you've reached sam

you've reached sam [ Chapter-2 pg 1 to 5 ]

CHAPTER TWO

“Can you hear me…” he says. “Julie?”

The ocean fades and his voice comes through more clearly.

“Are you there?”

I blink off raindrops. I must have played one of his voice mails by mistake. But I thought I deleted them this morning.

“If you can hear me—say something. Let me know if this is you…”

I don’t remember that line from before. So this must be something else. Maybe I hit my head and am suddenly imagining things. My vision blurs, so I close my eyes again to stop the trees from spinning. I’m not sure if his voice is coming through the phone or my own head, but I answer it anyway.

“Sam?”

Silence fills the woods. For a second, I think he’s gone. That he was never there. But then I hear a breath that isn’t mine.

“Hey…” he says with an air of relief. “I thought I lost you there…”

My eyes c***k open to reveal a sliver of the world. I’m too numb from the cold to know which way is up or down or where the sky is. I reach into the back of my mind for some sense and come up empty.

“Sam?” I say again.

“Can you hear me, okay? I wasn’t sure if this would work.” “What’s going on?”

“I wondered if you’d ever call me back,” he says, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. As if we are continuing a conversation we left off yesterday. “I missed you. I missed you infinity.”

I can’t think straight. I don’t know what’s happening. “Did you miss me, too?”

I take in his familiar voice, the rain against my skin, the feeling of my body sinking into the ground, the sudden dizziness in my head, and try to make sense of what’s happening. As strange as this all seems, I can’t help asking, “Is this … really you, Sam?”

“It’s me,” he says, and laughs a little. “I thought I’d never hear from you again. I thought you might have forgotten about me.”

“How am I talking to you?”

“You called me.” His voice is as calm as water. “And I picked up. Like I always do.”

Always.

“I don’t understand … How is this possible?”

The line goes quiet. Raindrops roll off my skin like sweat. Sam takes a moment to respond.

“To be honest with you, Julie, I don’t understand this, either,” he admits. “I don’t know how this is happening right now. Just know that it’s really me. Okay?”

“Okay…” I manage to say.

I decide to go along with this, let his voice cover me like an umbrella, even though this can’t be real. I feel my mind slipping, and myself sinking deeper into the earth as I hang on to Sam’s voice like rope. Even though I don’t know where it’s coming from. I want this to be him, but it can’t be. It’s impossible. And then it hits me. “I’m dreaming…”

“This isn’t a dream,” Sam says, his voice filling the woods. “I promise.” “Then how else are we talking?”

“The same way we always have. Through the phone, just like this.” “But Sam … I still don’t—” I start.

“I know,” he goes on. “It’s a little different this time, but I promise to give you a better answer soon. But for right now, can’t we just enjoy this? This phone call, I mean. Getting to hear each other again. Let’s talk about something else. Anything you want. Like before.”

Before. I close my eyes again, and try to go back there. Before I lost him. Before any of this happened. Before everything was ruined. But when I open them again, I’m still here in the woods. And Sam is still a voice on the line.

“You still there?” he asks. His voice is so clear, I turn my head, expecting to see him.

It’s only me out here. A question comes to me. “Where are you?” “Somewhere,” he answers vaguely.

“Where?” I ask again. I adjust the angle of the phone, listening for background noises on his end, but the rain drowns everything out.

“It’s hard to explain. I mean, I’m not entirely sure if I know myself. Sorry I don’t have all the answers. But none of that matters, okay? I’m here now. And you and me are connected again. You don’t know how much I missed you…”

I missed you, too. I missed you so much, Sam. But the words won’t come out. A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ve fallen through some rabbit hole and entered an alternate reality.

Or maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Whatever it is, I’m afraid that if our conversation ends, I will lose him again and never get my answer.

The rain continues. But the sky has reduced it to a soft drizzle.

“What’s that sound?” Sam asks, listening. “Is that rain? Julie, where are you?”

I glance around. For a moment, I forgot how I ended up here. “Somewhere outside.”

“What are you doing out there?” “I don’t remember…”

“Are you near your home?”

“No … I—I’m not sure where I am.” I’m not really sure of anything at the moment.

“Are you lost?”

I think about this question. There are so many ways I could answer it. Instead, I close my eyes to shut out the rest of the world, focusing on Sam’s voice, trying to hold on to it for as long as I can.

“You should get out of the rain, Julie … Find someplace safe and dry, okay?” Sam says. “And as soon as you do, give me a call back.”

My heart jolts and I open my eyes.

“Wait!” My voice cracks. “Please don’t hang up!” I’m not ready to lose him again.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Get somewhere safe and call me back. As soon as you do, I’ll pick up. I promise.”

He’s made promises before that he didn’t keep. I want to refuse but I can’t seem to speak. I wish I could keep him on the line forever. But Sam repeats these words over and over until I start to believe them.

“As soon as you call me back … I’ll pick up.”

I can’t stay out here forever. I’m drenched and am beginning to lose the feeling in my hands. I need to get out of these woods, and out of the cold,

before the sun goes down and I can’t find my way back.

I don’t remember how the call ended or what happened after. That part remains a blur in my mind like a missing page from a book. All I know is that I kept walking until I made it out of the woods and found the main road again.

It’s late evening by the time I reach town. I hurry along wet sidewalks, passing beneath store canopies to avoid the rain. The lights from the diner where I met Mika this morning are off, but the café down the street is still lit up. It is the only light on for blocks. I cross the street and make my way inside. Even at this hour, the place is half filled with students from the university, coupled together beneath Moroccan lamps. Raincoats hang over the backs of bar stools. Laptop screens illuminate blank faces. I make my way toward a table in the back without ordering anything. Once I settle down, I turn my chair away from the others and face the window. There are no mirrors in this café, so my pale reflection in the glass catches me by surprise.

I blow out the tea candle and the image of me vanishes. I run a hand through my wet hair. My clothes are dripping onto the hardwood floor. Maybe I should have wrung them out a little before I came in. Thankfully this corner of the café is dark enough to keep me unnoticed.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and glance around the room. The woman at the table near me is reading a book. I don’t want her to overhear the phone call, so I wait a little. She is sitting alone, dressed all in black, and I wonder if she works here. Maybe she’s reading on her break. She sips her tea slowly, making me anxious. It isn’t until she gets up to leave that I breathe easier. I pull out my phone. It’s almost nine. How did it get this late? This is the first I’ve been aware of the time since I left the house. There are no new messages or missed calls. I guess no one noticed I was gone.

I set my phone down on the table and pick it up again. I do this several more times until I lose count. The smell of caffeine and chai singes my nose. Now that I’ve made it out of the woods, and am thinking more clearly, the thought of calling Sam again seems ridiculous. Whatever happened out

there was probably all in my head. At least, I think so. Have I completely lost it?

I must have, because I pick up the phone again and dial his number.

The call goes through. I hear the first ring and hold my breath. But he picks up almost instantly.

“Hey … I was waiting for you.”

The sound of his voice floods me with relief. I bring my fingers up to my mouth to contain a sound. I don’t know whether to feel confused or relieved or a mixture of both.

“Sam—” I say his name without thinking.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d call back,” he says. “Thought you might have forgotten.”

“I didn’t forget. I wasn’t sure where to go.” “Where did you end up?”

I turn my head and look up at the stained-glass transom above the door without thinking. From inside the café, the mosaic letters reflect backward in gold and blue lantern light.

“Sun and Moon.”

“The café where I used to work?” he asks. I almost forgot. It’s been a while since I’ve been back here. Sam goes quiet for a moment, and I feel him listening to the background noises through the phone. Suddenly I become aware of them, too—the sound of stools scratching against wood floor, the clink of a spoon on a ceramic plate, the low murmurs of a conversation from across the room. “That’s where I first talked to you. You were sitting in the back of the café. Do you remember?”

My mind flashes back to that day. A black apron, the steam from a warm latte, a paper lily on the front counter. Sam brought over my drink before I could order and we talked for hours. That was almost three years ago. This is the same table, isn’t it? The one in the back, by the window. I almost didn’t notice.

“You used to order a honey lavender latte. I still remember. You never order that anymore, though. You drink coffee now. At least, you try to,” he says with a laugh.

It feels like yesterday we were sitting here together. But I can’t think about this right now. “Sam…” I say to bring him back.

“Remember that time you wanted an espresso to finish your paper, but I said it was way too late for that?” he goes on, almost reminiscently. “You kept insisting, so I made it anyway, and you couldn’t sleep the entire night. You got so mad at me…”

“I wasn’t mad at you. I was just cranky.”

“Remember the concert, that night I got my guitar signed? We ended up at the café, too, isn’t that right? We shared one of those half-moon cookies … you know with the white icing? The ones you said don’t look like moons at all? Remember that?”

Of course I remember. The memory is fresh in my head, sending a flutter to my stomach. I was wearing his denim jacket, the one I threw out this morning. We were soaking wet from the rain.