I drove home listening to the same radio station and singing at the top of my lungs. In a way I was glad the day was over; I’d been stressing about it the past two weeks, and I was glad I didn’t have to think about it anymore. But on the other hand, I’d had a great time, and I didn’t want the day to end.

I brought my gifts into the house and was greeted by a mewing Joker, who shut up as soon as I fed her. Suddenly exhausted, I pulled on my pajamas and crawled into bed. Once there, my mind went back to the questions I’d pondered the night before, and for the second night in a row I fell asleep wondering what the whole deal was, and kicking myself for not asking Missy when I’d had the obvious chance.

JACK

MOVIES AND TELEVISION shows are great, because they almost always spare you the awkward and fumbling times after crises occur and people are left to pick up the pieces. “Six months later” fades in and out on a black screen, and were dropped back into the lives of the characters after they’ve spent morning after morning lying in bed, trying to find the energy to get up, and day after day unsuccessfully trying to avoid anything that will throw them back into their grief. I wanted desperately for reality to fade to black for just a minute, for crisp white words to appear and disappear, and for reality to come back into focus a couple months down the line, or even better, a whole year later.

Honestly, I would have settled for a week, just seven days of pain and grief and depression and guilt I could skip and not have to deal with. But even this Bermuda Triangle has its limitations, and one of them is that time insists on marching along and carrying you with it every excruciating step of the way.

Dianne’s death marked a turning point in both my life and my career. I became an advocate of AIDS research and safe sex, doing commercials, giving money, and attending charity dinners and other events. Truth be told, I only dove into this stuff in an attempt to assuage my guilt. Everyone told me over and over I wasn’t to blame, and I wanted to believe them. But I couldn’t.

I worked harder and longer hours than I ever had before, because going back to my apartment meant going back to Dianne’s ghost, hovering around the edges of the place like a premigraine aura. I took guest appearances on other television shows, accepted nearly every movie bit part I was offered, and lifted my ban on interviews to bring more attention to the causes I was supporting.