“But what?”
Sam takes some time to answer. “To be honest, I don’t know what else to say … I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question. I don’t really wanna blame anyone. Because it won’t change anything, you know? Nothing can change what happened. It’s hard enough to accept that…” For the first time, there’s pain in his voice, like something sharp is caught in his throat.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—” I start.
“It’s okay, Jules. Really,” he says to ease me. “Where did the question come from anyway? I hope that’s not what you’ve been thinking.”
“I didn’t at first. But I’ve heard some people talking at school.”
Sam’s voice sharpens. “Forget them. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They weren’t there when it happened, okay? Don’t let them get into your head.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with all this right now,” he says.
“And I’m sorry you died.”
Neither of us says anything else. After we hang up the phone, I pick the papers up from the floor and sit down at my desk. It’s hard to focus after that conversation. I spend more than an hour trying to start a history paper, but barely get two sentences down. I keep thinking about calling Sam back, but I need to get some work done. The words inside the textbook blur and rearrange themselves, and I forget what it is I’m reading about. I must have dozed off at some point, because when I open my eyes, I’m no longer in my room.
A fog moves across my shoes, and when I look up, I find myself standing at a bus station. It’s dark out. I can’t see anything past the curtain of fog, not even the sky. I glance around to find someone but it’s only me out here. The only thing is the suitcase I borrowed from my dad when I last visited him. There’s a buzzing in my pocket. I reach inside and pull out my phone.
I turn on the screen.
Nine missed calls from Sam. Twelve texts I haven’t opened.
It’s 11:48 p.m.
Out of nowhere, the sound of a truck rumbles like thunder, but I can’t see it. It is this sound, and the exact time of the clock, that brings me back to that night from nearly two weeks ago.
This is the night Sam died. And this is where I stood.
The phone rings again, even louder this time.
It’s Sam. I didn’t bother to pick up last time because how could I know? This time I do, just to see if the ending changes.
The line crackles in my ear but I don’t hear anything.
“Sam! Sam—are you there?”
Nothing but white noise, like someone crinkling paper. I angle the phone, and turn in circles, until a voice finally comes through the line. But I can barely understand it.
“Julie? Who’s there? Hello?”
“Sam, it’s me! It’s Julie!”
“Where are you? I can’t find you. Julie?”
The phone keeps crackling. I don’t think he can hear me.
“Sam—I’m coming! Don’t worry—just wait right there!”
“Julie? Where are you—”
The phone crackles again before it sparks in my hand, and I yank it from my ear. Smoke pours from the screen as I’m shouting Sam’s name, filling the air like fog until I can no longer see what’s in front of me except vanishing streaks of red and white sparks.
A horn goes off, followed by the sound of guitar strings breaking, and I wake up at my desk. The smoke is gone.
I don’t bother to check the time or see if it’s dark out. Instead I hurry downstairs, grab the car keys, and head out the door. I back the car out of the driveway before my mother comes out, and head up route 10, following the railway, leaving Ellensburg.
This might sound ridiculous, 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.
Sam was at a bonfire by the river with some friends. It was the same night I was returning from my trip to Seattle to visit my dad. Sam had promised to pick me up, like he always did. But when I called him from outside of the station, he was still at the bonfire, more than an hour away. He kept apologizing, but I was so upset he forgot, I hung up and stopped answering his calls. I told him I would walk home. How could I know that would be the last thing I ever said to him?