Annaka

I knew I couldn’t escape the moment, and it was full of pain.
Above my head a light bulb flickered. I ignored it at first, but then it flickered again.
“Who’s there?” I called out. “Clay, is that you?” There was nothing.
Before anything could happen to the journal I stood up on the bed of the trunk and grabbed it, but again I could feel resistance. I pulled and pulled and eventually I got it but fell on the floor of the truck.
“Ouch!” I closed my eyes.
Before I got the chance to stand up, I heard rattling from the other end of the garage. I got to my feet and held the journal, ready to use it as a weapon. I kept twisting and turning, looking behind me and in front of me. I held the journal with a tight grip, until it felt like someone else had a grip on it.
“Hey! Let go!” I tried to keep it in my hands, but the pull was stronger than I was. The journal was yanked from my hands and I fell forward, yelling.
Then everything froze. It felt like someone was holding me in mid-air. I looked around wildly.
Nothing.
“What the hell is going on?!” I yelled.
I heard a voice, and all it said was, “The journal is staying with me.”
I looked up to see a face alongside a body making itself visible, standing on the bed of the truck with me. It looked like—
“Clay?”
The grey boy I had imagined as a child wasn’t a boy anymore. He was bigger, taller, and he looked around my age.
Clay stood me up softly. Even though I had been looking for him, I still couldn’t verbalize what I was feeling in that moment. It’s not every day you come face to face with a grown-up version of your childhood imaginary friend. I looked at his dark eyes, grey skin, and his curly black hair in braids that could use some tightening. I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. His face said black man, but his skin told a ghost story.
“Holy, crap. Clay.” I tried reaching out to him but he moved back, still holding the journal.
“Wait, don’t go.” I took a step forward.
He jumped off the truck, and continued to walk towards the door. I couldn’t let him leave, not again.
“Hey, Clay! Come back.” I stepped off the truck.
He didn’t say a word, but he looked back at me, his eyes full of anger.
“What’s wrong? Clay, it’s me. It’s me, Anna.” I paused. “Sorry, it’s me, Annaka.”
He stopped. He let out a loud sigh, looked back, and said, “I know it’s you. You never came back.”
That hit my heart. I had promised him that Mom and I wouldn’t be in Halifax for long. But then ten years passed; somewhere in that time, I thought he would have left.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
He only shook his head and went for the door; he let in a spring breeze and looked towards the lake.
“Where are you going?” I ran after him.
He didn’t reply. He was focused on being anywhere but there, I could tell. A decade may have gone by, but I still knew him.
“Hold up.” I grabbed his hand. He turned to look at me with a frown.
“Clay, I—”
“You came back for the funeral, right?” he cut in. “You’re heading back to Halifax shortly, right?” He crossed his arms and waited.
I thought for a minute. It was true that I had ultimately wanted to leave. But that was before I knew Clay was still here.
“No,” I said firmly. “No, we’re staying.” I looked into his eyes. “Clay, I didn’t know you waited.” I tried to touch his shoulder but he moved back.
“You said you’d be back sooner than later…it’s way later.”
“I’m sorry, Clay. I tried.”
He gave me a long look. I could see the sadness in the way he carried himself; his shoulders dropped, his face held a long, sad frown. I noticed he was still wearing my grandfather’s clothes, and they were a bit big for him. I guess he must have grown out of my clothes a long time ago. He turned to the lake.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Clay, this isn’t ideal for either of us. I’m sorry, okay? I know what I said. I know I told you that I would be back, and I wanted to come back. I really, really did.”
“Save it.”
“Wait!” I yelled again. “You have something of mine. That’s my grandfather’s journal.”
“You can’t have it,” he replied in a grim tone.
“No, you don’t get to take it.” I walked towards him. “It’s mine.” I tried to grab it but he was faster than I remembered. Next thing I knew, he was behind me. I moved again but he was swift.
“Clay, seriously. I’m not kidding.” I turned around to face him.
“Neither am I.”
“All right, all right. Whatever,” I said in mock surrender, hoping he would let his guard down. “It’s yours, if you want it. Take it. Whatever.”
He did let his guard down—he was still gullible, even after all those years—and that’s when I jumped at him, causing him to drop the journal. I grabbed it and tried to run. I didn’t make it too far though, he tripped me, and I stumbled forward out of the garage, tossing the journal in the air.
“Shit,” he muttered.
It was the first time I heard him curse, and it caught me off guard. I caught my balance and saw the journal hit some rocks by the tree house. I looked back at Clay; he held onto his arm as if he was hurt.
“What was that about?” I called out.
He didn’t reply, he only glanced at the journal and I knew he was going to dart for it. So I ran first; I could feel him behind me, but I jumped for it and got a hold of it. I rolled so I could jump to my feet, and I dashed towards the tree house. I climbed the ladder, Clay close