Annaka

behind me.
“Hold up!” I whirled around when I got to the top. “You have some explaining to do.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation!”
“Maybe that’s true, but the journal is mine.” I held it tight. “Why are you holding your arm like that, are you hurt?”
“Because whatever happens to that journal happens to me, all right?” He showed me a mark on his arm. “That’s why I took it last night.” He showed me his other arm where a dark bruise bloomed on his grey skin.
Oh, man, I thought to myself. When I dropped the journal it must have hurt him. “Did it hurt when I dropped it last night?”
“It didn’t tickle.” He crossed his arms.
“I’m sorry.”
“Just give it back.” He put his hand out.
“I can’t. Grampy gave it to me. I want to hold on to it.”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“I never do.” I backed away from him.
He gave me a hard stare; I knew he was still angry. But I was hoping I could make him budge. He was breathing heavy, I remember that was a thing he did when he was frustrated. I sat down on the floor of the tree house while he stared at the journal. I knew if he caught his breath then he would be able to talk.
“Just breathe, Clay,” I spoke while extending a hand.
“I am breathing!” He said, his breaths getting heavier and heavier.
“No, like me.” I took a deep breath, and he watched. “Like this, c’mon.”
He didn’t look impressed, but he did as I said, and I could tell he was beginning to calm down as his shoulders relaxed.
“You good to talk? Like adults?”
“Whatever,” he said. “Fine.”
“Okay. Let’s go back into the garage where no one can see you.” I gestured at the ladder. “C’mon.”
Back in the garage, Clay paced with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.
“Okay, what d’you wanna talk about?” he asked.
“You were here? The whole time?” I sat back down on the back of the truck.
“I was waiting…for you.” He stopped pacing and pointed at me.
I looked down at my feet, a twisting feeling of regret in my stomach. So Clay spent ten years in this place alone while I was away living a new life in the city. God, that’s horrible.
“Clay.” I put my hands on my head. “I didn’t know. I just assumed—”
“You assumed wrong.” He took a breath.
“Why did you stay?”
“For a while it was hope, but I lost that a long time ago,” he said as he shot me a look. “A lot of it was safety. I couldn’t last out there, in the real world. This is the only place I’ve ever known. And if that journal ever gets wrecked, I’m toast.” He sighed.
I never knew that when I was younger. I had always thought Clay was just…Clay. I didn’t know that if the journal got damaged, he’d be hurt too. But it made sense now. Partly.
“Did…did my grandparents ever see you?” I was honestly curious. Some folks can live for a long time not knowing they have mice, but how did my grandparents not know a large grey figure the size of a young man was staying in their home?
“They’ve never seen me,” he assured me. “I wasn’t exactly always here. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’ll be easier to show you,” he said. “Open the journal, pick an entry.”
I opened it up, and thumbed through until I found the entry where I had a drawing of Grampy driving me to Cape Forchu. That was the one I had been thinking about when I walked to Grampy’s urn at the funeral.
Clay walked towards the truck and got in the driver’s side.
“What are you doing? That’s not yours.”
“Get in.”
I hesitated. But then I moved one foot forward, and the other followed. I opened the passenger’s side door and climbed in.
“Okay, so what’s going on?” I asked.
“Open up that page in the journal again.”
I flipped through the pages. There were drawings and journal entries above each one.
“Find the one where you were riding to Cape Forchu,” he said.
“It’s here,” I said, opening up the page.
“All right.” He looked straight at me.
Clay extended an open hand. His eyes began to glow blue. “It’s just like when we were kids, remember?”
It was not exactly how I remembered it. I didn’t know what would happen, but I took his hand and closed my eyes.
Suddenly, we weren’t sitting in the garage anymore. I could hear birds chirping and feel a warm sun pressing against my skin. I opened my eyes and I was standing on damp grass with morning air. I looked around. We were in the park just off the Yarmouth waterfront.
“Holy shit,” I said out loud. What is happening?
“Annaka! Who taught you to speak like that?” I knew that voice.
My eyes widened. That voice—the one I was so afraid I was going to forget. It felt real, but it couldn’t be. This had to be a trick. I closed my eyes and opened them again, trying to wake up from this dream, but then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned around.
And there he was: large in appearance, dark skin, grey beard, and a smile that took all my fears away.
“Gramp…Grampy?” I managed to say while taking steps back. I tripped over my feet and fell back into the grass.
“Always tripping on your feet,” he said with a chuckle. He leaned over and pulled me up; his skin touched mine and it felt as real as anything.
“No more language like that. But I’ll keep it a secret if you promise not to repeat it. Deal?” He smiled.
“Deal,” was all I had the courage to say.
I didn’t understand any of it. One second ago I was in the garage with Clay, and now I was…in the park…with my grandfather. But I wasn’t the same. I was younger—a lot younger. I looked at Grampy and gave him a big squeeze.
“Hey! Thanks for the love, hon.” He