The Between Years

armpits in papers and books, not including the required coursework. Just trying to keep track of the hundreds of sources I've consulted for my bibliography has been a challenge. Randy and I had a truck that involved using recipe cards to remember all of our sources, but I ran short of them one night, and it threw me off completely. Not even our foolproof method can save me!

    Maybe I've just spent too much time as a teacher and have been away from being a student for too long. I've long advocated that it's never too late to finish your first or highest degree, and I want to believe that the same principle applies to me too. To me, the only way to finish something difficult is to press on and weather the storm. And I made a promise to myself to finish it. Make a promise keep a promise.

    Not that Randy ever held me back-he was my biggest supporter in achieving my doctorate-but I have so many more goals in life. Part of me wants to write a novel too. I would like to resume piano studies I dropped out of as a teenager. Sometimes I feel like there simply aren't enough hours in the day, days in the year, or years in a life to do everything I want to do. I guess you can say that I'm a woman of many passions, and that I'm ambitious enough to tackle all of them.

    But for now, I'll stick to writing my dissertation on the Victorian literary era. There are some very thick novels to know inside out and backward, and a lot of sexism to wrap my head around. I sometimes find my mind wandering, but I know that I can stick to this, accomplish my goals, and move on the way Randy would have wanted me to.

    And if I really do earn my doctorate and find a better job, I'll have the freedom to move away from Fort Erie, and never have to give this place another thought. Why, I could try to find work at top-notch universities like the University of Toronto, McGill, or the University of British Columbia. Working out west would really remove me from every memory of this place. And maybe I'm just dreaming, but that doesn't seem like such a sin.

    And I know how ridiculous it might sound to some. Surely, they will wonder why I'm bothering to write this diatribe if I just want to blow town and forget about everyone in it anyway. Well, everything has a reason

    For me, that reason is very simple, that I've taught my literature students that every narrator has a reason to tell a story. Likewise, every narrator has a bias that must always be considered. For me, my purpose is to tell a story to which others are unlikely to be receptive. Why? Well, sometimes the stories that offend the masses are the most useful to society. Literature has always been a social commentary. And the reason for writing is not to create fiction, but to tell the truth.

    My story is the truth about Randy Fuller, our son Kenny, and our life together that the people of Fort Erie won't care for. As I've repeated throughout this story, I don't mean to make my husband look like a villain. Only you can decide whether to believe that. But I do believe it's important to make everyone understand that the man wasn't infallible. I'm not infallible either. I can only retell our lives in the most objective way possible, even though I'm as vulnerable to a bias as any narrator is.

    When someone can see both sides of a pancake, one can see that it is more complicated than it appears, and that everyone's motivations need to be considered. Randy was the friendly face that people saw at the library, and it's natural to want to take his side, but to forget that it takes two to tango is ignorant. That is the reality of living in a small town.

    I also need to admit that I'd never believed in ghosts until the night of the explosion. Yes, you might think I'm crazy, but I'm not writing this text to hold anything back. I'm not sure what it was that I saw on the night of the explosion, but it most certainly was supernatural. But what had caused the explosion has given me much more to chew on.

    More than anything, I want to make sure the complete truth us told, uncensored and unabashed. That's what so many stories tend to leave out, and it what makes them weak and I don't care to make myself look like the hero in anything. I could explain all this to a therapist, or I could make sure I express my feelings in the most appropriate forum possible. Then I won't need to give a damn what anyone in Fort Erie thinks.

    So, I'll leave this with anyone who cares to read it. Maybe it will result in more dirty