You've Reached Sam(40)

“I don’t know, Oliver…” I say, trying to let him down easy. “What are they even playing?”

“It changes every week,” Oliver says. He checks his phone. “Tonight is … Little Shop of Horrors. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course I have. It’s one of my favorite musicals.”

“Mine too.”

“I’ve seen it a dozen times.”

“Same.”

“You know, I even tried making Sam watch it with me,” I say, sitting down again. “But he wouldn’t. He said it sounded scary.”

Oliver laughs. “It’s not supposed to be scary!”

I lean into the table. “I know! But you know Sam. He doesn’t like musicals.”

“Oh my god—that was so annoying about him,” Oliver says with an eye roll.

“It really was!”

For a moment, it’s like we forgot what happened. Then Oliver stops smiling as we both remember again. Things turn quiet. I try to bring us back to the conversation. “Is there even a showing right now?” I ask.

Oliver checks his phone again. “There’s one in ten minutes…” He looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

I tap my fingers on the table, trying to decide.

After a moment or so, Oliver says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The ticket booth manager scowls as we burst out of the theater in song.

The ushers had basically kicked us out for disrupting the lobby with all our laughter. The movie was as wonderful as I remembered! Maybe it’s because I’ve heard it a million times, but I’m singing it in my head as we’re leaving.

I never thought I’d have so much fun with Oliver. He kept throwing popcorn at the screen and singing along to the musical numbers. Thankfully we were the only ones in there watching. I’m so glad I decided to see it again with him. Then I remember Sam. There’s an ache of guilt in my chest.

He always wanted Oliver and me to be friends someday. He should have been here to enjoy the movie with us, even if he hated musicals. The three of us, finally together.

It’s already dark out. The neon lights of the marquee illuminate the streets as we begin our walk home. I see the songs are stuck in Oliver’s head, too. He grabs a streetlamp and swings around it like Don Lockwood in Singin’ in the Rain, as he sings out loud.

“Suddenly Seymour, is standing beside you…”

Another time I might be embarrassed, but I can’t help smiling as Oliver keeps singing.

“You don’t need no makeup, don’t have to pretend…”

At one point I join in, too, as we continue our walk.

“Wow,” Oliver says. “It never gets old, you know?”

“I know. It’s really, what’s the word—” I pause. “Timeless.”

“Was it just me, or did the man-eating plant look bigger than I remember?”

“It might have been the screen.”

“That makes sense,” Oliver says, nodding. “Man, but don’t you love the ending? It’s so perfect, right? How Audrey finally gets everything she dreamed of. A quiet life, a house in the suburbs, a toaster … and Seymour!

She never asked for too much, you know? That’s the thing. It really makes you feel good.”

“It really does,” I agree. “But did you know that wasn’t the original ending? They actually had to go back and refilm it.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the original version, Audrey gets eaten by the plant.”

Oliver looks at me, eyes wide. “You mean, Audrey dies?”

“Yeah. She does.”

Oliver stops walking. “Why would they do that?”

“Because that’s what actually happens in the play,” I explain. “But when they showed the film to audiences, it made a lot of people upset. Because everyone loved Audrey too much. So they rewrote it and changed the ending.”

“I’m glad they changed it!” he says, a edge in his voice. “It would have ruined the entire movie.”

“I agree with you. I’m only saying that another ending exists.”

“But it shouldn’t, ” he says. “It doesn’t matter what they filmed before.

Because Audrey lives.”

“Maybe in the movie. But in the play, she doesn’t.”

“Well then I won’t watch the play—” He walks off.

I follow beside him. I didn’t mean to ruin the film. “You know, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Having different versions of something. At the end of the day, you get to decide what happened. So both can be true.”

Oliver turns to me. “That’s wrong. There can’t be two different versions of the same thing.”

“Why not?”

“Because one is the original, and the other is a copy. Something can feel the same or sound the same, but it isn’t the same at all. It’s inherently something else. So in order to have two different endings, you need two different Audreys.”

I think about this. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“I’m saying there’s only one of him, and that’s the one I knew. You can’t clone him or make different versions of him, and try to write a new him. You can’t make changes. Because there’s only one Sam.”