Something’s wrong with our connection. Something terrible. I don’t know how to fix it, and neither does Sam. It reminds me of when a storm comes, and thunder flickers the lights, throwing off all the electricity in the house, and nothing works. I keep waiting for the clouds to part, for the weather to change, but every time I look out the window the sky is still bruised and purple. It’s hard to not let it get to me, because I asked for this, didn’t I? This is my fault. I made Sam talk to Mika, and ever since then, our calls are not the same anymore. They have to be spaced further apart and don’t last as long. We used to be able to speak for hours, whenever I needed him. Now I have to wait for days to pass before I can call him again, and if our conversation goes longer than ten minutes or so, static comes through the line and it scares me. It hurts that I can’t even call him out of the blue anymore, even when I’m desperate to hear his voice. When I feel like I’m about to fall apart, I have to remind myself I haven’t lost him yet—I haven’t lost Sam. I know I messed up our connection, but he’s still with me. And as long as we plan our calls better, keeping them short, and finding those places where our signal is the strongest, we can make this work. We’ll figure it out. Maybe there’s a way to fix things.
It’s been two weeks since I told Mika everything. Since I let her and Sam speak to each other again. But not all good things come without consequences. During our last call, Sam told me something I refuse to believe. He said there’s a chance we only have a few calls left before our connection ends forever. The worst part is Sam warned me this could happen, but I didn’t listen. At least he got to speak with Mika one more time. The look in Mika’s eyes after their call made the risk worth it. At first, I was desperate to have someone else tell me these past few weeks have been real, that Sam’s voice hasn’t been all in my head. But once I reconnected Mika and Sam again, it became so much more than that. Mika looks like herself again, and the two of us are spending more time together. I think the call gave her the peace of mind she needed and a new starting point to heal. And now that there are no secrets between us, it feels like we can finally be there for each other.
At least I haven’t said good-bye to Sam yet. And as long as I don’t, we’ll stay connected, right? Isn’t that what he promised me? I’m not ready to let him go yet. I hate imagining my life without him. I wish I could hold on to him, keep him with me for as long as I can. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone.
This is all I think about now as I stare at my phone. I do this all day long when I’m not talking to him—on the off chance he calls me and I need to answer right away. So that our connection never breaks again …
“Are you expecting a call?”
I look up from the table as the room comes back into focus. Oliver is sitting across from me, waiting for a response. We are at a small table in the back of the café, Sun and Moon. The Moroccan lamps are on, flickering like real flames, even though it’s daylight out. At least it isn’t crowded this Saturday morning. The two of us have been coming here a lot lately. He always orders the chai latte with extra foam. I tried an Americano for the first time today instead of my usual coffee. I’m not quite sure what the difference is.
“You look like you’re waiting for a call or something,” Oliver says. “Earth to Julie. You there?”
I blink a few times and come back to myself. “Sorry. I was lost in thought for a second. What were we talking about again?”
Oliver lets out a breath. “Graduation.”
“Right. What about it?”
“You really weren’t listening…” he says with a sigh. “It’s a few weeks away, remember? Cap and gowns? That one Vitamin C song? Tell me this is happening too soon.”
“I guess so. I’m trying not to stress about it.”
“Seriously,” he says, groaning. “I wish we had another month to figure stuff out, you know? Do you even know what you’re doing after, yet?”
I thought I did. I thought I had everything planned out. From the apartment I wanted to live in to the different writing classes I would take. But it’s been hard to focus on school since I messed up our connection, so my final grades remain question marks. For some reason, Reed still hasn’t sent me my admissions letter. On top of that, I still haven’t finished my writing sample, so maybe a writing career isn’t even in the cards for me. It seems no matter how much effort I put in, and how much I try to plan things out, nothing ever comes together.
I stare into my cup, which is still steaming. “Not yet.”
“I thought you were going to that one school,” Oliver says. “Reed, right? You must have heard back from them by now.”
He’s right, I should have. I don’t know why they left me in the dark. What if I submitted my application wrong or something? Or maybe some technical error happened, and it never went through. But Reed would notify me about something like that, wouldn’t they? Should I call someone in admissions? I’ve been checking the mailbox and refreshing my email every morning. But nothing from them. I’m too embarrassed to tell Oliver this. I should have kept these plans private. So I wouldn’t need to explain myself when I’m forced to change them.
Why is everyone so caught up on going to college? It’s not like an English degree is practical in today’s economy, anyway. Why bury myself in loans to write when I can do it on my own? I mean, some of the greatest writers never went to college. Hemingway, Twain, Angelou—I could go on. Admittedly, their circumstances were different from mine, and it was a long time ago. But there is still a point to be made. Of course, my thoughts will probably change once I get accepted. But as I’m learning, you should always plan for the worst. “Actually, I’m thinking about sticking around here,” I say casually, and take a sip of coffee.
“Here, as in, Central Washington?” Oliver asks, arching his brow. “But you hate this place. More than anyone I know. You always said you’d be the first one to go. I mean, Central isn’t a bad school, but it isn’t anyone’s first choice, I can tell you that. You go because it’s next to home.” Oliver looks around us, leans into the table a little, and whispers, “Is it because you got,” he gulps, “waitlisted?”
“What—absolutely not.”
His eyes widen. “Rejected?”
“No. And it’s rude of you to ask,” I say defensively. “Maybe I changed my mind. I’m allowed. I mean, you’re going to Central, too, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m from here. So it’s different. It’s what we all do.”
“So you stay here, just because?”
Oliver shrugs. “Pretty much. It’s an Ellensburg thing. You wouldn’t get it. You’re from”—he makes a long arch in the air with both hands—“Seattle.” He takes a sip of his latte and sets it back down. “You’re practically an alien to us.”
“I feel like one around here.”
“Then what’s keeping you? It’s obvious you can’t stand it here, but I don’t blame you for that. You always seemed ready to leave. Even if it meant finding a job waiting tables or something. I mean, you even convinced Sam to—” He stops himself.
I drop my gaze. Because I don’t want him to look me in the eye and see he might be right. That maybe Sam is one of the reasons I don’t want to leave. They were once our plans, after all. Moving to Portland together, finding an apartment, and taking whatever part-time jobs we needed to save up money. He’d play his music somewhere, I’d find places to write. But he isn’t here anymore. So I have to figure everything out alone.
I stare at the table. “I just need a little more time…”
“Yeah, I get it,” Oliver says. He reaches across the table for my arm. “Listen, at least you’ll have me here. Maybe we can take some classes together. I’ll need someone to copy off of.”
“You always know the right thing to say.”
He leans back, smiling. “I have a way with people.”
I take a sip of coffee, ignoring this.
We finish our drinks. At noon, I have to leave for work.
I push in my chair. “Did you want to walk with me?”
Oliver checks his phone. “I would. But I’m meeting someone.”
I give him a look. “Oh? Who is it?”
He hesitates. “Jay.”
I give him a different look.
“What’s that look mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
I sniff the air. “Is that why you’re wearing cologne?”
“I’ll have you know, I wear cologne all the time,” Oliver says, folding his arms.
“Yes, but I’ve been noticing it more recently,” I say.
“Aren’t you late for work or something?”
I can’t help smiling as I leave, but not without whispering, “Is that a new shirt, too?”
“Please go.”
I wink at him. “Tell me everything tonight.”
I spot Tristan as soon as I enter the bookstore. He’s balancing on a ladder, trying to nail down a poster I’ve never seen before. It’s been a while since we worked the same shift. Mr. Lee is out of town for the weekend, so he asked both of us to watch the store together while he’s away.
I stare at the poster. “Who is that?”
“It’s General Griz from Space Ninjas, volume three,” Tristan says. “A classic.”
“He looks sort of like a bunny.”
“A mutated rabbit,” he corrects me. “From a lab experiment.”
“Gone wrong?”
“Yeah, you’ve read it?”
“Just a wild guess.”
Tristan starts down the ladder, nearly stumbles, and plays it off with a nervous laugh. He runs a hand through his hair and dusts off his shirt.
I set my things on the counter. Beside the register is a tray of streamers, trading cards, stickers, and some name tags. I turn to Tristan. “Are these things for the book club?”
“No actually, it’s for the Space Ninjas event,” he says, gesturing at the other posters around the room. “I’m working to promote it. I just made our store the regional meetup location.”
“That’s incredible! We must have a ton of people coming.”
“Well, only eight people signed up so far,” he admits. “And most of them are friends from school.”
“That’s not so bad. I’m sure more will come.”
“I know you’re not big on science fiction, but we’re having a Space Ninjas 4 movie release party soon,” he says. “You can come, if you want. I can add you to the mailing list.”
“Why am I not already on it?”
Tristan blushes. “I’ll send you the link.”
I tie back my hair, step around the counter, and open the register. There’s a box of bookmarks I’ve never seen before. I go through them. “Tristan, where did these come from?”
Tristan comes and leans over the counter. “Oh—I made them in the photography room at school. It has the store hours and location on it. We’re giving them out to customers when they buy something.” He points at the illustration. “That’s Mr. Lee—see his glasses?”
“Mr. Lee doesn’t wear glasses,” I say.
“I know. I just think they look cool on him.”
We share a laugh as I set the box aside. “You know, you’re really transforming the place, Tristan.”
“Thanks. That’s what the books say. According to Mr. Lee, anyway.”
I look around the store, noticing all his personal touches. The posters, the bookmarks, the collectables in the sci-fi section that Mr. Lee moved up a row. Tristan even redesigned the store website, linking all the new social media accounts he’s been running. I hate to admit this, but I’m a little jealous of his creativity. He always sees things through. Maybe I should come up with some creative ideas, too. Imbue the store with my own personality, and help out Mr. Lee some more. I think about this as I go back to work.
Tristan hangs around the counter, arranging some things on the tray. When I catch him looking up at me a few times, I get the sense he wants to say something.
After a moment, Tristian coughs to get my attention. “So, uh, are you still coming tomorrow?”
I look at him. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
“The film festival.”
I hold back a gasp of surprise. “Oh—right, of course.”
“I also got you a wristband, for the after party,” Tristan says, scratching the back of his head. “It’s sort of exclusive, they said. Everyone’s been texting me about it, but I was only able to get one extra wristband. And I wanted you to have it.”
I smile at him. “That’s so sweet of you. But don’t feel you have to use it on me. Especially if so many people want to go.”
“No—I mean, what I meant is, I want to go with you.”
“Oh…”
“It would mean a lot to me if you came,” Tristan says, running a hand through his hair, his cheeks turning red. “There’s gonna be food and music and a bunch of people. It’s kind of fancy, but you don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to. I mean, I’ll be wearing a suit—because my mom already got it for me—and some of the other filmmakers might be, too, but you can, like, wear whatever you want.”
An after party? He never mentioned this before. I thought I would see his film, congratulate him afterward, and head off. Now there’s suddenly food and music and people getting dressed up? The way Tristan describes this makes it sound like a bigger commitment than I signed up for. Almost like a date or something. Maybe I’m overthinking this, but I am most certainly not ready for a date. What would Sam think? I sense my phone inside my pocket, and imagine how he might feel.
“So you’re coming, right?” Tristan asks again.
I bite my lip, unable to meet his eyes. It pains me to do this. But maybe this isn’t the right time. “I’m sorry, Tristan. But I don’t think I can go anymore.”
He blinks at me in surprise. “Oh—oh, that’s okay. I totally understand,” he says, forcing another smile. “I guess, maybe next time or something.”
I stand there as he grabs his tray and takes it to the back room without another word. Maybe I am overthinking the festival. I feel terrible for canceling on him at the last minute. But my connection with Sam has already started to crack. So I can’t take any more risks.
It’s feels like forever since I last spoke to Sam. It’s hard to focus or think about anything else except hearing his voice again. When I get home, I play the CD I always keep on hand, and pretend he’s there in my room, practicing his guitar. I’ve been doing this every day, letting his music fill my room like he’s alive again. It makes me feel less alone. There are fourteen songs, and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve replayed them. The third track is my favorite. It’s one of his originals, a rock ballad, reminiscent of the Nicks era of Fleetwood Mac, and I get to hear Sam’s voice humming the melody. There are no words because the song is unfinished. Sam had asked me to help write the lyrics with him. We used to pretend we could be this great songwriting duo someday. Like Carole King and Gerry Goffin. I once asked him what comes first, the lyrics or the melody, and Sam answered, “Always the melody.” I disagreed with this, but I think that’s why our relationship worked. We were two parts of a song. He was the music. And I was the words.
I lay on the floor of in his room, looking at the ceiling, notebook paper scattered everywhere. Sam sits cross-legged beside me, his guitar in his lap.
“Play that again…” I say.
Sam strums his guitar, filling the room with the melody.
I close my eyes and listen.
The guitar stops. “What are you doing?”
“Shh—I’m trying to get inspired,” I say, keeping my eyes shut.
“Sleeping inspires you?”
“I’m not sleeping … I’m thinking!”
“Got it—” Sam continues playing as images dance across my mind. Infinite blue skies, a couple holding hands, cherry blossoms falling from the window. I sit up and jot some of these things down.
I look at Sam. “What should the story be about?”
“What do you mean? We’re writing a song.”
“Every song tells a story, Sam.”
He scratches his head. “I just thought it had to rhyme.”
“Songs do more than that,” I say. “They’re supposed to make you feel something. So what’s the emotion we’re going for? What’s this about?”
Sam thinks about this. “Love, I guess?”
“That’s too vague, Sam.”
“Aren’t most songs, though?”
“Not the good ones!”
Sam falls over on the carpet, groaning. “Can’t you just come up with it? You’re the writer. You’re better at this! That’s why I asked for help.”
I went through my drawers the other day and found my notebook. Inside were a couple verses I had written months ago. After our call on the porch, I spent the rest of the night working on the song again.
Sam and I have another call soon. I want to write as much as I can to surprise him. Especially after our conversation about unfinished things and leaving a mark on the world—maybe this could be it. He’s done so much for me, after all. This is my gift back to him. I’m a little anxious when he picks up. When I tell Sam about the song, he asks me to share the lyrics. At one point, I play the track so he can get a sense of how it would sound with music …
“Don’t judge my voice, okay?”
Sam laughs. “Of course not.”
As the CD fills the room with his guitar, strumming a soft ballad, I sing some of it for him, the best I can.
“I see your face, there in the stars …
When I close my eyes, you’re not too far
Do you feel my hand? It’s tied up in yours
I’m keeping you with me, wherever we are …
And I still remember, it’s sealed in gold
The fields that we run through, I’ll never let go
So don’t you forget me, those memories we hold
Like water and time
We are written in stone…”
I shut off the music and sit back on the floor. “That’s all I have so far. I know—I don’t have the best voice in the world. It’ll sound better when you sing it.”
“No, it was great!” Sam says. “I can’t believe you wrote that. It’s beautiful, Julie.”
“Are you just saying that?” I ask. “You can tell me the truth. I won’t be mad.”
“It’s better than anything I could’ve written,” he says.
“Of course. But that’s not what I’m asking.”
Sam laughs and says, “I really mean it. It’s perfect. The lyrics … they’re so—what’s the word I’m looking for? Meaningful. Like there’s something more behind it, you know?”
“Anything that needs work? I’m looking for feedback here.”
Sam thinks about it. “It might be missing something. Maybe a pre-hook.”
I jot down a note on some paper.
Look up the meaning of pre-hook.
“It’s only a first draft,” I tell him, reading the lyrics over again. “I’m gonna make some changes. But I think we have a hit here, Sam.”
“If only that could be true,” he says wistfully.
“Why can’t it be?” I whisper.
A familiar silence before he speaks. “Julie … You know why…”
I move the phone to the other ear, pretending not to hear this. Instead I imagine our song being put out in the world. “Just think about it,” I go on. “We could send it to a radio station, or put it online or something. People would listen to it, Sam. We just have to get it out there. Someone will play it. We can show them all your other music, too. All we need—”
“Julie,” Sam stops me. “Listen to yourself…”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you working on my song again?” he asks. His tone is different. Like there’s an edge in his voice. “Why are you doing this?”
I stare at the notebook, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know … I thought you would want me to. A while ago, you said you wanted to finish something. That you wanted to leave something behind. I thought … maybe this song could be it. And I can help you write it. Just like I promised.”
He sighs. “I told you, Jules … I didn’t want us to talk about this. About what I never got to finish,” he says. “There’s no point anymore…”
“But what’s the big deal? It’s just one song. And I don’t mind doing this. You have all these beautiful songs lying around. I can help you finish them. I can help put them out into the world, and maybe we can—”
“Julie, stop!” he cuts me off again. “Please. Don’t do this…”
“What am I doing?”
Sam lets out a breath, and softens his voice. “Listen … I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I mean that. But you have to let this go, okay? This idea about working on my music and putting it out there for people to listen to—it’s too late for me. I’ve already accepted that. So stop wasting time on this, okay? Please.”
“I want to do this, though. I want to help you—”
“You shouldn’t. You need to focus on your own life, okay? You have to stop thinking about me all the time—”
“I don’t think about you all the time,” I say back. Why is he talking to me this way? “I have my own goals and things I need to finish. Like my writing. I think about myself, too.”
“Good,” Sam says. “I’m glad you do. I’m glad you have other things going on in your life. I’m glad you have a future to think about.”
I squeeze the phone tight, speechless. I never expected the conversation to take this turn. I thought I was doing something good. I thought this would make him happy. So what if I think about us sometimes? What’s so wrong with that? Why can’t we talk like we used to? Like before? Before everything was taken away from us. I don’t say any of this out loud. I know it’s the last thing he wants to hear from me.
There’s a long silence between us. I sense our call is running long and I’m not sure how much time we have left. I want to leave us on a better note in case the static comes, so I change the subject. “The film festival is tomorrow night. Tristan invited me again. But I told him I couldn’t go.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. The way he was talking about it earlier … it made it sound sort of like a date,” I say. When Sam doesn’t say anything to this, I ask him, “What do you think?”
A silence.
“I think you should go,” he says.
“Why?”
“It sounds like fun. And Tristan’s a nice guy.”
“But I could never do that, Sam. I mean, you’re still here, and were still connected.”
Usually when I say something sentimental like this, I feel him smile on the other end and sense a warmth through the phone. But his voice is a chill in my ear.
“You and I can’t be together. You know that.”
“I know—” I start.
“It doesn’t sound like it.”
I say nothing.
“I’m beginning to worry about you,” Sam goes on. “I’m worried about our calls and what they’re doing. You’re supposed to be moving on. And it doesn’t feel like you are anymore.”
“Sam—I’m fine. I promise.”
“But you won’t even go to a friend’s movie premiere. How are you ever going to say good-bye to me?”
“Maybe I don’t feel like going out,” I say. “And I can say good-bye to you whenever I want.”
“Then say it now.”
His words hang in the air between us for a long time. How could he say this to me? I don’t even know how to respond. I hate that I have to prove something to him. A pain goes through me. “I can’t right now…”
Sam lets out a knowing sigh. “Then when will you?”
There’s a long silence between us.
“I think you should go to the festival tomorrow,” Sam says. “I think it will be good for both of us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying not to overreact. “Isn’t it my choice? What if I just don’t want to?”
“I don’t see what’s the big deal,” Sam says. “It’s only a few hours. Why are you so against it?”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“Then prove it. And go.”
My voice sharpens. “Fine. I’ll go! And I’ll have a great time.”
“Good. I hope you do.”
“I will!”
We hang up the phone. I text Tristan right away, letting him know I’ve changed my mind. He responds a second later, words full of excitement, which makes me feel less guilty. But how can Sam ask me to do this to him? To the both of us? I don’t understand what he wants me to prove. I try not to let this get to me because it will only show Sam he’s right. He doesn’t need to worry about me.
I wish our call hadn’t ended badly, especially tonight. I get a text from Yuki, telling me everyone’s on their way over. It happens to be the night we planned to do something special for Sam. I’m supposed to take us back to the fields to release the lanterns. I think about asking them to postpone it, but they’ve put in so much effort, I can’t let everyone down. I have to collect myself and not let the call bother me. I think about what Sam said earlier. Maybe I am wasting too much time on us. I need to focus on my own life instead.
Jay sits in the front seat with Oliver, and we pick up Mika along the way. This is the first time all of us are together. I am squeezed in the back between Yuki and Rachel. Jay brought some snacks and passes them back to us. I admit, it makes me smile to see everyone jam-packed in the car, eating Pocky sticks. But it doesn’t escape me that one person is missing. Jay is navigating with his phone and finds a different path that will cut our walking distance in half.
The sun has vanished by the time we reach the spot, replaced by a vast ocean of a night sky, freckled with stars. I use my memory of that day with Sam to guide our walk through the woods. I’m surprised I remember everything, especially in the dark. Mika has her arm linked through mine for the entire walk. When I see the tips of the barley jumping across the top of the fields like fish, I make us stop.
“We’re here.”
The others release a collective breath as we stare out at the view in awe.
“How did you know about this place?” Rachel asks.
“Sam brought me here once.” I don’t tell her when this was.
We move farther down the fields until we find the perfect spot. Jay unzips his backpack as everyone helps prepare the lanterns for the ceremony.
“How do these things work again?” Oliver asks as Rachel comes around, handing out paper lanterns.
“The hot air from the candles will help them rise,” Yuki says as she begins lighting tea candles for us. “We just have to let them go.”
I watch as my lantern blooms with warmth and light. It’s like holding a piece of the sun in my hands.
“These things are massive.” Oliver laughs, moving his lantern up and down.
I look around at everyone, and see their faces illuminated by the lantern lights, their smiles, the grass swaying at our shoes, the sky starry and endless, and breathe in the beautiful moment we’re sharing. I never thought I’d be back here in the fields so soon. Especially with all our friends.
I turn to Yuki. “Is there a significance to this? When you release them for someone, that is.”
“It’s to let them move on,” Yuki explains. “When we release the lanterns—we help release them. The lanterns will guide them to where they need to go.”
“But why does Sam need to go?” I ask her. The others look at each other. I realize how strange the question sounds. “I only mean … why do they need to be guided?”
“I think they just need to hear from us that it’s okay. Sometimes it’s hard, even for them,” Yuki says. “They need our blessing.” She turns, holding the lantern toward the sky. “Remember, these are also memory lanterns. If you have a few last things you wish to tell Sam, whisper them now. The lantern will carry the message to him.”
Yuki closes her eyes as if meditating and then whispers into her lantern as the others watch and mirror her. Mika and I share a look the others can’t understand. Then she closes her eyes anyway, and whispers something into hers. So I do it, too, even though I haven’t lost Sam yet. For now, anyway. I think of something I would say to him right now if I had the chance.
I pull my lantern close to me, and whisper, “Don’t go yet, Sam. Just stay with me a little bit longer.”
Yuki is the first to let hers go. “To Sam,” she says, and the lantern lifts itself from her hands and rises into the air. The others follow, releasing their lanterns one by one, each saying “To Sam,” until it’s only me left.
I hold my lantern out. “To Sam,” I say. And then I let go, too.
But my lantern doesn’t move. It hangs in the air, hovering in front of me, its light blinking ever so slightly. I give it a little nudge from the bottom with the palm of my hand, and it rises for a few seconds, then lowers itself as it stays in the air. “Mine won’t go,” I say as the others look over, watching curiously. “Look.” I can’t help smiling, and laughing a little at this, because I think Sam heard me. He heard what I whispered to him, and he wants to stay with me a little longer. And then a breeze comes, and begins to pull the lantern down the fields, keeping it low, letting it almost graze across the grass. I step forward and follow it, trying to keep my hands right beneath to—I don’t really know. When the lantern picks up some speed, so do I. And the next thing I know, I’m dashing down the fields with my hands stretched out, chasing after it. Something takes over me. I need more time. I can’t let you go just yet. But the lantern gains height, like the sail of a ship being blown up from the wind, as I’m stumbling fast toward its light.
“Julie!”
The others are calling my name from behind me, and I realize how far I’ve run from them, but I can’t stop. I think Mika must have chased after me, because her voice is the closest. But my stride becomes too much for her, and my resolve to catch up to the lantern is too strong. Only I remain running further down the fields until the voices calling me sound far away. All I hear are my own heavy breaths and the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
Another breeze comes and lifts the lantern even higher, moving it past the line of the mountains. And it keeps on going no matter how hard I’m running. But eventually I become so tired and out of breath, I can’t run anymore. So I stop and stand there, gazing up, watching it vanish into the sky with all of the others until I can no longer recognize it from the millions of stars.
The lantern is gone. I lost it. I can’t lose you, too. Not again.
