you've reached sam

you've reached sam [ Chapter-1 pg 6 to 10 ]

Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here, either. My mother describes Ellensburg as an old town that’s still figuring itself out in an age where everyone wants to be in the city. As much as I can’t wait to leave the place, I admit it has its charm.

I cross my arms as I enter downtown, noticing the changes brought by spring these last few weeks. Flower baskets bloom beneath streetlamps. A line of white canopies runs down the main block for the weekly farmers market. I cross the street to avoid the crowd, hoping not to run into anyone. Downtown Ellensburg is usually beautiful, especially during the warmer months. But walking these streets again, I am reminded of him. Sam waits for me to get off work and we grab falafels at the food stand. We watch a movie on “five-dollar Sundays” at the theater and then wander through town together. When I sense him standing around the corner, waiting for me, my heart races, and I think about turning back. But no one is there except a woman lost in her phone. I pass by without her even noticing.

My friend Mika Obayashi and I arranged to meet for coffee at the diner on the other side of town. There are plenty of coffee shops around, but I texted Mika last night saying I’m in no mood to run into anyone. She replied, Same. Inside the diner, I am seated at a booth by the window near an old couple sharing a menu. When the waitress comes, I order a cup of coffee, no cream, no sugar. Usually I add some milk, but I’m training myself to drink my coffee black. I read somewhere online that it is an acquired taste like wine.

I’ve only had a few sips when the bell jingles from the ceiling, and Mika comes through the door, looking for me. She’s wearing a black cardigan over a dark dress I’ve never seen her wear before. She looks better

than I expected, given the circumstances. Maybe she just came from one of the services. My mom told me she spoke at the funeral. Mika is Sam’s cousin. That’s how she and I met. Sam introduced us when I first moved here.

Once Mika sees me, she comes over and slides into the red booth. I watch her set her phone down and throw her bag beneath the table. The same waitress reappears, sets down a cup, and pours a long stream of coffee.

“Extra sugar and milk would be great,” Mika requests. “Please.” “Sure,” the waitress says.

Mika holds up her hand. “Actually, is there soy milk?”

“Soy? No.”

“Oh.” Mika frowns. “Just milk then.” As soon as the waitress turns, Mika looks at me. “You didn’t reply to my messages. I wasn’t sure if we were still meeting.”

“Sorry. I haven’t been the most responsive lately.” I don’t really have another excuse. I have a habit of leaving my phone on silent. But this week, I’ve been especially disconnected.

“I get it,” she says, frowning a little. “For a second, I thought you might have canceled without telling me. You know I don’t like being stood up.”

“Which is why I came early.”

We both smile. I have a sip of coffee.

Mika touches my hand. “I missed you,” she whispers, giving me a squeeze.

“I missed you, too.” As much as I tell myself I like being alone, I feel a rush of relief to see a familiar face. To see Mika again.

The waitress arrives, sets down a small pitcher of milk, tosses some sugar packets from her apron, and disappears again. Mika rips open three sugars and pours them into her cup. She picks up the pitcher and holds it out. “Milk?” she offers.

I shake my head. “Because it isn’t soy?”

“No … I’m trying to drink my coffee black.”

“Hmm. Impressive,” she says, nodding. “Very Seattle of you.”

At the word Seattle, Mika’s phone lights up as notifications pop up on her screen. The phone vibrates on the table. Mika glances at her screen,

then back at me. “Let me put this away.” She hides the phone in her bag, and picks up a menu. “Did you want to order something?”

“I’m actually not hungry.” “Oh, alright.”

Mika sets down the menu. She laces her fingers together on the table as I have another sip of coffee. The jukebox blinks orange and blue from across the room but no music plays. An air of silence nearly settles between us until Mika finally asks the question.

“So, did you want to talk about it?” “Not really.”

“Are you sure? I thought that’s why you wanted to meet.” “I wanted to get out of the house.”

She nods. “That’s good. But how are you handling all of this?” “Fine, I guess.”

Mika says nothing. She looks at me, as if expecting more.

“Well, what about you,” I ask her instead. “How have you been?” Mika’s gaze falls onto the table as she thinks about this. “I don’t know.

The services have been hard. There isn’t really a temple around here, so we’re doing what we can. There’s a lot of traditions and customs I didn’t even know about, you know?”

“I can’t imagine…” I say. Mika and Sam have always been connected to their culture in a way that I haven’t. My parents are both from somewhere in northern Europe, but it’s not something I really think about.

Things quiet again. Mika stirs her coffee for a long time without saying anything. Then she goes still, as if remembering something. “We held a vigil for him,” she says without looking at me. “The day after. I stayed the night with him. I got to see him again…”

My stomach clenches at the thought of this. At seeing Sam one more time after he … I stop myself from imagining it. I have another sip of coffee, and try to blink the image away, but it doesn’t fade. I wish she wouldn’t tell me about this.

“I know. Not a lot of people wanted to see him like that,” Mika says, still not looking at me. “I almost couldn’t do it, either. But I knew it was the last time I would get the chance. So I went.”

I don’t say anything. I drink my coffee.

“There were a lot of people at the funeral, though,” she continues. “We didn’t have enough seats. There were people from school I didn’t even recognize. There were so many flowers.”

“That’s really nice.”

“Some people asked where you were,” Mika says. “I told them you weren’t feeling well. That you prefer visiting him on your own.”

“You didn’t have to explain anything,” I say. “I know. But some of them kept asking.” “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who,” Mika says, brushing it off.

I have the last sip of my coffee, which by now has lost all of its warmth, intensifying the bitterness.

Mika looks at me. “So have you visited him?” I take my time to respond. “No … not yet.”

“Do you want to?” she asks, taking my hand again. “We can go now.

Together.”

I pull my hand back. “I—I can’t right now…” “Why not?”

“I have things to do,” I say vaguely. “Like what?”

I don’t know what to say. Why do I need to explain myself?

Mika leans into the table, her voice low. “Julie, I know this whole thing’s been terrible for you. It’s been terrible for me, too. But you can’t avoid this forever. You should come, pay your respects. Especially now.” Then, in almost a whisper, says, “Please, it’s Sam—”

Her voice cracks at his name. I can hear a cry rising up her throat as she manages to hold it down. Seeing her this way sends an ache of pain to my chest, making it impossible to speak. I can’t believe she would use this against me. I can’t think straight. I have to hold myself together.

I clench my empty cup. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about this,” I say again.

“For god’s sake, Julie,” Mika scolds me. “Sam would have wanted you to come. You haven’t been there for him this entire week. You weren’t even there when they had him buried.”

“I know, and I’m sure everyone has a lot to say about that, too,” I say back.

“Who cares what everyone else says,” Mika cries, her body half rising from the seat. “It only matters what Sam would say.”

“Sam is dead.”

This quiets the both of us.

Mika stares at me for a long time. Her eyes search mine for signs of guilt or regret, as if she’s waiting for me to somehow amend my words, but all I have to say is, “He’s dead, Mika, and me visiting him isn’t going to change anything.”

We hold our gaze for what seems like a long time before Mika looks away. From her silence, I know she is both stunned and disappointed. It is at this moment I realize the tables around us have hushed as well. Our waitress passes by without a word.

After a moment, once the tune of the diner resumes, I gather my words. “This isn’t my fault, you know? I told him not to come but he wouldn’t listen to me. I told him to stay there. So everyone needs to stop expecting

some apology from me, and blaming me for any of—” “I’m not trying to blame you for this,” Mika says.

“I know you aren’t. But everyone else probably does.”

“No. Not everyone thinks that, Julie. And I’m sorry, but this isn’t about you—it’s about Sam. It’s about missing his funeral. It’s about how the one person who was closest to him, who knew him best, wasn’t even there to speak about him. Sam deserved more, and you know it. That’s what everyone expected. But you weren’t there, through any of it.”

“You’re right. Maybe I do know him better,” I say. “And maybe I think he doesn’t believe in any of this stuff. The ceremonies, the vigil, the people from school—please. Sam doesn’t care about any of them. He would have hated all of this. He’s probably glad I didn’t show up!”

“I know you don’t believe that,” Mika says.

“Don’t tell me what I believe,” I say. That came out sharper than I wanted it to. I almost take it back, but I don’t.

Luckily, our waitress reappears to take our order before this goes further. Mika looks at me, at the waitress, then back at me.

“Actually, I should go,” she says abruptly, and gathers up her things. Our waitress steps aside as Mika rises from the booth. She lays some money on the table, and turns to leave. “I almost forgot,” she says. “I picked up your assignments from school the other day. Wasn’t sure when you’d be

back.” She unzips her bag. “Yearbooks also came. Ours were the last to get picked up, so I got yours, too. Here—” She drops everything on the table.

“Oh—thanks.” “I’ll see you later.”

I don’t say good-bye. I just watch Mika disappear through the entrance door, ringing the bell behind her, leaving me alone again. The waitress offers to refill my coffee, but I shake my head. I suddenly can’t stand to be in here anymore, inside this noisy, cramped, syrup-stained diner that’s making me anxious. I need to get out of this place.

There goes my afternoon. I don’t know what else to do but wander outside again. I try not to think about Mika and what I should have said differently, because it’s too late. I walk through town, letting the caffeine kick in. At least the morning chill is gone. Shop windows glisten in the afternoon sun. I pass by without going inside. There’s the antique store. Sam and I used to go in and furnish our imaginary apartment together. I pause at the window. Through the dusty glass are long shelves crowded with paintings and figurines, floors swathed with Persian rugs and old furniture, among other things. Then despite myself, another memory comes …