You've Reached Sam(15)

It’s too dark to see anything. The scent of flowers and incense overwhelms me. I step over his little brother’s shoes as I feel around for a switch. A single lamp flickers on and I look around. The living room is filled with flowers that are beginning to wilt. A beautiful wreath of chrysanthemums hangs near the mantel. This must all be for Sam.

Sam’s voice comes on the line. “Is anyone home?” he asks me.

“I don’t think so. It’s too quiet in here.”

“That’s weird. Where is everyone?”

“There are a bunch of flowers for you, though,” I tell him. “The house is full of them.”

“Flowers?” Sam repeats, a note of surprise in his voice. “Interesting …

Are yours there, too?”

“Mine?”

I look around the room anyway. Knowing full well nothing here is from me. Not even a card. A knot of guilt forms in my chest, and I feel terrible again. “I don’t see them here,” is all I say.

“I’m sure my mom kept them somewhere else,” Sam says.

“Maybe…”

I don’t want to be in here anymore. So I take my shoes off and head upstairs. It’s so strange to be alone in the house. I tiptoe past his little brother James’s room, even though he isn’t there. Maybe it’s out of habit.

Sam’s room is at the end of the hall. His door is covered with band logos and NASA stickers. The doorknob is cold to the touch. I take a deep breath before I twist it open.

I don’t need to turn on the light to know something is different. The curtain is drawn, giving me enough moonlight to see the boxes in the room.

Some of the shelves have been cleaned. It looks like Sam’s parents have started to pack things, leaving only the bedsheets and the smell of him. I take another breath. I never thought I would be back here again.

“You still there?” Sam’s voice brings me back to him. “Sorry if my room’s a mess.” He always said this right before I came in.

“What am I looking for?”

“It should be somewhere on my desk,” Sam says. “I wrapped it up for you.”

I go through his desk. Behind the computer, under folders, in the drawers. But nothing’s there.

“Are you sure? Try the middle drawer again.”

“Nothing’s there, Sam,” I tell him. I glance around the room. “It might be in one of the boxes.”

“What boxes?”

I almost don’t want to tell him. “There are boxes in your room. I think your parents are packing things up.”

“Why would they do that?”

I give him a moment to think this through.

“Oh … Right. I guess I forgot for a second there.”

“I can look through them, if you want me to,” I say.

Sam doesn’t hear me. “Why would they pack my things up so soon…”

he says more to himself than to me. “I haven’t been gone that long, have I?”

“You know, I can’t speak for your parents … but sometimes, it’s just hard to look at these things,” I try to explain.

“I guess so…”

I turn on the desk lamp to see the room better. The boxes are half filled with Sam’s clothes, books, CDs and record collection, and rolled-up posters —so many things I thought I’d never see again. I suddenly remember the things I threw out this morning. Here they are right in front of me. Sam’s Radiohead T-shirt. His Mariners hat he bought when we were in Seattle, even though he knows nothing about baseball. It all still smells like him.

For a second, I forget what I’m even looking for.

“Did you find it yet?” Sam asks again.

I open another box. This one’s full of recording equipment. Sam must have spent the last six months saving up for this microphone. He always talked about recording his own music. I told him I’d help him with lyrics.

Sam wanted to be a musician. He wanted his song to play on the radio someday. He wanted to make it in the world. Now he’ll never get the chance.

I find the gift eventually. It’s wrapped with magazine pages and filled with tissue. It’s heavier than I expected.

“What is it?”

“Just open it, Jules.”

I tear it open, letting the wrapping paper fall to the rug. It takes me a second to realize what this is.

“Wait a second…” I turn it over in my hand, trying to make sense of what I’m holding. The winged bookend. The same one I threw out this morning. But it can’t be. “Sam … where did you get this?”

“At the antique shop. It’s the other half you were missing.”

I examine it closely. He’s right—this isn’t the same one I kept in my room. It’s the long-lost half we couldn’t find. “But, I thought someone bought it by the time we came back.”

“That was me.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s the surprise,” Sam says with a laugh. “I went back and got the other piece for you. I let you think it was gone. That way, it would be more special when you finally get to put them together. When the wings are complete. It’s pretty romantic, right?”

Except I don’t have the other wing anymore. Because I threw it out, and now the two pieces will never be reunited. I can’t believe I ruined his gift. I ruined everything.