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.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say. “It just wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was…” Getting rejected from Reed. Having to stay in Ellensburg. Losing Sam.
“Plans don’t always work out how we expect them to.”
“I’m learning that…” I say, resting my head against the window. “Don’t put too much effort into things. You’ll only end up being disappointed.”
“That’s a bit pessimistic,” my mother says. “Sure, life ends up more complicated than we want. But you figure it out.”
I sigh. “You’d think at least one thing would work out, though,” I say. “Sometimes I wish I could skip a few years into the future to see where I end up. So I don’t waste all this time planning things out, only to have none of it go right.”
“That’s not a way to live life,” my mother says, her hands gripping the wheel. “Always worrying about what comes next, instead of living in the moment. I see this in a lot of my students. And I’m seeing it in you…” She looks at me. “You’re living ahead of yourself, Julie. Making decisions, and wanting things done, only to set up the future.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Life will pass right by you,” she says, her eyes focused on the road. “And you end up missing the little things, the moments you don’t think matter—but they do. Moments that make you forget about everything else. Just like with your writing,” she adds out of nowhere. “You don’t write to get to the end. You write because you enjoy doing it. You write and don’t want it to end. Does that make some sense?”
“I guess so…” I think about this. But what if I don’t like the moment I’m living in?
When we finally pull into the parking lot, my mother shuts off the car and leans back in her seat. Her fingers tap against the wheel. “Is there anything else on your mind?” she asks after some silence. “You know you can always talk to me.”
I stare out the window again. It’s been a while since I opened up to her. About what’s really going on in my life. Maybe it’s time I change that. “It’s Sam…” I tell her. “I’m still thinking about him. About how he won’t get to finish school or graduate with us, you know? I mean, how am I supposed to think about college and the rest of my life, when his was cut so short? I know it’s not good for me. But I keep wishing he was still here.”
My mother turns to me, and runs a hand through my hair. “I do, too,” she says softly. “And I wish I knew what to say to make things better, or at least tell you how to go through this, Julie. But the truth is, no one experiences grief the same way, and we all come out of it differently. It’s okay to wish for those things, and even imagine him here with you. Because those moments inside our heads are just as real as anything else.” She taps her forehead. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise…”
I look at her, my head slightly titled, wondering what she means. For a second, I almost ask if she knows about the calls, but I don’t. “I know I have to say good-bye soon,” I say. “But I don’t think I can let him go.”
My mother nods silently. Before we leave the car, she wipes a tear from my eye, and whispers, “Then you shouldn’t. You should keep him with you. Help him live on somehow.”
My mother’s words stay with me for the rest of the week. I try not to stress too much about things that haven’t happened yet, and try to enjoy my final days as a senior. Oliver brings me and Jay to a party near the lake on Saturday, and the three of us go hiking the next morning. Mika got accepted after being waitlisted at Emory University, and will be moving to Atlanta at the end of the summer. Even though I’m so thrilled for her, I hate that we’ll be so far away from one another. But she says she’ll come back for Thanksgiving and Christmas break, and I promise to visit her once I save up some money. At least Oliver will be studying at Central with me. We went through the course catalog the other day, looking for classes to take together. Maybe it won’t be so bad there. Especially if I get into the screenwriting class. I email Professor Guilford, and he tells me to show up the first day, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed. And my mother’s right. I can still transfer after two years if my grades are good enough. I could even apply to Reed College again. I have to stay cautiously optimistic.
It is the night of graduation. Blue and white balloons float along the chain-link fence of our football field as families file into the bleachers of the stadium. My mom and dad are sitting together somewhere in the middle of the crowd with Tristan and Mr. Lee. The band is in full uniform, playing a mess of unrecognizable songs so loud it’s hard to hear anything else. After they finish with what I believe is the national anthem, the ceremony begins with a performance from our choir, featuring a beautiful solo from Yuki. I stand up on my chair and cheer her name at the end. A few speeches are made, the music changes, and it’s time to for us to walk. Oliver was supposed to walk with Sam, so the school lets him stand in between me and Mika as we march, arms linked, toward the stage. Beneath each of our gowns is something that belongs to Sam, in memory of him. Oliver is wearing the plaid shirt, Mika one of his sweaters, and me his Radiohead T-shirt. Maybe it’s all in my head, but it feels like the crowd cheers the loudest for us.
I only have a few minutes to change into my new dress before a million pictures are taken in front of the stage. Tristan gifts me a bouquet of yellow roses. My mother makes me take group photos with everyone around us, including David from history class, who I’ve never said more than five words to. Yuki introduces me to her parents, and they invite me, Rachel, and Jay to their home in Japan next summer. “A reunion!” Rachel cries, her face beaming. When the music dies, and the sun starts to set, I check the time. I need to go soon. Once the crowds dissipate a little, I go find the others to say good-bye.
The last call I have with Sam is tonight. I need to hurry home, get to my room, and be ready to say good-bye. I know he’ll ask me all about today. I only wish he was here to celebrate it with us instead …
“What about the graduation party?” Oliver asks me. “You can’t miss that—it’s gonna be lit.”
“I have something I need to do,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Mika asks. I give her this look and she nods knowingly. “Maybe you can meet us after. Just text me, okay?”
“I will,” I say, and hug them both.
With my phone clutched in my hand, I turn to go but—someone tall from the football team bumps into me. The impact is so hard, my phone is knocked out of my hands and hits the concrete, shattering the screen. I don’t even hear their mumbled apology. The world becomes a tunnel …
A chill runs through my body. I’m too terrified to move a muscle. My heart pounds as I reach down for my phone. But it won’t turn on. No matter what I try, it won’t turn on. The screen is black and shattered, and I don’t know what to do. I just stand there completely frozen, trying to process the full weight of what I’ve done.
Mika must have noticed something was wrong because she appears at my side.
“What is it?” she asks.
“My phone—I broke it—Mika, I broke it!” I keep repeating as she’s trying to calm me down, telling me it’s okay, when it isn’t. The buttons aren’t working. The screen remains black.
I turn to her. “I need your phone—” I grab it and call Sam’s number but it doesn’t go through. I try a few more times but the call keeps failing.
Oliver arrives. “What’s the matter?” he asks.
“Julie broke her phone,” Mika says gravely.
“Dang, I’m sorry. I’m sure we can go get it fixed tomorrow—”
“No. I need it tonight—let me see your phone—”
I take it from his hands before he can say anything. The call fails again. And again.
“Who’s she calling?” Oliver asks as I pace around, desperately trying the number again, holding his phone up to maybe get a different signal that Sam can find. I must appear out of my mind, because a crowd has formed around me, watching. Why isn’t this working?
I remember something Sam said. His voice echoes in my head.
Only our phones are connected.
I shove Oliver’s phone back at him as my mother arrives at the scene. She asks me what’s wrong, but I don’t have time to answer. I grab her phone and call Sam again, even though I know it won’t work. Nothing will. But I don’t know what else to do. The calls only work through my phone, and it’s cracked and broken because I was so stupid, I didn’t watch where I was going. I need to figure something out. I need to fix this.
Sam expects me to call him tonight. I can’t leave him waiting forever. What if he thinks I forgot about him? What if he thinks something is wrong? My heart is pounding harder than ever as a rush of adrenaline pumps through me, making it hard to breathe. I have to go find him. I have to find Sam. I’m not losing the last call I have left. I’m not losing him all over again. Not like this.
I turn to my mom. “I need your keys—” I take them from her hands without answering any questions. “Have Dad drive you home!”
I get into the car and start driving without knowing where I’m going. I drive through town, circling the streets, looking in store windows and coffee shops where we used to go, to see if Sam’s there—but he isn’t. I park the car and run into Sun and Moon, ignoring the looks from strangers, and check the table where we used to sit.
“Sam? Sam!” I call his name.
But he isn’t here. Of course he isn’t.
Then I remember it was him who went looking for me. I get back into the car, and the next thing I know I’m driving up route 10, where he crashed that night, again. I pull down my window and look out to see if he’s walking along the side of the road, searching for me. But Sam isn’t out here, either. Another chill goes through me. I glance at the clock and see it’s ten past eleven. I’m running out of time. If Sam isn’t here walking along the roads, where would he be? Where is he going?
I remember something else. During one of our phone calls. I asked him what he saw.
Fields. Endless fields.
Of course! I turn the car around at once and take the next exit, toward the fields where he brought me. I take the shorter road Jay found and reach the path in no time. As soon as I get out of the car, I am swallowed in darkness. My heart is pounding, and I can barely see a thing as I race up the path toward the fields. Tree branches reach over my head like thin hands. For a moment, I think about turning back to the car, but I push forward. Sam is waiting for me somewhere out there. I can’t let him down.
Where are you, Sam? Why can’t I reach you?
Something pulses in my pocket. When I feel a warmth, I reach inside to check. The selenite. The crystal Yuki gave me that I carry everywhere. It’s glowing! I hold it out in front of me and let its light illuminate my path, banishing the darkness. I can feel its energy radiating through me and into the air. I raise the crystal to the sky and see the moon lower itself toward me, granting me more light. I see everything now. The fields have never looked clearer than they do in this moment. And then it starts snowing. In the middle of May? I look around, wondering what’s going on. As the snow falls on my hair and shoulders, I realize it isn’t snow at all. It’s petals. It’s raining cherry blossom petals?
This must mean he’s close.
I know you’re here, Sam. I can feel you. Because you’re everywhere. You were back in the coffee shop, there at the lake, somewhere waiting in these fields. All this time I’ve been wondering why we’ve been given this second chance. But maybe we’re always connected, even after you’re gone. Because I can never completely lose you. You’re a part of me now. You’re everywhere I look, falling from the sky like petals.
I reach the fields, and wade through the barley, calling out his name, searching for him. I think I spot the top of his head and rush toward it, but nothing’s there. I think I catch his scent—of pine, of cologne, but I can’t grab ahold of it. I keep running, up and down and through the fields, until my legs are trembling. I run until I’m so exhausted, the next thing I know I’ve collapsed in the grass, trying to catch my breath.
I don’t think Sam’s here anymore. I’m beginning to doubt he ever was. What’s wrong with me? Why did I come here? I check the time again. 12:35 a.m. Already past midnight. My heart stops. It’s too late now. I lost him again. The petals have vanished.
After everything Sam’s done for me, I broke our promise. He asked me to call him one last time to say good-bye, and I let him down. What if he waits for me forever? What if he needed me to say good-bye to move on? I take out my broken phone and try to turn it on. Nothing. I’m so devastated, and disappointed with myself, and terrified of what I’ve done, I hold my phone up and talk to him anyway. If we’re always connected, maybe there’s still a chance …
“Sam—” I start. “I can’t hear you … but maybe you can still hear me. I’m sorry! I couldn’t get to you in time. I know you wanted us to say good-bye. I’m sorry I ruined everything again. Please don’t wait for me, okay? You can go. You don’t have to wait. You can move on now!” My voice cracks. “I’m going to miss you so much. But I want to tell you one last thing…” I take a deep breath, fighting back tears. “You’re wrong about something. You did leave your mark on the world, Sam. You left a mark on me. You changed my life. And I’ll never forget you, okay? We’re a part of each other. Do you hear me? Sam—” My voice gives out.
Why can’t I call you with another phone? Why is it only through mine?
I hear his voice again. It echoes in my head.
Only our phones are connected.
I think about this. About our connection. About it being between the two of us. Only our phones. I repeat the words over and over in my head until it hits me like a bolt of lightning. My heart jolts. Of course. Why didn’t I think of this before?
As soon as it hits me, I get up and leave the fields, hurrying back to my car. The drive back is a blur in my mind. The next thing I know I’m parked in front of Sam’s driveway, racing toward his house. The key under the mailbox is still there. I unlock the door and hurry inside. Thank god no one else is home. His family is spending the week with his grandparents, so I don’t have to be quiet as I rush into his room and go through his things. I rummage through a dozen boxes, tearing through plastic bags, until I find it. The box of Sam’s things they found at the crash site that night.
Inside the box are his wallet, ID, key chain, and cell phone. Exactly what I was looking for. I take his phone, switch out our SIM cards, and turn it on. The light from the screen blinds me for a few seconds. It’s 1:43 a.m. There is just enough battery life left to make a call. So I dial his number.
Only our phones are connected. Maybe that means his, too. I take a deep breath and hold it in.
The ringing sends shivers through my body. I sit down on his bed and try not to freak out. It keeps ringing, until a voice comes on the line.
“Julie—”
“Sam!” I gasp. I hold back a cry as my entire body bursts with relief. “I didn’t think you’d pick up!”
“I don’t have a lot of time,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I almost shout, trying hard not to cry. “I just needed you to know that I didn’t forget you.”
“What took you so long to call?” he asks.
“I broke my phone. I’m sorry—”
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I was starting to worry.”
“I’m here now,” I tell him. “I’m so happy to hear your voice. I thought I lost you forever.”
“I’m happy to hear you, too. I’m glad you made the call. Even if it’s late. But it’s time to say good-bye now, okay? I have to go soon—”
There’s an ache in my chest. But I can’t let Sam go knowing this. I have to be strong for him. I swallow down the pain. “Okay, Sam.”
“I love you, Julie. I want you to know that.”
“I love you, too.”
Some static comes through the line. I have to say what I need to say faster.
“Thank you, Sam. For everything you’ve done. For picking up the phone because I needed you. For always being there for me.”
A silence.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here. Don’t worry,” he assures me. “But I need you to say good-bye now. Okay? I need to hear you say the word.”
I swallow hard. The words come out cracked and broken. “Good-bye, Sam.”
“Good-bye, Julie.”
Right after, he says, “I need you to do one last thing for me, okay?”
“What is it?” I ask.
“After we hang up … I’m going to call you again. And I need you to not pick up this time. Can you promise me that?”
He needs me to break our connection for good. He needs me to move on.
“I can…” I whisper, even though it kills me inside.
“Thank you. I’m going to hang up now. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m glad we were able to speak one last time,” Sam says. “Even if it was just for a few seconds.”
“Me, too,” I tell him—but the call has already ended.
My body goes numb as I sit on his bed in silence, waiting for the call. And then the phone rings. The number is unknown but I know it’s him. I squeeze the phone tight, wanting to pick it up so badly, desperate to hear his voice again. But I can’t do that to him. I made a promise. So I let it ring. I let it keep ringing until it stops, the screen turns black, and I’m alone in the room again. My heart shatters, and sinks into the pit of my stomach. I set the phone down, and curl up on Sam’s bed, letting myself cry.
Our connection is over. Just like that. I’ll never get to speak to Sam again. I should get up and go home, but I can’t seem to move. So I lie there in the dark for a while. In his bed, alone in the emptiness of the house, wishing things were different. And then something happens.
A chime goes off from somewhere in the room, followed by a blinking light. I lift myself up from the bed to see what it is. Sam’s phone. I grab it and turn it on.
A hundred notifications fill the screen. I go through them and see text messages and missed calls from Mika, my mother, and everyone else who couldn’t reach me these past few months. Here they are, flooding back to me, right after I ended my last call with Sam. Like the phone’s been reconnected to the world. Like everything is moving again.
There’s a new voice mail. One dated from tonight. But the number is unknown.
I listen to it immediately.
Sam’s voice comes through the phone. “Hey—so, I’m not sure if I should do this … Or if it will even work. I probably should have said this to you over the phone, but we ran out of time. Or maybe, the truth is, I was scared you would think of me differently … That is, if you knew why I picked up the phone that first time—” He pauses. “Before we hung up, you said something that made me feel a bit guilty. You said I picked up your call that night because you needed me. I guess part of that is true. But that isn’t the reason I answered.” A long pause. “The truth is … I picked up because—because I needed you. I needed to hear your voice again, Julie. Because I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget me. You see, I took you to all those places—like the fields, to see the stars that night—so that you’d always remember. So that whenever you looked up at the sky at night, you’d think of me. Because I didn’t want to let you go yet. I never wanted to say good-bye, Jules. And I never wanted you to, either. That’s why I stayed as long as I could. So don’t blame yourself for anything. It was me that was keeping you from your life. Maybe it was a bit selfish of me. But I was just so scared you’d forget. I realize now I made it a lot harder for you to move on. And I hope you forgive me for that.”
Sam pauses again. “Remember back in the fields, when I asked what you wanted … if you could have anything? Well—I want those things, too, Jules. I want to be there with you. I want to graduate with you guys. I want to move out of Ellensburg, and live with you, and grow old together. But I can’t.” Another pause. “But you still can. You can still have all those things, Julie. Because you deserve them. And you deserve to fall in love a dozen times, because you are kind and beautiful, and who wouldn’t fall in love with you? You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me. And when I think about my life, I think of you in it. You are my entire world, Julie. And one day, maybe I’ll only be a small piece of yours. I hope you keep that piece.”
Static comes through the line.
“I love you more than you can ever know, Julie. I’ll never forget the time we had together. So please don’t forget me, okay? Try to think of me from time to time. Even if it’s only for a moment. It would mean so much. You have no idea.” A long pause, followed by static. “I should go now. Thank you … for not picking up the phone this time. Good-bye, Julie.”
The voice mail ends.
I listen to the message again. I listen to it on the way home, and several more times before I fall asleep. I listen to it the next morning when Mika comes over and I replay it for her. I listen to it again that night and the day after that. I listen to it on the days I miss Sam most and want to hear his voice again. I listen to his voice mail until I have it memorized, and I don’t need to play it anymore.
