't be able to rough it.

Afraid that I might be popular and make new friends and like them better.

Afraid that I'll have fun and maybe become someone different or better.

Instead I can stay home, depend heavily on the boys for damn near everything, beside the pool in the shade because a rough life isn't for me or something like that, and remain hobbled mentally and socially. While I'm doing that I'll worry a lot about New Jake's insulin pump. August and Batman tell me he'll be fine. Keith will help keep him in good condition but I have my doubts. He's impulsive and intense.

And besides. You can't go to Burning Man sober. Can you?

August says of course you can. He does it all the time. He's only going as a guide though, because there are so many virgins going this year. Can they even all get along for the entire trip? I can't wait to see pictures and hear their playa names. I can't wait to see the video of the man burn a week from now. I can't wait to go myself and experience this and I don't even know why.

I so, so want to be one of them.

I cooked and did laundry and shopping again and helped them organize their things. I hung off every moment of planning and prep and then like a good sport (good girl) I waved and smiled as they left and now I'm just...

Just argh. 

Really disappointed there was no eleventh hour change of heart. They're selling the extra tickets last minute, in Reno. Those tickets that should have been ours. I think Loch and Ben would really enjoy it with me. I still have the costume I made. They don't even need costumes. They can just wear their kilts and top hats.

And I don't understand why I can't go. I doubt I ever will.

Yup. It's Friday night and they've put on Gwen Stefani's cover of Rainbow Connection.

Times have changed.

Bulletproof for one more day.

And where are you now, now that I need you?
Tears on my pillow wherever you go
I'll cry me a river that leads to your ocean
You never see me fall apart

I open my eyes and feel around for the first hints of the day as they are revealed in the light coming over the edge of the point, flooding slowly through the windows on one side of the room, though the dark still presses furiously, hopelessly against the glass of the patio doors on the other side.

On the inside the first thing my mind does is remember. Every morning begins with a snap and a slow bloom of an ache I can't seem to soothe. I feel my way around the edge of the hole. It flexes with the days. Sometimes it's small and I can avoid it completely. Other times it grows and grows right out to the rim of my life and I get sucked into it, bones and all. Usually it spits me out for I am small and bitter, unsatisfying, incomplete. My fingers start to flutter against my lips, my eyes spill over and Lochlan instinctively pulls me in underneath his chin, my eyes drying up as gratitude replaces grief, as my brain permits me to remember everything before and after, too.

Shhhh, he sleep-talks. He can't surface, he's still at the Midway, standing and watching as I go in circles into the night sky, coming down in front of him, huge smile across my face, music blasting in my ears. I used to be her. I used to live for the lights, for the moment and now I live for the past, for what came before, a fleeting, intense magic of a different sort altogether, a bright flash of light in that dark, a preemptive rescue from a storm I wouldn't see coming for years.

I sigh outwardly. The effort of just standing up, of getting dressed, of smiling. Of being human. It takes a lot and some days I have more energy than others. Some days I can't even handle the early light. Some days I'm so grateful I lived long enough to experience the things that came after. Exquisite pain. Unbridled joy. Love let loose. A circle right back around to the beginning. Another chance, that gift few people ever get and I got it in spades. A house chockful of love, brimming with the kind of sweetness, affection and support most people could only dream of.

Ben is there now too, up because of the fluttering, no doubt. Light-sleeping. On guard, half-aware, half-awake, all ready. He moves in close, pressing into my back, making me into a breakfast sandwich in between them, closing that circle, shutting down any gaps where the light might escape, shining straight through instead of holding. Exhale once more. I feel safe. The ache gets a little smaller, the gratitude grows a little bigger.

There's a little energy now and enough light. It's safe to begin the day.

Late.

Being big and tough is exhausting. I don't know how the boys do it. I gave up my efforts well into the evening and barricaded myself in the library with Ben's headphones and a plan to fall asleep on the fluffy white rug.

Only I felt a hand on my shoulder just as I was drifting off. I opened my eyes and there are big brown eyes staring back at me. It's gotten very dark and he's turned on a small light on the table across the room.

Bee. Come upstairs.

I'm good. I hug myself smaller and close my eyes again. He takes off the headphones and sees what's playing. Nothing. I didn't even think to turn on music, I just needed to block out the world.

Come on. I'll take you up.

I need a pantry.

You need to not get caught up in their power struggle. Take what you need and leave them to their bullshit. Don't take it on.

It's hard not to.

I know but their emotions and their actions aren't your fault or your doing. Remember what you've learned.

I learned over the years that if Ben drinks for whatever reasons, I'm not to blame. Even if I fucked up and pushed him or fought with him or ignored him. It's supposed to not be my fault. I never ever believed that for a second. Not any more than I believe that right now it totally isn't my fault that Lochlan and Caleb have spent their entire adolescent and adult lives fighting over me.

 I can't cause, control or cure it.

Except that I know I did, I can and I should.

This is hard.

Ben kisses my forehead and lifts me into his arms. I hold on for dear life. There's a reassurance tinged with regret in our embrace as he tries to believe that he's relevant and required. He is but maybe he has an easier time believing in things he finds at the bottom of a bottle or in a jar of pills. Demons grow quiet under those perfect circumstances. I don't have the self-disregard to go there. He tells me that's a gift. I tell him it's a curse, as I am an anxious, fearful idiot now and I'm supposed to know better. I'm supposed to be good at life. I'm old enough to understand these things and I'm old enough to control my own destiny.

This is far too heavy for a Wednesday night, Bumblebee. Let's go to sleep and tomorrow we can grab Sam and talk some more. He's good at this. Sam's a jack of all trades. He's a patient prince and he's somehow just about off limits suddenly. Again.

Lochlan would prefer I talk to just about anyone but Sam.

Loch's a carny. He's got no training. I'll deal with him.

Who else do you know that can juggle fire that well? It's only partially a euphemism. But my eyes are heavy and my words slur against the proper pronounciations. I give up and fall asleep against Ben's shoulder, his reassurance blanketing me in total warmth. I worry for nothing and soon I don't worry at all.

Woke up at four. This is how the day's going to go.

My wrists are two different sizes. I think maybe I was supposed to be a twin. I must be the stronger of the two. I bet I absorbed my weaker sibling in the womb before she even registered on the map. I bet I ate her with gusto and spit out her bones and proclaimed that I would win everything and never have to compete with her for anything.

It would explain an awful lot.

It would explain everything.

The appearance of conflict

He said I'm fabulously rich, come on just let's go
She kind of bit her lip, jeez, I don't know
But I can guarantee, there'll be no knock on the door
I'm total pro, that's what I'm here for

I come from downtown, born ready for you
Armed with will and determination, and grace, too

I have to admit I burst into tears when I watched the recap of The Tragically Hip's Kingston concert and saw Gord Downie break down at the end of Grace, Too.

That's the song I like most by the band. I wasn't much of a fan, per se and it was only today that I realized 38 Years Old is by them and not by Tracy Chapman. The things you learn. Holy.

A couple of the boys are psycho-fans and cried all weekend and have been playing the Hip's music nonstop ever since while I go around and pat their shoulders at regular intervals. This is mostly happening in both other houses so I don't have to be bombarded.

PJ has stopped broadcasting his selections over the speakers here as well. It as getting out of hand again. The new rule is that music is just for you unless it's a random setlist for dinner or something that is agreed upon by everyone within earshot. That's never going to work. Voting generally results in misery. We have to draw slips out of a top hat to pick a restaurant. Imagine something as precious as music and see how easy it is to agree on what to listen to.

Yeah, good luck. Headphones for all.