You've Reached Sam

It warms me to hear this, especially coming from Yuki. She knew Sam longer than the others. She lived with his family during the first year of her exchange program. Sam was the first person she met when she arrived in Ellensburg, and he showed her around. His mother hoped it would help him improve his Japanese. The day after the funeral, she stopped by my house to drop off soup and tea for me even though I ignored all her messages.

Jay and Rachel moved here a few months ago. It’s their first year in Washington. We have a few other international students. The ones from Europe are treated like royalty and get invited to all the parties. Yuki, Jay, and Rachel, on the other hand, have had a more difficult time finding their place. They get the alienation treatment, despite their fluency in English. No one makes the effort to talk to them like the French and German students, so they rely a lot on each other. The terrible thing is when people see them together all the time, they accuse them of isolating themselves from the rest of school. I never noticed this until Sam mentioned it to me. Sam told me his friends would refer to them as those Asians. When Sam finally said, “You know, I’m Asian, too,” one of his friends replied, “Yeah, but you’re … different.” Because Sam was born here and didn’t have an accent. Sam never said anything back. He just grabbed his things one day and moved to Yuki’s table, and I went with him. Now lunch feels empty without him here. Like something’s missing. I know the others sense it, too.

Jay passes me another Kit Kat and leans into me. “Let us know if you need anything,” he whispers. “We’re always here for you.”

I don’t know what else to say to everyone but “Thank you.” I poke at my salad with my fork as we continue to eat in silence. Much later, almost out of nowhere, I say to the table, “I think Sam would be happy to know what you guys said about him.” I know in my heart this is true. And I plan to tell him later.



* * *



At the end of school, I hurry to my locker to grab my things. I’m trying not to run into anyone. I just want to head home and call Sam as soon as I get to my room. It’s what we have planned. As I’m standing there, I sense someone behind me. There’s a tap on my shoulder.

“Julie?”

I turn around to meet dark green eyes. It’s Oliver, Sam’s best friend, standing a bit too close. He’s wearing his blue letterman jacket. His backpack hangs over a single shoulder.

“You’re really back…”

“Did you need something?”

“I wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi,” I say quickly. I turn back to my locker and grab another book, hoping he’ll take the hint.

Oliver doesn’t move. “How have you been lately?”

“Fine.”

“Oh…” He waits for me to say more but I don’t. Maybe he was expecting a different answer. I’m not in the mood to have that conversation right now. Especially with him. But he keeps talking. “It’s been a real week, hasn’t it?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Oliver asks again.

“I said I’m fine.”

I don’t mean to be so rude. But Oliver and I have never been good friends, despite his relationship with Sam. There was always some tension between us I never completely understood. It always felt like the two of us were competing for Sam’s attention. There was a time when I wanted to get to know Oliver. Whenever we were together with Sam, I remember trying to start a conversation with him, but he’d always be short with me or pretended not to hear it. He would invite Sam somewhere and say there was no room in his car or spare ticket for me. So forgive me if I’m in no mood for a chat. Especially since Sam isn’t around anymore. I don’t have to be friendly. I don’t owe him anything.

Oliver was also one of the people there at the bonfire that night. Maybe that’s what he wants to talk about. I’m not looking for a confrontation right now. I shut my locker. “I have to go.”

“But I was hoping you and I could talk, or something,” he says somewhat tensely.

“I don’t really have time right now. Sorry.” I walk off without saying anything else.

“Wait—just for a second?”

I keep walking.

“Please,” Oliver calls after me. Something sharp and wounded in his voice cuts me, making me stop. “Please…” he says again, almost desperately this time. “I don’t really have anyone else to talk to.”

I turn around slowly. The two of us stand there, looking at each other as people walk right past us. Now that I’m looking at him, I can read the pain in his face. He lost Sam, too. Except he isn’t connected to him like I am. I step toward Oliver, closing the distance between us, and whisper, “Is it about Sam?”

Oliver nods. “Nobody else gets it,” he says. Then he leans into me. “Why did it have to happen to him, you know?”

I touch his shoulder and feel how tense he is. Like he’s holding something in. Neither of us say any more because we don’t need to. For the first time, it’s like we understand each other.

“I know…” I say.

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