by Andre Fenton
Grampy kissed Nan on the forehead; it made my heart smile.
“You don’t worry about a thing,” he said.
Grampy took the plate back to the kitchen. I could see the stress on Nan’s face. She stood up and I followed her outside to the deck. She shook her head and slammed her first on the deck railing, over and over again.
“Where is that stupid! stubborn! girl!” she yelled.
Grampy came outside two seconds later with a worried face.
“Hey, hey. Tanya.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Shh. She’s going to come back soon.”
“What if she doesn’t come back?” I could see tears coming from Nan’s eyes. “What if something happened? I don’t know. She hasn’t been herself lately. I shouldn’t have got into it with her that night. I shouldn’t have….” She was weeping now and Grampy just held on tight. I could see his eyes were filled with fear too.
“God,” I said aloud. “What happened?”
Clay looked at me, but he didn’t reply. He wanted things to play out for me to see.
“I’m going to take a ride downtown,” Grampy was saying. “Maybe she’s around there. I think you should stay here in case she comes back.” He pulled back and looked her in the eyes for a moment. “Let’s go inside, okay?”
Grampy led Nan inside, then grabbed his keys—the same keys that were now mine—and made his way to the truck. I followed. Once we were in the garage, I hesitated. Now what?
“This is where you should get in,” Clay explained. I opened the passenger door and slid in. It was like I wasn’t even there, because I guess, in a way, I wasn’t.
Clay knew what I was thinking. “You can’t change anything,” he assured me. “He can’t see or hear you. You’re only observing what he wrote.” Clay’s voice resonated in my ears, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“So…how could I talk in the other memory?”
“Because that’s the one you wrote. It was your memory. Again, you could say whatever you want. But nothing would really shift how things played out.”
Grampy put the truck in reverse and made his way towards the main road. It led him out of the south end. He turned on the radio. He drove down Main Street keeping his eyes to the sidewalk, hoping he would find Mom. He turned and drove towards the water. Then he parked in the same parking lot Clay and I were in now, behind the bar. He got out of the truck and walked to the door.
“This is…weird,” I said to Clay, watching Grampy disappear inside.
“Go in,” I heard Clay’s voice respond.
I got inside just in time to see Grampy go right up to the bartender, who was cleaning glasses.
“Hey, hey, Rudy,” the man said. “It’s been too long. Can I get you anything?”
“Not today. But have you seen that Morrison boy around?”
“Blake?” the bartender asked, pointing to a booth over to his right. There was a young man with white skin and blond hair, face first into the bar counter with half a glass of beer sitting beside him. “I think I found the treasure you’re looking for.”
“Yeah. And I’m going to bury it.” Grampy moved forward and grabbed the young man by the collar of his jacket, lifting him up.
“Woah, woah, woah!” The young man mumbled, waking up. “Last call isn’t until—”
Grampy pulled him off of the chair and let go, dropping him backwards onto the floor. He hit it. Hard.
“Listen, you little shit.” Grampy leaned down. “Where. Is. My. Daughter?”
My jaw dropped. It was a mixture of amazement, shock, and disbelief. I never took Grampy as the type of person to get into bar fights. It felt like a movie.
“Oh, shit,” the young man said once he realized who Grampy was. He tried to get up but Grampy sent him back to the floor, harder than before.
“Ow! Stop doing that.”
Grampy grabbed him by the face and said, “I’m not playing, boy. I will send you down again. The only reason I passed you was because I was sick of looking at you in my class. And why,” he squeezed to emphasize his point, “is a twenty-one-year-old dating my seventeen-year-old daughter?”
Ew. Okay, that was weird. I always thought that guys who went after younger girls like that were never mature enough to date people their own age. It was a gross power dynamic issue.
“Okay, okay.” The younger man put his hands up in surrender. “She’s been staying at my place.”
“Where is your place?” Grampy got closer.
“I’ll take you there. Let me grab my keys.”
“With all the drinks you’ve had? Don’t even play. You ride with me.” Grampy shoved him out the door.
Blake got in the passenger side and I managed to jump onto the back of the truck as they drove off. “Jesus. Where was Mom staying?” I asked myself as we made our way out of town.
I never knew Mom had a rebellious side. I remember she mentioned it at the funeral, but I guess I’d get to see it first hand. I couldn’t imagine her going after a bad-boy creep who hangs at bars during the day. She was better than that, and she was better than him. I eyed that guy sitting next to Grampy through the back window of the truck. I got bad vibes.
Grampy eventually rolled up to an old rusty trailer near the edge of a forest. I had no idea why this guy lived so far out of town. I don’t know if it was the dark, quiet forest, or the lonely trailer at the end of a sketchy road, but the place wasn’t exactly welcoming.
They both got out of the truck and made their way towards the trailer. There was a broken window patched with a black garbage bag. Classy. Grampy shoved the young man towards it.
“Okay, okay,” the young man said. He let out a breath, and opened the door. “Jayla,” he called. “Your fath—”
I saw Mom come out. Her hair was a mess and she was wearing a dirty grey hoodie.
“I seen you pull up,” she said. “Let’s skip the confrontation.” She looked uninterested in the boy and walked past Grampy towards the truck.
“Well, that’s that,” Grampy said to the boy.
“Wait. Are you going to drive me back to my truck? We left it at the bar.”
“The highway is a twenty-minute walk that way.” Grampy pointed. “You can sober up while getting your hitchhiking thumb ready.”
“Oh, c’mon!”
Grampy laughed and shook his head.
Mom climbed into the passenger seat and sat looking forward, not saying a word. I scrambled up in the back, and noticed when Grampy got in he didn’t say a word either. He put the truck in reverse and backed it onto the dirt road.
“Does that guy hit you?” he finally asked, once we were on the highway.
“What? No. Why would you even ask?”
“I have reason to believe he does. Why would you run away to this dirty, old, beat down trailer and—”
“Dad,” She cut him off. “Blake is a lot of things. But he doesn’t hit me. He never has, and he never will.” Mom gave him a serious look. I could tell she was pissed off that he had even asked.
Grampy shook his head and kept his eyes on the road. “Your mother is worried sick.”
“Why is she always on my back?” Mom shot back. “Because I broke curfew a few times? Because I hang out with Blake too much? All you guys ever do is nag, belittle, and get mad at me over stupid shit.”
“Because we want the best for you!” Grampy spoke over her. “We don’t want you hanging out with that loser—”
“He’s not a loser!”
I cringed when Mom said that. That Blake guy was, in fact, a loser.
“Oh, come on, Jayla. Yes he is. You’ve been living in a pigsty for three days. Why?”
She didn’t reply.
“Are you going to answer me?”
There was nothing.
He sighed loud enough for the entire county to hear.
&n
bsp; “I was scared, okay?” Mom finally said. Her frustration turned to weeping. Grampy looked over at her, confused.
“What were you scared of?” he asked.
“Letting you down.” The tears kept coming down.
“Jayla, what’s going on?”
“I’m so sorry, Dad. I am so, so sorry.”
Grampy pulled the truck over on the side of the highway and held Mom’s hand.
“Jayla, what are you sorry about?”
Mom composed herself and finally told him. “Three days ago, I was already freaked out by the time I got home. Then Mom started losing her shit at me. I had to leave. I couldn’t be around her…or you.”
“What were you freaking out about?” Grampy looked concerned.
“Because I’m pregnant.”
My heart felt like it fell a thousand feet and hit concrete.
“What the fuck?!” I yelled. The pieces were falling together. Mom was pregnant in October 2002. I was born in June 2003.
That meant….
That Blake….
Blake Morrison.
Is my father.
This was the man I had been so curious about? I felt overwhelmed, heartbroken, and I was chasing each breath that came after.
Grampy sat there, frozen. Not sure how to react. The tears kept coming from Mom while Grampy’s face read blank.
“Do you hate me? Do you hate me?” she kept asking. “Say something!”
She pushed his arm but nothing came out of him.
“It’s true!” Mom cried. “All I do is let you down. I let everyone down. I am such a fuck-up. I just ruin everything!” She covered her face.
“Shhh.” Grampy held her hand. “You could never let me down.”
He embraced her while she cried into his sweater. He held on tight, resting his head on hers. Grampy hummed over the crying, and the hums eventually drowned out the sobbing.
Clay made everything fade. My heart was racing so fast I felt like I was going to throw up. I screamed as loud as I could, but all I could hear was Grampy’s humming echoing in my head. I kept thinking that I had seen my father, and his name was Blake Morrison. He used to have a trailer just outside of town. That thought kept running through my head.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Chapter 9
My first instinct was to get on the highway and drive to the trailer. I could remember the route Grampy took in the memory.
“Anna, that was years ago,” Clay said from the passenger seat.
“I know,” I said, driving back out onto Main Street. “But I mean, what if it’s still there?” Logically, I knew it was a stupid idea. But I did it anyway. I turned onto the highway and sped up.
“Anna, I don’t think he’s going to be there,” Clay cautioned.
“I need optimism right now,” I cut him off. “Tell me something positive.”
“That’s not how friendship works….”
He was right, of course, but I needed to do this. I spent so many nights, holidays, and birthdays wondering who my dad was. I had to find him. I had so many questions. Why did he never call? Why did he never write? Why did he never want me? I was going to find out one way or another. I had to. He owed that to me. The world owed that to me.
I found the dirt road from the memory and floored the truck so it wouldn’t get stuck in the mud. I emerged in the big open field where the trailer had been all those years ago.
The funny part was, some small part of me had been convinced it would still be there. I thought that maybe Blake would be there, and maybe, just maybe, he would be happy to see me. Maybe he would invite me in and make me a coffee. Maybe he would tell me that he missed me, and that he had tried to contact me. Maybe we could build some type of relationship. But maybes don’t set anything in stone. When I rolled up, I could feel the hope slip between my fingers.
“It’s not here.” I let out a breath. “Where did he go?”
“It’s been years, Anna,” Clay replied gently. “He probably moved on.”
“Don’t say that. He has to be around. I know it. I was so close. He sat exactly where you’re sitting.” I looked over at Clay sitting in the passenger seat. I wanted to cry.
I got out of the truck and ran to the spot where his trailer had stood. There was nothing there. I fell to my knees. I could see my tears hitting the grass. I could barely catch my breath.
“I saw him, Clay. I saw him with my own two eyes.” I was beginning to lose myself. “You saw him too, right?” I was pleading now.
“Yes.” Clay knelt down and put a hand on my shoulder. “I saw him too.”
I was beginning to get really sweaty and felt super dizzy. It was another anxiety attack.
“I can’t catch my—” I couldn’t finish my sentence; my throat was beginning to clog.
Clay caught wind of it fast and placed both of his hands on my head and looked me in the eye. His eyes turned blue and he said, “Hold on, Anna. I’ve got you.”
The open field, the grass, the truck, it all faded away seamlessly, and we were surrounded by darkness. A cool breeze blew in my face from the distance, and I finally felt like I could catch my breath again.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped, holding on to Clay. “I saw him. I saw him, and he was real. He was real.”
“Shhh,” Clay soothed. “Let’s just rest right now, Anna.”
I lay there in the darkness, holding his hand. We stayed in that place for a while. I thought of it as safe place. Somewhere away from the world. It was like a waiting room if life ever got too heavy. Clay motioned his hand and the darkness became peppered with stars.
“Just focus on those, okay?” he said. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
I hoped Clay was better at keeping promises than I was.
It felt like hours, but I honestly had no idea how much time passed. Clay noticed I was breathing at a normal pace again and he said, “You ready to go back home?”
“Not really,” I said. “Can we just stay here?”
I was grateful he had taken me away from it all. I still couldn’t believe I had seen my dad. Even more, I couldn’t believe Mom had never told me any of it.
“You could stay, but your Mom would probably freak out.” Clay half grinned.
“She’s always freaking out these days.” I sighed. “We should go back, I guess.”
Clay snapped his fingers, and the darkness began to fade away. The stars fizzed out but once everything was said and done, reality didn’t look much different. The moon was resting above us, while stars took over the sky.
“How long were we there?” I asked.
“A while, but it’s fine. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” I got to my feet and wiped the grass off my jeans. I turned around and saw the truck still in the same spot. We pulled out and back onto the highway towards Yarmouth. I didn’t want the road to end. I wanted to keep driving. At least when I was driving, I was in control. We drove back to the town in silence, and once we got close to my grandparents’ house Clay said, “I’m around if you need me.”
I looked to my right to reply, but he was gone.
I had a feeling Mom would be waiting for me, and sure enough, there she was, on the front porch in her housecoat.
“Anna!” she whisper-yelled. “Where were you?”
When I saw her, I didn’t know how to react. I kept thinking about her being the young, scared teenager in the dirty grey hoodie. I knew I couldn’t bring that up, since I didn’t have any reason to know about any of it. It would only make things worse.
“I was…at Tia’s place.”
“No. You weren’t. I called, and you weren’t there.” She crossed her arms. “Not only that,” she continued, “but I got a call from Ms. Anderson. Why weren’t you in class today? Appare
ntly it wasn’t the first time either. What’s up with that?”
“I… I….”
“Nothing to say? C’mon, Anna. You’re better than that. You’re better than this.”
How dare she say that? After I saw what I saw, those words coming out of her mouth sounded like some sick joke. She was the one who took me away from my hometown and then hauled me back and expected me to pretend everything was normal. This wasn’t normal. Grampy dying and her expecting me to finish off grade eleven in the school he taught at wasn’t normal. Suddenly moving back to my hometown with no timeline for our stay wasn’t normal. Never mentioning my father and pretending he didn’t exist wasn’t normal. There was nothing normal about any of this.
“Your grandfather worked so hard for everything he accomplished here,” Mom was saying now. “He worked so hard for me; he worked so hard for you. I don’t want you to go down this road. I don’t want you to let him down.”
That’s when I lost it.
“Hold up!” I yelled. “Me letting him down?! You’re the one who hasn’t visited in years. You never even saw him before he died!” I couldn’t contain myself. “Then you have the nerve to hold me to some higher expectation after taking me away from my hometown. Bringing me along to Halifax so you could study. I was fine here, Mom! I would have been fine, but no. You took me along so you could say you did it all by yourself while having a daughter!” I knew that last part wasn’t fair, but I was done being nice. “You didn’t even take into consideration my feelings when we left. You just left, and I never had a say!”
I didn’t know where that energy came from, but I wasn’t backing down.
“I’m not just some plot device for your story, Mom. I’m my own person. Now we’re suddenly back here, and we’re supposed to act like everything is normal? Are we supposed to act like Grampy being gone is normal? Am I supposed to pull up my bootstraps and move on? Don’t you think it hurts being in the school where he taught? Don’t you think it hurts having Nan treat me like a stranger? Is that supposed to be normal? And do you think that I’m supposed to pretend my dad doesn’t still live in this town? Or do you just edit him out because it’s easier for you, rather than having a real conversation with your daughter?”