The Between Years

decision, but I couldn't go back on it either. So I returned to the house, slipped into my pajamas, and kicked back with a book again, but I found total relaxation impossible to achieve. All I could do was picture Randy sitting all alone wondering what'd happened to me. I doubted he would have figured I was in an accident; he must have felt completely rejected and abandoned.

    I would hate to have to feel what Randy must have felt last night. That such hurt had come from a lover and a best friend must have hurt him even more. If I could have apologized to his face for having done it, I would. But that chance never came and I've had to live with the bottled up shame. We must live with those regrets.

    For the first few months, I was bombarded with questions about what had happened. As if questioning from the police wasn't bad enough! If I needed convincing that precious few people had sensitivity about a tragedy, that behavior would have easily done it. Would you believe that Macleans actually contacted me for an interview? Ha! Suffice to say I declined the interview. Besides, it seemed like the entire town not only knew what had happened, but they seemed to have a complete fix on my and Randy's private lives. Like Socrates said, you know nothing.

    Anywhere I went for the first while it seemed like people were staring at me. Well, maybe not staring exactly, but glancing at me with hearty disapproval. I got that look at the grocery store, the Royal Bank, Tim Horton's, and any restaurant in which I dared to sit down alone.

    I'm only doing this now because of the misinformation that's floating around out there. Think it doesn't get back to me? Anyway, sometimes it really is best to set the record straight because it's therapeutic as well as noble. Maybe I won't change anyone's mind, but I think it'll help to exorcise the demons that have clung to me.

    One thing, I am certain: the way my life with Randy ended will stick with me forever. There's no exorcising that demon. Part of it has to do with my own actions and some of it has to do with the explosion, but I know that those events have changed me as a person. More on that later.

    In the weeks and months that followed, I dreamed about Randy. Almost every night, in fact, even if I didn't remember it when I woke. They weren't the nightmares that you might expect, but they were no loss poignant. When I woke from them, I always punched my pillow, because of my renewed disappointment and loss, but I'd always gained a greater understanding of the world in which we live.

    In some of the dreams, Randy and I are still happily married, and not one worry troubles our peaceful minds. We were living our lives the way they were meant to unfold (as far as I'm concerned) and I couldn't have been happier or more radiant. Sometimes we would be out on our boat-even though we'd never owned one in real life-and sailing down the Niagara River on a sunny day. Other dreams see us on a Sunday afternoon picnic in the park.

    Other times, I am back at Randy's grandparents' house, and I can see that all-consuming darkness again. I struggle to reach the stairs, call out to Randy, and again he shouts, “Get the hell out of here and stay safe!” Then I see the roof blow off the house, the light illuminating the neighbourhood like an extended flash of thunder, and those two figures join hands and float into the sky.

    But I don't have those dreams anymore. I think Randy has taught me how to strike them from my mind without even knowing it! Though the dreams were mostly pleasant memories, they are ones I must relinquish. I still dream, but I hardly remember what about when I wake up. All I can say is that I enjoy a pleasant and restful sleep. The sleep of the just!

    What I know for sure is that much of the outcome would have been different had one decision or another been different. If I hadn't blown him off, for example, maybe he wouldn't have even been in the house that night. But we were in that situation because other decisions-many of than Randy's-could have been different. And therefore I feel no reason to guilt myself over it. Maybe that sounds like an easy way to absolve myself of responsibility, but it is the reality of it.

    It takes two to tango, as they say. In our life, Randy was an equal participant, and I never forced his hand, but I don't want to continue to blame him. I don't want to hold a grudge either. As the saying goes, life goes on.

CHAPTER 33
    Randy still hasn't been