Annaka

by Andre Fenton

  “Shh, she’s coming,” I heard Mom say.

  “She can probably hear you, calm down,” Nan answered.

  I felt a stupid grin coming, and as I turned the corner Nan blew into a birthday kazoo, and Mom held up a plate of pancakes.

  “Happy birthday!” they both said.

  As upset as I was, the surprise lifted my spirits. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten my own birthday. I was glad I had folks who remembered.

  “Thanks, guys.” I smiled. “I appreciate it.”

  Mom placed a plate of pancakes on the table in front of me. I sat down, not exactly hungry, but ate them anyway.

  “They might not be as good as your grandfather’s,” Mom said. “But I’m trying my best.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “Thank you, I haven’t been keeping track of time lately. I…honestly forgot my birthday was today.”

  “You’re young, don’t let go of your memory just yet,” Nan joked.

  Through the grief, I was happy Nan was doing better than when we got here. That wouldn’t have been possible without Clay.

  I smiled and took a big bite of the pancakes.

  As nice as it was to see Tia, Mom, and Nan that day, I thought back to what I had been doing a year ago in Halifax. I had gotten home from school and Mom was away. I hadn’t had a good day. I was alone, overwhelmed with school, and sad. That evening the phone rang; I picked it up to hear his voice. My grandfather’s. It was our yearly routine. One of the hardest parts about losing someone is losing the little things. I got choked up when I realized I wasn’t going to receive a phone call for my seventeenth birthday. I wasn’t going to hear him tell me the story he told me every year. That wasn’t going to happen ever again, and I had to come to terms with that.

  I could barely stomach any food; instead, I decided to go outside and sit in the tree house, wishing it could take me away from the rest of the world.

  I thought about Clay and I spending so many nights up there, clear sky or rain, soaking in everything. The sky was clear, so I watched the sun begin to set and I could see the universe for what it really was. Healing.

  A little while later I was surprised by a familiar voice.

  “Hey, hon.” Mom was climbing up the ladder to the tree house. “Happy birthday.”

  “Mom, hi?” I sat up. I didn’t expect her to come out here.

  Mom was trying, I knew. I loved her, and I apologized, and I forgave her. We were a work in progress.

  “You’ve been in your room a lot. Are you okay?”

  “I am. Everything is just…everything is just hard.”

  “I know, hon.” She gave me a hug. “I know. Loss isn’t always straightforward.”

  I moved out of the way so she could sit down. She lay back with me and we looked at the sky sprinkled with stars that were so far out of our reach. I never had a chance to sit up there with Mom before. Back in Halifax, we sometimes sat on the rooftop and looked at the streets below because we couldn’t always see the starlight. But there was something genuine about this. I think she could feel it too.

  “You’re still thinking about him lots, aren’t ya?”

  I knew she meant Grampy. “Yeah. Yeah I am.” She didn’t know who I was talking about—and maybe I meant both.

  “I’m sorry, hon.” She held on to me and I rested my head on her shoulder.

  I never told Mom about my confrontation with Blake. I thought it might hurt her too much. Mom was more than enough for me—I was realizing that even though I didn’t always show my appreciation, I had hit the jackpot when it came to moms.

  “You spend so much time alone, I always feel like there’s more I should be doing,” she said.

  “No, Mom. No. You do more than enough. I’m just hurting right now. But you’re the best mom anyone could ever ask for.” I paused. “I’m sorry about how hard I made coming back for you. I really messed up. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I should have been more empathic.”

  “Oh, babes. You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m sorry too. I should have been more honest with you.” She looked down at her hands and then back at me. “We’re different, me and you. I spend most of my time running away from the past, you spend most of your time running straight into it.”

  I sat with that for a moment. She was totally right: our relationship was like a game of tug-of-war. We spent so much time heading in opposite directions, it caused a rift between us. But there we were, laying in my childhood tree house, finding peace in the middle.

  “Is he the reason you want to be called Annaka again?” Mom asked after a while.

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “I spent so much time hating that name. To suddenly understand why I have it, and how much those before me sacrificed…I don’t know. I can never be ashamed of our family’s past. I can never be ashamed of who I am, or where I come from.”

  Mom smiled at that. I was done dwelling in the past. I wanted to start anew, focus on the future. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep a small piece of the past with me.

  “He would be proud of you, y’know.”

  They both would be. I knew that. I was also sure I would never be alone—Clay would always be close by, whether I was aware of it or not. Clay might have been able to take me to the past, but I think the most important thing he taught was that I have to stay present. I can’t be chasing ghosts. I can’t be chasing hurt. I can’t be chasing things that can’t be changed.

  “I’m glad that things are okay between us,” Mom let out.

  “They’ll continue to be okay. I promise, I’m going to finish up school next year, and who knows what the future will bring. All I know is right now, I get to spend time with you, Nan, and Tia.” I smiled. “That doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

  Mom smiled too. “I got you something.” She sat up, pulled over her purse, and dug into it. “Close your eyes, okay?”

  “Okay.” I giggled.

  “Put your hands out.”

  I felt her place something in them. It was soft, and felt like leather.

  “Open up, Annaka.”

  When I opened my eyes, I held a new journal in my hands. It was baby blue, emblazoned with “This is for the Seekers.” I could tell from the design of the text that Mom totally put that there. The leather was soft. I was a bit shocked at first, but I knew this would make room for the future.

  “Thank you, Mom.” I hugged her.

  “You’re welcome.” She rested her head on mine.

  We just lay there, looking up towards the sky that rested above our heads, knowing that this moment would bleed nostalgia someday. I already knew it would be the first memory I would write about.

  Eventually Mom left to put Nan to bed, but I stayed, looking at my new journal. It was different—definitely not the type Grampy would write in—but I was pretty sure this journal was going to start and end with me. Nobody else. It made me think back to what Tia had asked me earlier that day. Was I going to bury Clay?

  I went to my room and saw the torn journal resting on my night stand. Beside it was the picture of my namesake, Aunt Annaka, I had found in the attic. That felt like a lifetime ago, but I wanted to keep her close. Maybe I could get to know her.

  I picked up the old journal for last time, and carried it outside to a patch of grass beneath the tree house. With a shovel from the garage, I started digging. I knew that’s where Clay would want to be. I dug a hole not too deep, but not too shallow. It was in the in-between—just like Clay always was. Between our world and his. I knelt and placed the journal beneath the earth, under the tree house we called home. I didn’t cry; I was saying goodbye.

  As I smoothed the earth, I heard a voice. “Hey, you ready for that drive?” It was Tia.

  “Tia, hey. I thought you were going to text me.”

  “I did…you didn’t reply. But I see you’ve ha
d your hands full.” She pointed to the shovel in my hand. “You did it,” she realized. I heard a bark in the distance and could see Taz making his way into our backyard. He jumped on me, barking happily and licking the dirt from my hands.

  I chuckled. “Thanks for the birthday love, big guy.”

  “How about it, captain?” Tia asked again. I knew she wanted to get me away from home, and honestly, that wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Let’s go.” I got to my feet. “We’ll take my ride.”

  We all fit in my truck and I drove towards Cape Forchu. The sky was spitting light, and I followed the setting sun towards the lighthouse. When we got there Taz ran off, but we knew he wouldn’t go too far. Tia and I made our way to the top of the hill, wandered away from the main area, and walked along the rocks. I was a little ahead of her, but she wasn’t too far behind. She knew I was quiet for a reason; she had caught me burying my best friend. Now there we were, walking along the rocks above the sea.

  “Do you wanna keep conversation light?” she called.

  I stopped and let her catch up. “We don’t have to,” I said, looking onward.

  “Do you wanna talk about that night?”

  “I thought we already did.”

  “Yes, I mean, I know you went to meet your dad…I mean, Blake. I know the journal got hit by the truck, I know you were trapped in Clay’s world, and you had to rip the journal to get out. But…I don’t know.” She looked at me and squinted. “What did you see in there?”

  I hadn’t told her about seeing my grandfather. I was still trying to figure out the how and why of that happening. If everything I had written in the journal was from the past, how did I have an authentic conversation with my grandfather, in the present?

  “Clay…before Clay…died, I uh, saw my grandfather.”

  “Like, a memory?”

  “No, this was real. Clay grabbed hold of me, I closed my eyes, and I woke up in my backyard. But not in my reality, it was somewhere in between his and mine. I walked inside the house, and I seen him. I seen my grandfather. We spoke for a while.”

  “What about?”

  “Just everything, I guess. He told me a little about my aunt, he told me I was a seeker, he told me I had to…I had to help Clay.”

  Tia processed that for a minute. “How did that happen? I thought Clay could only bring things back from the past?”

  “I know, me too. But I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. When the journal was almost ripped in half, I think it created a rift between Clay’s reality and ours. Maybe the memories of my grandfather got projected into the present day? Like, how I remembered him, and because of that I got to see him? I don’t know. Maybe this is a lot….”

  “You’re never too much,” Tia assured me. “From what I can tell, that doesn’t seem too far-fetched.”

  “I just…I don’t know why he did that. I’ve been thinking about it a lot today, because Grampy would always call me on my birthday. And today, this was the first day I never received that phone call.”

  “Well, maybe that was Clay’s gift to you.”

  Tia’s thought lit up my heart. My jaw dropped. He knew my birthday was approaching, and he knew the tradition Grampy and I kept. He knew I wouldn’t receive a call this year, and had one last chance to do that for me.

  “I…uh, that’s….” I couldn’t catch my words. It made sense; Clay had always been selfless. “I think you’re right.” I finally found the words to say. “It was a gift.”

  “As far as gifts go, I got you one as well.” Tia reached into her backpack and passed me a picture frame. It was a copy of the sketch I’d drawn of her, Clay, and I all those years ago. “It’s corny, I know. I just know you’re the sentimental type, that’s all.”

  “It’s perfect.” I gave Tia a huge hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  She hugged me back with a big squeeze. “And I think, as far as traditions go, we could always start something new.”

  “Yeah?” I caught my breath as she let go. “What did you have in mind?”

  “This isn’t so bad, is it?” Tia raised her arms towards the sky. “Just the three of us.” She pointed to Taz pissing on the rocks below. I laughed. “How about we come here? Spend all night under these clear skies and create a new kind of nostalgia, a new tradition.”

  It certainly didn’t sound so bad. As I looked around, I saw everything I ever wanted: solid friendship, a place that felt like home, and a place where I finally found what I had been seeking. I found belonging, even if it had taken a long time. I was finally standing in it.

  “Besides, it sounds like you have a new canvas for the memories.” Tia pointed to the new journal Mom had gifted me, sticking out of my backpack.

  “Creating new memories that’ll some day be nostalgic.” I smiled. “That doesn’t sound like a bad journal entry.”

  “I knew you’d be up for it.” Tia grabbed my hand, and we ran into the distance, creating a new memory.

  It was the first time in a long while I felt a genuine smile extend across my face. Maybe it was the wind flowing through my hair, or the friends who loved me honestly even on my worst days, knowing that the phase after grief isn’t always linear. I was ready to explore these moments I know would grow into nostalgia. I had spent the better part of my life being a seeker, and this was it: I found exactly what I’d been looking for.

  I lived my life always so scared of the future, because I left so much of myself in the past. I left friends, family, and mysteries behind. I was scared that the future would somehow bury that part of myself. I was scared to move forward without confronting the things I left behind. I thought the only way to move forward was to dig deep into the mystery, and seek clarity. But one thing I learned is that we all have reasons to avoid the past. We all have events that change us, force us in a different direction. Sometimes it pushes loved ones away; sometimes it brings them closer. It was time to find my own path.

  This is me—finally learning to loosen my grip of the past, and creating something new. I knew these moments would become memories, and I would never be alone. Even if we are temporary, I was going to live in this moment, and allow myself to seek something new. I let those thoughts guide me, as we ran beneath the bleeding sky, we knew the stars would heal.

  Acknowledgements

  So many sleepless, coffee-filled nights and shots of espresso go into a book before readers see it. Add elements of time travel and fantasy, and you’ll overthink everything. I guess what I’m trying to say is authors are really, really tired. But this is an experience that I’m so grateful for. I would like to thank Whitney Moran and Terrilee Bulger for believing in this project from the start. It’s not every day we see an African Nova Scotian fantasy novel, and this is a very personal project that I have been developing for years. I am grateful that Nimbus Publishing took this project on with open arms.

  I would like to thank Emily MacKinnon for being a rad editor throughout this entire process—we made an awesome team. Thank you for everything!

  A big thank you to Jenna Giles for driving me to Yarmouth for location scouting, and to Joella Hodder for being supportive all the way through. You two are some of my closest friends, and I am lucky to know you.

  To Bria Cherise Miller and Amy Austin: thank you both for being excited about this project, and for letting me ask you so many questions about Yarmouth. A lot of my family is from Yarmouth, but I grew up in Halifax. Those visits I took during childhood summers fuelled the nostalgia for this project. I’m thrilled that both of you wanted to be part of this process, and it wouldn’t have been as genuine without your input.

  To Sarah Sawler: thank you for being a great friend and helping me through the process when I was new to everything. Making author friends is so important. I’m so grateful we met and bonded so easily.

  To Rob Grimes, a former co-worker and close friend: you pushed me
to write this book ever since I told you about the premise during a lunch break years ago. I told you I’d put you in the acknowledgments one day! Thank you for motivating me, my friend.

  To my mom, Penny Carter: thank you for being my Mom. But more importantly, thank you for being supportive of the work I’m doing. I couldn’t do any of this without you in my corner. Infinitely grateful.

  And to my grandmother, Dorothy “Dolly” Carter: you were always the inspiration for this project. I miss our phone calls on my birthday so, so much. Thank you for being my Nan, and for being a great co-pilot. One of the last things you told me is that you wanted to see my name in the credits some day. But if I could make a long-distance call to the next plane of existence, the first thing I would say is: this one is for you.

  July 21, 1943–June 26, 2015.