You've Reached Sam(46)

The clouds are out this afternoon. Oliver and I take the long route to avoid the crowds in town. When I tell him I’ve never visited Sam’s grave before, he doesn’t judge me. Maybe he already guessed this. Maybe he understands why I’m afraid to see it. As memorial hill rises into view, my stomach turns to knots. A few steps before we reach the iron gates, something stops me. Just like before …

Oliver looks back. “You alright there?”

“I just need a second—” I don’t know what else to say. I stare at the iron bars of the opened gate, wondering if this is a mistake. Don’t be scared, Julie. That’s not Sam up there. He’s still with you. You haven’t lost him yet.

“It’ll be okay. Here…” Oliver holds out a hand. “We’re going in together.”

I take a deep breath, squeezing his hand tight. Together we pass under the gates, and make our way up the hill. Oliver leads me through grass lined with grave markers and pinwheels. I step around them carefully, out of respect. I would have never been able to find Sam’s grave on my own. The grass seems to go on forever, spreading in every direction. It isn’t until Oliver stops and releases my hand that I realize we’re here. He steps around the stone marker, letting me see it better.

SAMUEL OBAYASHI

My body goes still. I read it to myself a few times.

He never liked the name Samuel. He would have wanted it to say Sam.

Sunflowers bloom from the vase in the center of the stone. They look fresh and beautiful, as if someone recently brought them here. A petal has fallen over his name, so I kneel down to brush it off. Then I notice something else in the vase.

A single white rose sticks out of the sunflowers. I touch it gently. It takes me a second to remember. “Is this one from you?” I ask Oliver.

“Yeah…”

My mind flashes back to that night we saw the movie together. “So this is where you went after…”

“I stopped by.”

I look at him. “How often do you come here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Oliver shrugs. “Maybe too often.”

I take a few steps back and stare at the grass. The space beneath the gravestone. Is that where Sam is supposed to be? I imagine him sleeping peacefully down there, because I can’t picture him dead. This is surreal. I was just on the phone with him. I swallow hard and look at Oliver. “Should I … say something? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

“You don’t have to. We can just hang out here for a little while.”

We sit on the grass together. The air feels eerily still, as if the wind doesn’t reach this place. I haven’t felt a single breeze since we entered. The trees around us are as inanimate as if they’re made of stone. I keep glancing over my shoulder. We seem to be the only two out here this afternoon.

Some time passes. Oliver picks at the grass in silence. He hasn’t said anything in a while. I wonder what he’s thinking about. “Do you usually come here alone?” I ask him.

“Usually.”

“And you just sit here like this?”

“Sometimes I change the water in the vase.”

I stare at his rose again. I wonder how many flowers he’s given Sam.

“You really miss him, don’t you?”

“Probably no more than you.”

We both look at each other. Then he looks away, and things go quiet again.

“I think Sam would be happy to know you visit him,” I say after a while. “I think it would mean a lot to him.”

Oliver looks up. “You think so?”

“I do.”

After a moment, he lets out a tense breath. “I just don’t want him to feel alone, you know?” he says. “Like, what if he needs some company? I want him to know that someone’s here.”

A pain shoots through me. I wish I could call Sam and let him hear this.

I wish I could tell Oliver about our calls, just to give him some sort of peace. What would he even think? Would he believe me?

In almost a whisper, Oliver asks a bit nervously, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Sometimes … I talk to him.”

“To Sam?”

Oliver nods.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, right here,” he says, gesturing at the grass where we sit. “Out loud, I guess. About normal things. Like stuff we used to talk about, you know?” Then he looks away, shaking his head. “It’s stupid, I know.”

If only he knew the truth. If only I could just tell him. “No, it isn’t,” I say to ease him. “I get it. If it makes you feel better, I tried calling him.”

“You mean, on the phone?”

“Yeah.”

For a second, I think he might ask me more about this, but he doesn’t.

Though a part of me wishes he did. I wonder what my answer would have been. I watch Oliver pick at the grass again and feel a pang of guilt. Guilt for getting to talk with Sam, and not being able to tell anyone about it.

Maybe I should. Just to know what happens next. Or for him to tell me this is real. Without looking up, Oliver asks me another question. “Can I tell you something else?”

I lean forward and listen.

“Remember what I asked you that one night? About what you’d say to Sam, if you had one more chance?”