You've Reached Sam(82)

this could really harm our connection,” Sam warns me. “Are you sure?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m sure.”

James is staring at the ground as I approach him again. I kneel down to him, holding out my phone.

“Listen, James. There’s someone I want you to talk to, okay?”

He looks at me. “My parents?”

I shake my head. “Why don’t you see for yourself? Here…”

James puts the phone to his ear, listening. I know the moment he hears Sam’s voice, because his eyes widen, as if he’s making sense of it. After a minute on the phone, when James starts weeping into his shirt, I know he realizes it’s truly Sam. And the two of them are suddenly reconnected. I stand back quietly, giving them this brief unexplainable moment together. I catch a few things from their conversation. They talk about being strong for their mom, about taking care of the family while Sam’s gone, about how much Sam loves him.

But since our connection is breaking, the call doesn’t last too long.

When James hands the phone back to me, Sam and I only have a few seconds to speak.

“Thank you for this,” he says. “But I have to go now.”

“I understand,” I say.

And then the call ends. Just like that.

James and I hold hands as we leave the park together. I text Sam’s mom for the first time in a while, letting her know I found James and that we’re on our way back. When Sam’s house rises into view, his mom is there standing at the driveway, waiting for us. Her face breaks into a smile when she spots us, as if we haven’t seen each other in years. When she puts her arms around me, we hug each other tight, and I don’t know which one of us starts crying first. Sam’s mom takes James by his other hand as we walk inside the house to greet his dad. After I help set the table, the four of us sit down together for dinner for the first time in what feels like too long.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I have a lot of time to myself these days. Time to think and process and catch up with the rest of the world. Ever since my last call with Sam, I don’t find myself waiting by the phone anymore. Instead I’m spending more time with my friends and focusing on school again. I finished up my final essay for Mr. Gill’s class, and am set to graduate. I also found time to work on my writing sample, even though I won’t be submitting it anywhere soon. Who cares if no one else reads it right now. I found peace in writing something for myself for once. Peace in remembering those moments makes me feel connected to Sam, especially when our calls are broken. Those memories of us are something I’ll always have. Even after he’s gone. I only wish he had a chance to read it. But I try not to think like this, though. I’m thankful for this temporary hole in the universe that we found ourselves floating through these last few months together.

It’s hard to believe graduation is a few days away. I still don’t know what my plans are after. Since I’m lacking options, it’s as though I no longer have a say in the matter. Like things are being decided for me. I’m not used to this feeling. I like the idea of making plans, looking ahead, and seeing what’s in front of me. But every time I do, life seems to get derailed.

Sam always told me to be more spontaneous and let things be a surprise. He never warned me that surprises are not always good things. That’s something I had to learn on my own.

Sam and I have one phone call left. This will be our final call. The last time I ever get to talk to him. I’ll have to say good-bye this time. Sam said this is the only way to end our connection and let us both move on. The call will take place the night of graduation, and will only last a few minutes.

And according to Sam, the call should be made before midnight, otherwise we might lose our chance. A part of me wishes I could save this call for as long as I can, but I have to be strong for both of us.

It’s been a few weeks since we last spoke on the phone. It still pains me to be away from him for so long, like he’s moving further away from me with each day. But at least there’s been one silver lining from our distance.

My mother and I have connected again. We’ve spent these last few weeks together, having dinner every night, watching TV in the living room, shopping, and taking weekend trips to the beach—things we used to do. She said she missed spending time with me. I didn’t realize how much I missed it, too.

Cars honk impatiently as my mother and I sit in traffic. We are on our way to the outlet mall in search of a graduation dress. Evergreen trees rise from the side of the road. We’ve been stuck on the highway for almost an hour. My mother has her meditation podcast on low volume as I stare out the window, watching clouds.

My mother glances over at me. She’s in her yoga clothes even though she didn’t have her class this morning. She says it helps her focus while driving. “So, have you looked at the course catalog for Central yet?” she asks. “They get filled pretty quickly.”

“I skimmed through it.”

“Looks like they have a writing course in the spring. You must be excited.”

“Over the moon.”

“No clichés in the car. Your own rules.”

I let out a breath. “I’m sorry. But it’s hard to be positive when you didn’t get in anywhere else.”

“You know, you only have to stay there for two years,” my mother says, lowering the volume. “And then you can transfer somewhere else. Lots of students do that, Julie.”