The Between Years

been more sensitive to Randy's feelings. Would he still have resented me so intensely? Would he have still changed into the disturbed angry man that he became? But I'm neither a mind reader nor a fortune teller. I never knew what he was thinking during our bumpiest times together. So I strike it from my mind and tell myself not to beat myself up over it. But one question lingers like a frozen cloud: would our perfect lives have been preserved had Kenny lived?

    What if Kenny had never been born?

    I always feel guilty for asking myself that. And who wouldn't? Kenny might not have been a planned child, but we loved him every bit as much as we would have if we could have determined the day and hour he would come to us. He was a special, perfect gift that we wouldn't have sent back for anything.

    I've mulled over so many questions, so many scenarios time and again, mostly because the police have continued to question me. Don't get me wrong, there was never any evidence of foul play, and they never suspected me of any crime. They simply needed to come to the person who knew Randy more intimately than anyone, to construct a motive for the events that happened that night. Simply, they wanted to understand why Randy did what he did. That's an answer I desperately want to have myself, truth be known.

    Having helped clean up the mess (figuratively and literally), I wonder how I'm not angry at Randy for having done what he did. After all, it's added a strain to my life that I don't need, not to mention a bevy of forever unanswered questions. Surely, anyone else would be pissed out of their minds, but for some reason I feel absolutely sedate, forgiving. So I cleaned up the garbage, the remnants of what was once his grandparents' grand house, and wonder what might have raced through his mind the night he took destiny into his own hands.

    If I need another reason for writing this, that might be it. Answers to the impossible, a path to the unknown, and a chance to construct and relieve the anger that I should feel. I can't slip into Randy's psyche, I can't live the events that led to his actions, but I can close my eyes and imagine.

    Consider this: Randy was (is) a man who refused to work a minute of overtime because he was too elated about coming home to see his son. He wrote letters to Kenny when he was in the womb, sweet little notes, communicating with him, bonding with his baby boy, and always speculating about the person he might turn out to be. Randy is a rational, educated man, who has always epitomized calm and gentleness. How do you suppose he could have caused absolute mayhem?

    The last time he and I spoke-over a heated phone call no less-I worried he would try to pull something drastic. Something about the tenor of his voice, and his lost foothold on basic sense, told me something was amiss. He sounded desperate, like a sane man on the threshold of insanity, clinging onto reality for dear life.

    In retrospect, I should have phoned the police after the fight, for a welfare call if nothing else. I thought they might accuse me of overreacting, being overprotective, or plain silly, and that Randy was a basket case of emotions thanks to Kenny's death and our separation. But like I said, we have to live with our regrets, and pray we can expel them so they can't haunt us forever.

    So, whoever is reading this, I urge you to take your time with this text, absorb it, and wait until you completely understand my side before you draw your conclusion. I wish Randy could tell his side too, since all anyone has heard are stories. And I think it's important to note that I don't hate Randy and I never have. I'm as filled with love for him as I ever have been, even though our relationship took a dramatic twist. I can't change the man he has become, I can't recreate our old life, and I can't beat any sense into Randy. My limitations I accept as I move on and brave my life ahead without the two most important men I've ever known.

CHAPTER 2
    English Literature was the perfect major for me. I knew that much from the start. Books, words, sentences, paragraphs have always been my most faithful companions. Sure, for some, deciding what you want to do is an impossible feat, but for me the decision was a no-brainer. And I'm not saying I've never been a beach trash voracious reader (Nora Roberts is my guilty pleasure), but I prefer to delve into a character's personality. I want to know every intimate detail there is to know about a