You've Reached Sam (You've Reached Sam, #1)

by Dustin Thao

“Don’t worry,” Sam says. “I can make you another one. I can make you a thousand more.”

“Julie … if I could stay with you, I’d never leave.”

I want you to know … if I could do it all over again, I would. Every second of it.” If the ending is this painful, I don’t know if this was worth it all.

“Julie, I know this whole thing’s been terrible for you. It’s been terrible for me, too. But you can’t avoid this forever. You should come, pay your respects. Especially now.” Then, in almost a whisper, says, “Please, it’s Sam—”

I feel like my life didn’t start until I met you, Julie. You’re the best thing to happen to this small town. To me. I realize it doesn’t matter where we’re going next, as long as we’re together.

“How do you expect me to do that? I feel like I’m going crazy.” “You’re not crazy, okay?” “Then how am I talking to you?” “You called me, Julie. And I picked up. Like always.”

Another promise. Without an explanation.

“I missed you, too. I missed you infinity.”

“Use your time at the store. Talk with the books for inspiration. They’re full of ideas.”

“We have too many voices inside our heads. You have to pick out the ones that mean something to you.

but Sam might be out there waiting for me. I have to go find him. My headlights are the only things shining on the barren highway for miles. I keep looking out the window to see if Sam’s walking along the side of the road. I can’t help thinking back to that night.

He smiles as he plucks a rose from the hedge. For a second, I think he might give it to me. But he doesn’t. He just holds on to it.

“There’s no one else I want to end up with. You’re still here, Sam. And that’s all that matters right now. Nothing else.” “Julie,” Sam says, somewhat tensely. “Don’t do this.” “Do what?” “Hold on to us,” he says. “As if we still have forever.” “Why do you keep saying that?” “Because it won’t always be like this. It can’t. I need you to remember that.” “But why can’t it be?” “It just can’t—” His voice cracks a little. “Think about it. You’re not going to live the rest of your life talking to your dead boyfriend on the phone, while everyone else is out there living their lives, meeting new people, moving on with the rest of the world. You can’t live this way forever.”

“I wish you were here,” I say. “I wish you were lying right next to me. I wish I could look over and see you smiling back. I wish I could run a hand through your hair, and know you’re real. I wish we could finish school and graduate together. So we can finally leave this place like we always planned, and find an apartment somewhere, and figure out the rest of our lives together so I don’t have to do it alone. I wish you were alive again … and I wish I had picked up the phone

that night, so that all this would be different, and everything would go back to before…”

sometimes, dreams mean the opposite of what they show us. That we shouldn’t understand them exactly as they are. It can mean something in our life is out of balance. Or maybe we’re holding in too much. Especially when we lose someone, dreams show us the opposite of what it is we need to find balance again.”

“I miss you, too. I miss you infinity.”

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.”

“You and I can’t be together. You know that.”

Why does everyone think they know what’s good for me? What about what I think?

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.

Letting go isn’t about forgetting. It’s balancing moving forward with life, and looking back from time to time, remembering the people in it.”

He never warned me that surprises are not always good things. That’s something I had to learn on my own.

“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.

It feels like I’ve found a piece of you again.