by Andre Fenton
“You have something that’s mine,” he said as he picked up the journal. And then, just like that, he vanished, along with it.
“What the hell?!” I ran down the steps as fast as I could and crashed into Mom.
“Anna, what happened?” Mom asked me groggily. “What’s going on up there? It’s two in the morning. I don’t want you to wake up your grandmother.”
“It’s nothing.” I caught my breath and thought fast. “I just wanted to see some old photo albums and got spooked. There was a bat; it flew out the window.”
“A bat?!” She was alarmed. “Oh no.” She started shaking her head. “Was there just one? If there’s more, we may have an issue….” Mom had that stressed look on her face.
“There was just one, and it’s gone now. I promise,” I lied. I made my way to my room. I shut the door to my bedroom and covered myself with the blankets.
I couldn’t believe what had just transpired.
Clay was here all this time.
I had so many questions I couldn’t process, while my heart was beating out of my chest. It felt like I had motion sickness but I kept myself under the blankets with one eye peeking out. There was no sign of him.
That…couldn’t have just happened, I said to myself. He’s still here?! I was breathing real heavy and checked my phone: 2:23 a.m. I had to be up in less than six hours. I looked across my bedroom again and saw the inside my closet. There read Clay above some measurements, right beside mine.
Chapter 4
The next morning it felt like my very bones were shaking. Clouds covered the sky, and I was filled to the brim with grief and confusion. Today was Grampy’s funeral, but what I had seen the night before…I couldn’t get that image out of my head. I knew what I saw—someone who looked like Clay. He spoke like Clay. Except he was older. What could he want with my journal? Grampy had given me that journal, and it was the only thing of his I had left. I knew I had to find it.
These thoughts were filling my head while I sat near the entrance of the church. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I felt so out of it. I looked across the funeral home at the giant photo of my grandfather, and it made me think back to the last time I actually spoke to him. It had been my sixteenth birthday. He called me, as he usually did. And he told me the story he always told, about the first time he heard my voice. I loved the way he told it. That night I had lain on the roof of our apartment building in Halifax speaking to him. At one point he asked if I could see the same stars he was looking at. I replied, “You can’t really see the stars too well in Halifax.”
“That’s a shame,” Grampy said. “But I’m sure there’s more opportunity over there for you.”
“Maybe,” I replied. “But it isn’t nearly as fun. Not much space for campfires.”
“Oh, so you’re looking for a story, are you?”
“We do this every year.” I laughed at his slick transition. “You’re going to tell it to me either way, so let’s get it over with.”
“All right, all right, well here it is. The first time I heard your voice, I drove you, your mother, and Nan to the hospital. We were waiting and your stubborn butt wouldn’t come out.” (He would always say that line.)
“I inherited that from you,” I shot back. I had been waiting a good six months to use that one.
He laughed and continued. “A little later, your grandmother told me to head home and clean up the house. She said she knew you’d be coming any minute. And I replied, ‘We’ve been here for eight hours, what makes you say that now?’ She said that she had a feeling. So I drove home, cleaned up the entire house. Top to bottom. The floors were sparkling.”
“Sparkling?” I cut in. “That’s some serious elbow grease.”
“Oh, believe me when I say sparkling. I put in so much work that I fell asleep on the couch and couldn’t hear the phone rigging.”
“That sounds just like you,” I said with a roll of my eyes.
“I wasn’t asleep forever, only about an hour. But when I woke up, I saw a message was on the answering machine. It was from your grandmother and she was shouting, ‘Rudy, Rudy! Pick up the phone. Come meet your granddaughter! And dress nicely.’”
That was something Nan would say. I smiled.
“And in the background,” he continued, “all I heard was you crying up a storm. I thought to myself that you had good lungs. I knew you had something to say and always would. When they told me your name, a tear came to my eye. They told me, ‘Her name is Annaka.’”
Grampy had always really liked my name. A lot more than I did. I never knew why, and I never thought to ask…and now I’d never be able to. I guess the saddest part of that memory was knowing that was the last time I would ever hear his voice.
Fast-forward almost a year, and here we were. I could see Mom on the other end of the church with Nan. There were lots of black folks around. There is a big misconception about Yarmouth having no black people, but that’s where Nan’s people stem from. Nova Scotia isn’t as white as people think it is, even if it is pretty white sometimes. Though I didn’t remember any of them, they all remembered me.
“Look at how much you’ve grown, Annaka,” an older black woman said to me. “I’m so sorry about your loss, dear.”
“Thank you.” I nodded, not knowing what else to say. I didn’t correct her about my name; I wasn’t in the mood for the response it would bring.
“I’m your distant cousin, Carla,” the woman continued. “Not sure if you remember me.”
I wish I did.
“I remember,” I lied with a smile. I didn’t want to be rude, and it was probably a lot easier to just lie. To be honest, I didn’t feel like hearing stories about everything that happened in the last ten years, or having to explain why I didn’t come visit, or what I should have done to make more of an effort. I wasn’t in the mood for any of that, so I wasn’t opening any door that led to that conversation.
The service was starting and I made my way to a seat in the front pew by Mom. An older black man named Pastor Dennis gave the eulogy. He has known our family for years. I sat and watched the pastor speak about my Grandfather’s life while I was trying to mourn the loss of him.
I think deep down I would have liked to say something. Lots of other people did: Carla told a story about the first time she met Grampy when Nan brought Carla to a Christmas dinner at the house. She spoke about how shy he used to be, and how different he became. I only ever knew him as the loudest person in the room. I could never imagine Grampy being shy; it almost made me laugh. Tia’s parents, Jonathan and Clare, spoke too. They talked about how he used to be their high school English teacher, and how he had also been teaching Tia before he passed away. I wondered what it’d be like having Grampy as a teacher. He must have been awesome because there were a lot of students present; all dressed in black, most repping Yarmouth High buttons. Shortly after the Evanses finished, Mom went up in front of everyone. I could tell she was nervous. She knows how to speak publicly—heck, she did it often—but that experience wasn’t useful for a funeral.
“My father spent most of his life with a smile across his face,” she began. “Even when the world tried to take it away. Coming to Canada from England with little family, he knew he had to be brave to find his way here. And judging by how many people are here, a lot of you cherished him.” She paused and looked out at the sea of faces. She took a deep breath and went on.
“Dad’s presence could chase away a cloudy day, and bring warmth to those who needed it most. I remember how supportive he was. Contrary to popular belief, my teenage years were always somewhat of a roller coaster. I wasn’t always setting the best example, and I sometimes got into a little bit of trouble.” Mom shrugged at the last part while the crowd let out some giggles. “But I always knew I could call Dad, regardless of the situation. No matter what happened. He would get in his big old truck, pick me up, and he�
�d buy me a cheeseburger, some French fries, and a coffee. And we would just talk it out.” Here she smiled, and a tear leaked out her eye and rolled down her cheek. “I think it was those small moments that left the biggest impact on my life. As stubborn as he was, he was wise. Rich in knowledge, and always could say the right things. He never shied away from his family in the difficult moments…the vulnerable ones. My father always rose to the occasion when it mattered most. I’m lucky to have been raised in such a loving home; he always treated my mother with love, respect, and cherished her even in the moments when she wanted to rip his head off.” The crowd laughed at that.
“I know that without his patience, love, and understanding, I wouldn’t have become the woman I am. He always had a special place in his heart for my daughter, Annaka.” Mom smiled while looking at me. I didn’t even mind that she had used my full name. It suited the moment. “I still remember how his face lit up the first time he met his granddaughter, and how joyful he was being able to watch her grow. He stepped in to be a positive male role model in my daughter’s life. He was so excited to have her around, and grow in the same household that he raised me in.
“My father was an anchor not only for his family, but also his community. He taught most of the people here, I’m assuming?” Almost everyone in the room nodded or raised their hand. My mother smiled and nodded. “My father cherished working with young people because he knew how vital those teenage years are, how important it is to make a lasting impact on a young person’s life, and how far that can take them into the future. All he ever wanted was the best for everyone. He did that by instilling hope in those who will be the future. I need every young person here to listen closely to the words I’m about to say. You hear?” She looked out at the audience again, scanning for the students. I could see the young people in the back saying yes as a way of acknowledgment.
“Embody the hopefulness he planted in your school hallways, in the classrooms where he spilled his knowledge, and use that as a foundation to build upon when you lead the future. Be kinder to one another, never shy away from fear, and be brave in this world, especially when the world is trying make you anything but. He believed in all of you, and right now, he needs you to be the future. He needs you to be the now. So jump into the world, and ignite a fire behind you, lighting a path for others to follow. I know you won’t let him down.” She paused to let that sink in, before finishing: “Thank you all for being here on this day. I want to give others the opportunity to share their memories of my father. God bless.” Mom nodded her head, wiping the tears from her eyes, while the attendees applauded.
That last part did warm my heart. Mom had the voice of a giant, and the strength of one, too. Grampy was an immigrant who came to Canada as a child. He never spoke about his family, nor did anyone else. When I was a kid, the only extended family who ever came over were great-aunts, uncles, and cousins on Nan’s side. The funeral was full of them. Add to that the large presence of students from Yarmouth High, and it just went to show that he didn’t need blood family to have a large funeral.
Afterwards I found Mom and Nan on a bench by the entrance. Tia’s grandparents, Ben and Lillian, and her parents, Clare and Jonathan, stood close for support.
“How you doing, hon?” Mom asked me.
“As good as I can be, I guess.” I shrugged. “You did great up there.”
She smiled. “Thanks, babes. Have you talked to any of the family?”
“Barely. Everyone here knows me but I barely remember any of them.”
“I know. You haven’t seen most of these people in years. I saw you with Carla, though. She’s going to be coming over later. Did you eat this morning?”
“No. I wasn’t hungry.”
“You should grab a bite to eat,” Lillian said. “There’s tons of food over there.”
I could see Tia standing by the food table and she waved me over. She gave me a big hug and I squeezed her right back.
“How you feeling?” she asked.
“Like I saw a ghost last night.”
She looked at me. “Odd choice of words.”
“I know. I’ll explain later.”
Had Clay actually been waiting for me all those years? I was still spooked from my experience the night before. And what exactly could I say to Tia? Hey, I saw my imaginary friend last night. You know, the one you have a drawing of? It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
“You remember Taylor, right?” Tia cut into my thoughts, bringing me back to reality. It was Taylor Bell, one of Tia’s friends growing up. I was glad to see she came.
“Hey, Annaka,” she said. “Good to see you. I’m sorry for your loss—Mr. Brooks helped me out a lot last year with English, I felt honoured to be one of his students.”
She extended both of her hands, and I grabbed hold of them and genuinely thanked her for coming. It was nice to see someone else who I remembered from elementary. I was sure there’d be more, but suddenly, I was more interested in food. I grabbed a plate and surveyed the spread. They had everything from ham to sandwiches, to meatballs.
The rest of the reception was full of warmth. Many folks offered me their condolences. I kept my distance from Nan. I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her and have her think I was a stranger. I felt so awful about it. I also felt bad because I hadn’t called home since last year. Maybe if I had, I could have had a proper goodbye with Nan. But that never happened, and I had to live with that.
I wandered, and finally made my way to Grampy’s urn. I knew I had to; I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t. I lost my breath when I actually saw it, but I knew I had to be brave, just like he would be. Although I was chasing each breath, I knew I had to keep moving. I tried going to a happy place, thinking back to Grampy taking me to the lighthouse while giving me a piggyback, and the way we used to run to the edge of the rocks and see nothing but blue: ocean under sky. We did that every Sunday. Those were memories I wanted to carry in my heart for the rest of my life. When my eyes closed, I was on Grampy’s back, on top of the hill that I pretended was a mountain, and we watched the sky meeting the ocean in a distance that stretched further than I could see. When I opened my eyes, my hand was on the urn that his ashes would be buried in. I know Mom wanted me and everyone there to leave feeling hopeful, but right now, hope felt like a daydream at best.
When things began to wind down, someone collected the urn and everyone made their way towards their vehicles. We were on our way to the burial. I decided to ride with Tia. It was a quiet ride, and I began to feel a hard weight making itself comfortable in my chest. The feelings were beginning to settle in. I just wanted to hug my grandfather again. I just wanted a piggyback. I wanted to hear his voice and I wanted to tell him that I loved him. But I’d never get that chance again.
“You okay, Anna?” Tia asked, her eyes on the road.
“No.” I closed my eyes, wanting to be anywhere else. “No, I’m not.” I could feel my chest tighten as I became short of breath—I was doing my best trying not to cry. The funeral was more than I thought it’d be, and I wanted to just let it out. All of it.
Tia extended a hand and I grabbed hold of it, tight.
“What are you feeling?” Always to the point, Tia.
I shrugged and looked out the window so she wouldn’t see my eyes welling up. “Scared.”
“What are you scared of?” she probed gently.
“Forgetting what his voice sounds like.” Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Tia kept her eyes on the road but I knew she could feel the pain—it was radiating off me. Grieving felt so awkward. Even at the best of times, I couldn’t open up to people. Mom and I only ever talked about school, work…the day-to-day stuff. Never emotions. I didn’t know how to allow myself to be fragile. I guess I kept everything bottled in, like Mom. After all, Tia and I barely even knew each other anymore. We spent a lot of time together as kids, but the y
ears had created so much distance. I wondered if all of that felt uncomfortable to her as well. If it did, she didn’t show it. She just held on to my hand tightly. I was thankful she was giving me space.
I kept looking out the window and tried to focus on what was out there. The cars were driving in formation to the graveyard. It was a little ways outside of Yarmouth, and the clouds weren’t breaking away. Raindrops began to pelt against the window. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Grampy. Not in the rain. Not today.
We arrived. Walking the path to the gravesite was the hardest part. I read my grandfather’s name on the tombstone. Rudy Brooks. Beloved Husband, Father, Teacher, Leader, Grandfather. Everything about him reduced to a handful of words. But he was more than anything that could be written on a tombstone—he was the sky that held everything, and everyone, together.
Tia’s grandfather, Ben, carried the urn and placed it in front of the grave. He wiped the tears from his eyes. These two had been best friends. They talked daily, and I couldn’t even imagine how Mr. Evans felt having to carry his friend’s ashes.
“I’ll miss you, buddy.” He knelt down and placed his hand on the urn for a moment.
Everybody else did that too, as a way to say goodbye. I was hesitant at first. Something inside of me didn’t want to—I knew if I did then all of this would be real. I wanted to wake up from this bad dream and call him. But when I placed my hand on the urn again, it hit harder than before. This time it was all…real.
I took in a deep breath and started crying again.
“I miss you, I love you, and I’ll never forget you,” I whispered.
And then the floodgates opened. I couldn’t stop crying. He was the man who taught me how to read and write. The man who told me ghost stories when Mom warned him not to. The man who taught me to tie my shoes. The piggybacks, the long drives, they were all gone. My tears splashed on the urn as Mom came up and wrapped her arms around me. She was crying too.