I pull out my phone. My mother’s at her office, but still manages to answer on the fourth ring.
“Mom—where are you?”
“Why? Julie, is something wrong?”
I realize how out of breath I sound. But I can’t seem to collect myself.
“The box of Sam’s things from this morning. The one I left outside. Did you bring it back in?”
“Julie, what are you talking about? Of course I didn’t.”
“So you don’t know where it is?” I ask desperately.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” she says. “Are you alright? Why do you sound like that?”
“I’m fine. It’s just I … I have to go—”
I hang up the phone before she can say anything else. My stomach sinks. It’s too late. Everything I had left of Sam is gone.
I suddenly remember how I skipped every service and ceremony that was held in his memory—memories I abandoned. I didn’t even bother to visit his grave. I can’t seem to stand still. I keep pacing back and forth through the empty house as these sudden emotions, the ones I’ve been holding back, cycle through me like ice water in my veins, making my hands shake. Mika was right. What would Sam think of me if he knew how I treated him?
As I replay the last few days in my mind, I begin to understand something I didn’t before. All my pent-up anger was nothing more than a wall to hide my guilt.
It wasn’t Sam who left me that night. It was me who abandoned him. The second I realize this, I’m back outside and running.
An overcast sky has appeared while I was inside, painting shadows over the neighborhood as I cross the streets. Ellensburg is not the smallest town in central Washington. But there’s one main road that runs through the whole town, and if you follow it straight through, you’ve seen everything. A few blocks before you reach the university, there’s an unmarked trail that cuts straight across the entire north side. I follow the trail toward the hill as more clouds roll in, and I feel the first sprinkling of rain.
It’s about an hour’s walk to memorial hill from the neighborhoods, but the trail cuts the time by nearly a third. And because I haven’t stopped running since I left the house, I reach it in no time.
It’s drizzling out, but the rain has resolved into mist. I can hardly see in front of me. My clothes are half soaked from the run, but it’s not enough to bother me as I stride toward the memorial park’s entrance.
Sam is buried somewhere up there. I have to see him at least once, pay my respects, and tell him I’m sorry for not coming sooner and what a terrible person I’ve been. I have to let Sam know that I haven’t forgotten him.
An image plays in my head like a film reel. I see him sitting on top of his headstone, in his denim jacket, waiting for me for the past week. A dozen conversations play through my mind as I think of what to say to him, how to explain why I’ve kept away for so long. But two feet before I reach the main gate, I stop short.
The lamppost hanging above the gate creaks, unlit in the rain.
What am I doing here? The hill is more than four hundred acres of folded land. I look up and see a thousand grave markers lined up for miles. I don’t know how long it would take to find him or where to begin. My feet stay frozen on the wet concrete. I can’t go in there. I can’t make myself do this. Sam isn’t here. There’s nothing to see but a newly laid plot where he’s supposed to be. But I don’t want that to be the last image I have of him. I don’t want this memory. I don’t want to think of him having to spend the rest of eternity buried somewhere up on that hill.
I take a few steps away from the gate, wondering why I came here. This was a terrible mistake. Sam isn’t there. I don’t want him to be.
Before I even realize it, I’ve turned away from the gate and nearly slip as I break into another run.
The evening mist has turned into a shower as the brick walls that run along the cemetery fade behind me. I don’t even know where I’m going this time. I want to get as far away as I possibly can. The sky is pouring as I enter the woods. I keep on running until the view of houses and roads is long gone.
Rainfall has softened the ground and filled it with puddles. As I’m running, I start imagining myself emerging into an alternate world where everything’s still okay, and wishing I could leap through time so I can go back and change everything. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to will time and space and undo the fabric that is twisting and pulling me apart.