You've Reached Sam (33)

“Thank you,” Sam says. “I’m sure she could use a friend right now. Even if she won’t say it. So please don’t forget, okay?”

“I won’t forget. So don’t worry.”

“I know you won’t. Because you always remember. And that means a lot to me.” We don’t say much more about this. The conversation continues for a little longer until my mother comes up the stairs, calling me to help bring in groceries. “Anyway, I should probably let you go now,” Sam says. “I’m sure you have a lot of work to catch up on. Don’t want to distract you from the world.”

“You’ve never been a distraction.”

Sam laughs. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Wait…” I say before he hangs up. “One last thing.” There’s something I’ve been afraid to bring up. It’s been burning in the back of my mind since I returned to school. But I don’t even know how to ask him this. It takes a while for the words to come out.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

I hesitate. “Are you … mad at me?”

“Mad about what?”

“About what happened that night.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Julie…”

I swallow hard, wondering how to say this. “I mean, what I’m asking is … do you blame me for it? Do you blame me for what happened to you?”

A long silence.

“Oh…” Sam’s voice deepens, finally understanding. “Julie—why would you even ask me that? Of course I don’t blame you. I could never blame you for what happened,” he says. “None of it’s your fault, alright? But…” He stops there.

“But what?”

Sam takes some time to answer. “To be honest, I don’t know what else to say … I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question. I don’t really wanna blame anyone. Because it won’t change anything, you know? Nothing can change what happened. It’s hard enough to accept that…” For the first time, there’s pain in his voice, like something sharp is caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—” I start.

“It’s okay, Jules. Really,” he says to ease me. “Where did the question come from anyway? I hope that’s not what you’ve been thinking.”

“I didn’t at first. But I’ve heard some people talking at school.”

Sam’s voice sharpens. “Forget them. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They weren’t there when it happened, okay? Don’t let them get into your head.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all this right now,” he says.

“And I’m sorry you died.”

Neither of us says anything else. After we hang up the phone, I pick the papers up from the floor and sit down at my desk. It’s hard to focus after that conversation. I spend more than an hour trying to start a history paper, but barely get two sentences down. I keep thinking about calling Sam back, but I need to get some work done. The words inside the textbook blur and rearrange themselves, and I forget what it is I’m reading about. I must have dozed off at some point, because when I open my eyes, I’m no longer in my room.

A fog moves across my shoes, and when I look up, I find myself standing at a bus station. It’s dark out. I can’t see anything past the curtain of fog, not even the sky. I glance around to find someone but it’s only me out here. The only thing is the suitcase I borrowed from my dad when I last visited him. There’s a buzzing in my pocket. I reach inside and pull out my phone.

I turn on the screen.

Nine missed calls from Sam. Twelve texts I haven’t opened.

It’s 11:48 p.m.

Out of nowhere, the sound of a truck rumbles like thunder, but I can’t see it. It is this sound, and the exact time of the clock, that brings me back to that night from nearly two weeks ago.

This is the night Sam died. And this is where I stood.

The phone rings again, even louder this time.

It’s Sam. I didn’t bother to pick up last time because how could I know? This time I do, just to see if the ending changes.

The line crackles in my ear but I don’t hear anything.

“Sam! Sam—are you there?”

Nothing but white noise, like someone crinkling paper. I angle the phone, and turn in circles, until a voice finally comes through the line. But I can barely understand it.

“Julie? Who’s there? Hello?”

“Sam, it’s me! It’s Julie!”

“Where are you? I can’t find you. Julie?”

The phone keeps crackling. I don’t think he can hear me.

“Sam—I’m coming! Don’t worry—just wait right there!”

“Julie? Where are you—”

The phone crackles again before it sparks in my hand, and I yank it from my ear. Smoke pours from the screen as I’m shouting Sam’s name, filling the air like fog until I can no longer see what’s in front of me except vanishing streaks of red and white sparks.

A horn goes off, followed by the sound of guitar strings breaking, and I wake up at my desk. The smoke is gone.