Annaka

bedsheets through the window and I could hear crickets chirping. It was almost the same feeling I had ten years ago. I want to say that it felt like home, but everything was different. It took coming back to know what emptiness felt like. As angry as I was, I was starting to catch my breath as cool spring air made its way into my room. I sat up and looked at the lake outside my window. How bittersweet that view was. I shouldn’t have taken everything out on Mom the way I had. I knew she was trying her hardest, and that was probably the last thing she needed to hear from me.
As the anger left, I could feel regret taking its place. As messy as this entire situation was, it was a surprise to all of us. I had never seen Mom cry until that night; there was a world of vulnerability inside of her that I never got the chance to see.
It didn’t take long for the cool air to become chilly, but I liked the cold. I tried closing my eyes again. Then I heard a creak above my head. It sounded like it came from the attic.
I was pretty sure Mom was asleep, and I doubted Nan would be up there this time of night. So I ignored it. But it didn’t take long for it to happen again, and this time a bit of dust fell down on my forehead.
“Ugh.” I sat up and could hear more creaking. “Mom, is that you?” I called.
There was no response.
A piece of me was curious; it had been forever since I was up there. Birds would sometimes get stuck up there when I was younger, and Nan would have to go up and open the window so they could fly out. I didn’t want a little bird to stay trapped.
I made my way up the steps and at the top, the first thing I noticed was the smell: lemons and cigarette smoke. Grampy was a smoker but tried to hide it most of the time; the attic wasn’t the smartest idea. He would use lemon-scented air fresheners to hide the odour. We all knew what he was doing anyway. He thought he was being sneaky, but men always think they’re one step ahead when they’re full of shit.
It was cold up there but everything still looked more or less the same. Just with more dust and a few extra spiderwebs. But there was no bird up there that I could see. The cigarette smell was still strong—Grampy must have been smoking up here just a few days before. A part of me held hope this was just a bad magic trick, but it wasn’t.
When I walked on the floor it creaked beneath my feet, and I knew there was no way a bird was heavy enough to make that sound. My curiosity piqued when I saw an old trunk at the other end of the attic. Something told me to go for it, so I did. I popped it open and found old blankets, folded-up curtains, and I could feel a few things at the bottom. I pulled up an old photo album. My heart almost leaped out of my chest as I sat down and opened it.
The first photo was of Grampy and Nan kissing outside of the house with a “Sold” sign in front of them. They both looked so young and happy. It must have been when Grampy started teaching. I flipped a few pages and found a baby photo of Mom that made me smile. I had never seen her baby photos before. I moved farther along to see her first day of school. She was wearing overalls and her hair was in braids just like me. It made my heart melt. Mom usually wore her hair in a natural Afro these days, but it was cute to see her rocking my iconic look. I continued until I saw me. I looked real young, about four or five. Mom, Grampy, Nana, and I all stood in front of the house—and I could see it was the family that made this place a home. I really needed that. I kept flipping, close to the other end. I found what looked like a photo from ages ago; it showed a young woman, a teenager. I had never seen her before. She was a little bigger, and had long dark hair and skin. She was sitting, smiling, in a rocking chair.
“Who are you?” I asked aloud. After a moment, I put the album away and kept digging.
I eventually felt another book. I pulled it up to see it full of dust, but recognized it as the dark grey journal Grampy had given me on my first day of school years ago.
“Woah, there you are,” I said with a smile.
It wasn’t in the best shape—the pages were wrinkled and looked water damaged. They felt real stiff but I flipped through it anyway. I opened up to the first few pages and found a drawing of what I thought looked like me. Not to brag, but most kids’ drawings were pretty bad. In my case, it didn’t take too long for me to learn a thing or two from Mom. I flipped through a few more pages to see the small grey boy I had drawn when I was a child. Clay.
“Miss ya, buddy.” I smiled and put a hand on the page. I moved past the drawings and found the entries I made each night. Beside one entry was a drawing of Grampy giving me a piggyback by the lighthouse that said “Cape Forchu” above it. It was a bittersweet feeling. I think the hardest thing about seeing it, was realizing I’d never get a piggyback up that hill again. I didn’t want to think about it, so I closed the journal.
I had never said it out loud until tonight, but deep down I’d always resented how