Together we cleaned out my Dad’s house, packing up all of his things, packing up his whole life. We put the house up for sale shortly afterwards, Seth and I splitting everything, but it was Sam who helped me sort it all out. We stayed in Providence for five more days after the funeral and it was the longest I’d been back since I’d left to be with Sam.
I was very angry about everything during that time and Sam tried desperately to talk to me about it. But I couldn’t, didn’t want to and it’s probably the longest and most uncomfortable period of time Sam and I ever endured together. On the last day we were there though, Sam came over to give me something.
"What?" I asked him, barely able to look him in the eye.
Sam’s fingers gently tilted my chin up so I had to look at him. "Ash, I’m sorry," he said quietly.
"For what?" I asked, surprised.
Sam’s face was a mixture of sadness and regret as he said, "For our fight, for your Dad, for everything babe, for everything. I’m really sorry."
"Sam..." was all I could say, pulling him into a hug. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s me who’s sorry, sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you these last few days. I’m really sorry Sam."
Sam stood with his arms wrapped around me as he spoke into my hair. "You don’t have anything to be sorry for either babe, but I don’t ever want to fight like that again. I don’t ever want to fight about anything, okay?"
"Me neither Sam, me neither," I whispered.
Sam pulled back a little, brushing my hair back from my face. "I’m sorry about that night babe. I’m sorry I was such an ass to you, and I won’t ever pressure you to try with people again okay, I promise."
I smiled sadly at him, knowing he still didn’t believe any of this was my fault, but this was his concession to me. I don’t know if he felt guilty about our fight that night, but I hoped he didn’t think I blamed him for what happened. I really didn’t, none of it was his fault. Eventually Sam lowered his head as he took my hand and gently placed something in it. When I opened it to see what it was, all of my anger finally melted away.
"Where did you find this?" I asked him.
"Seth did," Sam explained. "He thought maybe you’d want it as a memory of your Dad. Something for you to keep."
I was crying again now as I slipped the silver wedding ring that used to belong to my Dad, but which he hardly ever wore, onto the thumb of my right hand.
"Thank you Sam," I said through my tears. "Thank you."
"Anything for you babe, you know that," Sam answered pulling me into another hug. "Anything for you."
When we finally left Providence and went back home to Boston, Sam and I were in a much better place. I didn’t ever want to go back there again and after that day, Sam and I never did fight like we had that night. And just like he promised, Sam never tried to get me to make friends again. It still didn’t change anything that’d happened though, how could it? But deep down I’m pretty sure Sam knew, knew what I was thinking. Deep down he knew I blamed myself and part of that blame came from our fight. He never said anything more, but he was always there for me, and now, I needed him more than ever.
∞
I’m so angry when I get home.
So fucking angry.
I flick on some music. The same CD is still in there. The sound of Luke’s voice and music comes through the speakers and I’m briefly reminded of the way it made me feel when I saw them weeks ago. I wish I could go back to that feeling, to that one night of feeling nothing but pure happiness and escape. The feeling of drowning in his music and his voice.
But tonight I can’t.
Tonight all I feel is anger. Anger at everything I’ve lost and everything I’m forced to push away. Anger at whatever it was that made me this way, anger for just being me.
I walk to the fridge and take out a beer. I drink the first one standing there with the fridge door open, so I grab a second and just keep going. It’s only when I’m on my third that I stop and shut the door. I should eat something but I can’t be bothered, so I just keep drinking. Slowly the alcohol starts to make a dent. Slowly I stop feeling the raw pain of today as it gets pushed to the side, drowned in the alcohol that’s now flooding my system. Slowly the gentle numbness of drunken oblivion starts to have an effect.
Slowly I start to feel less of anything. Slowly I start to feel nothing at all.
I’m really drunk when I finally turn on my computer. I know this is a stupid idea. Even in my current condition, I know that. There are five emails from Luke but I don’t bother opening any of them. I barely even remember sending this to him, the message sent notice I see on the screen the next morning, the only clue to what I’ve done.
But sure enough when I go searching through my sent box later on, this is what I find.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: [NONE]
I’m sorry.
Sorry for acting like that, like this. Sorry for being so pissed today.
Sorry for taking it out on you.
Sorry for all of it.
I can’t explain it. I fuck up everything. It’s better if you just stay away from me.
God, I really am fucking pathetic.
Extrasensory perception, commonly known as a sixth sense
∞
Playlist: