The Between Years

bags and suitcases, and wondered what the hell he should do with them. He knew that he shouldn't-or couldn't-throw them out. The same would have applied to Kenny's bedroom in any other incarnation. He decided to leave them on the floor; that he had torn everything down seemed like progress to him.

    If only he could have done that to Kenny's nursery after he'd died, he thought. He remembered how he'd wanted to pack everything up and take it to charity. But when it boiled down, he realized how fragile he'd been. And he wouldn't blame Carol, because she'd been just as weak as he'd been. But if he could have done that, he decided that this mess would never have escalated. He combed his fingers through his hair and was determined not to let himself think about that. The job at hand was of far greater importance.

    In his own room-or Bupa's room, properly, he did the same. He packed up all of the clothes that had hung in the closet, which included old sweaters, dress shirts, two fedoras, moth-eaten shirts and a bathing suit that looked like it had come from the 1920s. With a remaining empty box, he packed up the pictures, the pipe Bupa hadn't smoked since he'd been young, and some books that he didn't recognize but were copyrighted in the 1800s. Much of what resided in that room must have belonged to Bupa's father before him, he figured. After, he headed downstairs to clean up everything he could including old dishes, pill bottles, newspapers and everything to suggest that Nana and Bupa would return one day.

    He dumped the various antiques on shelves and along windowsills into boxes and set them in the middle of the floor. Someone could get a good buck for those items, he thought, but money wouldn't help anyone to relinquish those items entirely. First, he had done himself a favour by packing up Kenny's room, and then he had done himself another favor by packing up the rest of the house. Then it dawned on him: his relatives had left the house that way for the same reason that he and Carol had left Kenny's nursery intact.

    They might not know it now, but Randy meant to do his father and relatives a favour. He hadn't been strong enough to tear down the nursery that had enslaved him, but he was determined to tear down the house that had enslaved his family. The must go first and mountains were moved a little at a time. The house would be obliterated one brick at a time.

    That he could carry all this on his shoulders made Randy feel liberated. His most difficult challenge was yet to come he knew, but he felt ready for anything. He decided that if he could take that all-important first step, the second could only be easier. He was the skydiver who was far from tentative and ready to take the plunge.

    He checked his watch and saw the hands reach for 6:00. In a few precious hours, the house would come down, and generations of his family would be free.

    Randy's stomach growled, and he'd lost sight of the fact except for a hastily-prepared peanut butter sandwich, he hadn't eaten all day. So he took a long break to prepare a dinner of chicken with mashed potatoes, broccoli and carrots. As he ate, he decided that now was a good time to slow down his pace. He didn't want to make this meal out to be like a last supper-such things only happened in the movies-but he wanted to make sure the final supper eaten in such a fine dining room left him feeling satisfied.

    After, he packed up his own belonging-not that he'd brought much of anything with him-and left them by the back door. The few books that he'd brought with him sat atop his duffel bag. He also took down all of Nana's paintings, all of her brushed and supplies. In her studio, he found old sketches of her bakeshop painting in which he'd held out his hand for the cashier. Randy felt the last of his resistance slip away from him, so he placed the sketches with the rest of her art material. He could think of no better a place to store these items than anything else, but what mattered to him was that the walls were totally bare, and that he'd garnered the courage to take step number two.

    Finally, he took the shower that he'd longed for and stayed inside the tub until he felt his fingers start to wrinkle. He'd bought some shower gel scented like watermelon and the sweet smell filled his nostrils. There was no better feeling that being clean and fresh, he decided. Besides, he wanted to make sure his muscles were in good working order to handle the job he had ahead of him.

    When