I watch as he circles the room, taking everything in as he imagines our new home. “We can put a desk here, against the wall, for you to write. I can build you a bookshelf. Since you brought boxes of them. We can put it right there. And we’ll need some plants—”
His excitement is contagious. I can’t help seeing everything, too. It’s a blank canvas for us to paint over. A new beginning to our story. A chance to start the page fresh. Once we fix up the apartment, we’ll look for jobs. We’ll start saving some money. I’ll focus on my writing and reapply to Reed College in the fall.
Sam takes my hands, and our fingers lace together. “So you love it, right?”
“More than you could know,” I say, smiling at him. I glance around the room. “I just want everything to be perfect. Like we always planned.”
Sam kisses me on the cheek. “You know, Jules, you can’t always plan out every detail, though. There will always be things we can’t prepare for,” he says. “You have to live in the moment sometimes. Let life surprise you.”
I don’t say anything. I just take this in.
“Listen,” Sam says, his eyes glistening. “How about we go out tonight? Somewhere with music. It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. We’ll get something small and share it. You know, find one of those places that gives out free bread.”
“But we have so much unpacking to do,” I remind him.
“Don’t worry. We have all the time in the world for that.”
All the time in the world… the words echo through me as a breeze comes in through the window, rolling across my skin. I glance at the clock above the doorway. I didn’t notice it there before. The hands are missing. Outside, there’s still nothing but shimmering clouds. Now that I think about it, how long has the sun been setting out there?
“Is something wrong?” Sam’s voice pulls me back to him.
I blink a few times. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Then what do you say about going out?”
I purse my lips, considering this. “I guess it is our first night here. Maybe we should celebrate it.”
“Perfect.”
“As long as we getsomeunpacking done first,” I add.
“Deal.” Sam kisses me on the cheek again, and then picks a box off the floor. “Where does this go?”
“The bedroom. But it’s fragile. So be careful.”
“Careful is my middle name.”
I give him a look as he slow-walks away, disappearing down the hallway.
Once he’s gone, I scan the living room again, deciding what to start next. There’s a small box in the corner, illuminated by the light from the window. For some reason, it isn’t marked like the others. Sam must have forgotten to label it. I bring it onto the counter and open it first. It’s Sam’s things, randomly thrown inside. I take out a few of his shirts and fold them on the table. There are other things in here, too. A few records, some photographs, a bunch of birthday cards and letters, and something else that makes me go still. One of the bookends he gave me. I stare at it for a while, along with his things I set on thetable. There’s something familiar about having all of them together. Like pieces of a puzzle. As I go through them again, the pieces come together, and the image hits me like a brick.This can’t be possible, can it?There should be something else in this box. I don’t have to look to know what it is. I reach inside slowly and take it out.
Sam’s denim jacket.I stare at it for a long time. This is in the same box I threw out weeks ago.
As I stand there, running my hand over it, the record player suddenly comes to life, making me jump. A song comes on that wasn’t playing before, something unfamiliar to me. When it starts toscreech,and rise in volume, I hurry over to unplug it. As soon as I lift the needle from the record, I sense the candles blow out behind me as the room goes silent. Sunlight fades from the windows, dimming the apartment. I turn around to see the table cleared. As I look around the room, the boxes have suddenly disappeared, too, including the one with Sam’s things—the apartment is empty. Where did everything go?
“Sam?”
I call his name a few times but no answer. Is he still here? I head to the bedroom to look for him. The hallway is somehow longer than I remember, and seems to extend farther and farther as I walk. For some reason, there are no doors on either side, only one at the very end of the hall. It’s covered with stickers, just like the ones Sam has on his bedroom door at home. I touch the knob, taking a deep breath before I turn it. A couple leaves roll into the hallway as I open it, followed by a familiar breeze.
Tall grass bends beneath my shoes as I step outside, and find myself standing in the middle of the fields. I breathe in the air, taking in the scent of barley. There’s something different about this place. The sky is overcast and I sense a strange vibrationmoving under me. A strong wind bends the tops of the grasses, nearly breaking them. There are no sounds of crickets, only a growing rumble coming from somewhere deep inside the earth. As more clouds roll in, I feel the first sprinkling of rain on my skin. In the distance, high above the line of mountains, lightning flashes. A storm is coming, and it appears I’ll have to face it alone.
Sam isn’t here anymore. Maybe he never was.
I used to live inside my daydreams. I spent hours planning the future in my head, imagining myself ten years from now, finished with college, living in an apartment in the city, getting to write for a living. I imagined the details of the rest of my life—the appliances I would have in the kitchen, the titles of stories I would publish, the places I would travel, who would be there with me. But then you get rejections in the mail, lose that person who meant everything to you, and find yourself back at the beginning with nowhere to go. I try not to daydream anymore. It only tricks me with images of Sam, filling me with the possibility that we can still be together, that there’s a future for us, until reality comes in like a storm to blow everything away.
Sam is never coming back. But somehow I keep on waiting for him. I’m not sure how many calls we have left, but the number is winding down. I spent the morning looking through the log of phone calls I’ve been keeping, remembering our conversations, trying to make sense of things. Since I let him speak to Mika, I noticed each call is shorter than the one before, the static coming sooner.How many more calls left before I lose you?It’s hard to worry about this when there are other questionswe haven’t answered yet.Why were we given this second chance? Just to say good-bye?It’s as if we’ve been reconnected only to be torn apart again. Sam said that we should appreciate this for what it is, but I can’t help thinking there has to be a reason we’ve been connected again. But there’s only so much time left. Maybe I’ll never get the answer.
Every time I get off the phone with him, it feels like we’re getting closer to the end. Even though I knew this was coming, it still tears me apart inside.Like I’m losing him all over again. What am I going to do when he’s gone?I wish the world would slow down for us. I wish I could put coins into a machine to buy us more time. I wish I could save these last calls for as long as I can, so we can stay connected. I wish there was something, anything I could do to keep him with me.
