The Between Years

always made him feel self-conscious. He pressed it down as if embarrassed even though no one was around to see it. He also noticed that he had changed into his pajama bottoms and white t-shirt rather than his regular clothes the way he had the last time he'd fallen asleep in that room.

    He sucked in a deep breath, patted his trunk and legs with his hands, and admitted to himself that the situation frightened him. When one could no longer differentiate between dreams and reality, Randy realized that was usually a good time to consider seeking professional help, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't give Carol a gift-wrapped trump card at a time like this.

    Besides, he could determine that his bedroom was real, and that he couldn't be dreaming if he'd just woken up. If anything, his bedroom seemed like more of a reality than Kenny's bedroom had been. If it had been a dream, he decided it wasn't all bad since so much about the encounter had left him feeling unsettled. Kenny resented the hell out of him, and he didn't understand why, but he was determined to at least find out if he'd fabricated it.

    So he sucked in another deep breath, grunted as he rolled out of bed, and fumbled to keep his morning erection in check. His head felt fuzzy, like he'd consumed too much NyQuil to treat a nagging cold, and paused to make sure he was steady on his feet. Now he really wished he'd drunk that glass of cold milk or at least been given the opportunity to brush his teeth (if the Gods could have been more agreeable, that is). His bare feet smacked the hallway's hardwood floor as he ventured towards Kenny's room. The door was closed, just as he'd left it. He turned the knob. Inside, he found that the lights were still turned off.

    Randy's toes curled over the green carpet and he wondered why he would have picked such an ass-ugly color. First, he noticed the toy wrestling ring filled with action figures, which reminded him of the ones he'd owned when he was Kenny's age. Those had been large, rubber, bendable action figures, which he thought were far superior to Kenny's, but what parent didn't think everything from their generation was better?

    He scooped a few up and wondered if he'd given them to Kenny for his birthday, Christmas, or for achieving excellent grades in school. Maybe he'd bought them for no other reason except to show his son how much he cared.

    When he glanced at the bed, he noticed that the covers were disheveled and pulled back to the foot, and he noticed a dent in the middle of the pillow. Someone had slept in that bed last night. Kenny was obviously an early riser, but Randy was filled with the hope that he might catch up with his son sooner than later.

    Randy skipped downstairs, hoping that maybe Kenny had only been anxious to hit the breakfast table. If he was there, he would be glad to make him anything he wanted (his famous Humpy Dumpy eggs included) just to treat him, but also to make up for last night's misunderstanding. But when he hit the kitchen, he found no one.

    “ Dammit!” he said to thin air. Then he commenced the same search he'd taken yesterday only to yield the same results.

    Opening the fridge, he grabbed the milk carton, poured a glass, raised it to his lips, and tipped it back. He chugged the glass empty and felt relieves by the cool sensation that passed through his insides. Then he wiped the milk away from his lips with the back of his hand.

    The reprieve was brief as he leaned back and pressed his ass against the kitchen counter. Last night's encounter had been as real as the glass of milk he'd just pounded, of that he was certain. He needed to please Kenny and set the record straight about Carol in order to regain control of the situation. How he would do that when Kenny continued to elude him was another matter.

    His hands over his face, he rubbed his eyes and decided he couldn't go to work, not when his mind was so consumed. Listening to the barrage of concerned comments when Kenny had died had been hard enough, much less having everyone ask what was eating him (like they didn't know?) He glanced at the phone and saw the cable that he'd torn off the wall last night. If anything, he possessed far more gumption than he'd given himself credit for. His Bupa used to call it 'piss and vinegar'.

    He ran into the living room to grab his Blackberry off the coffee table and dialled the library's phone number. First, he was greeted by the pre-recorded message that wouldn't