Well, it's been awhile...and I felt like posting something anyway! Here's something I've been working on since college and just recently picked back up again. It's from my "Meet Sam" project, a story about looking back on that one person who can forever change your life. That same day I wrote this, I tweeted that I'd written a sad part, and someone asked to see it...so here it is! Hope you enjoy!
I’ve said all I wanted to about Sam. And even though I close my eyes and squeeze tightly, the tears still fall. There’s nothing else I can do or say, because as I stand here and look at the tombstone, I can never tell him what he means to me.
He’s gone.
I got the phone call three days ago at 5:43 p.m. My best girlfriend in college Vivian left me a text to call her about an important issue at noon, but that was the day I left my phone at the house. I remember plainly that that Tuesday hadn’t been shaping out to be the best—which started out with being without my phone—but when I called her back and she told me the news that afternoon, I just hung up on her.
Leave it to Sam to have died the only way I decided was the worst way to die: asleep at the wheel. He apparently had just had a long night working with some Internet stuff at his job and got off around 2:30 a.m. His outdated blue Honda car was working perfectly, but he was just so tired that he dozed off and woke up into eternity. Vivian found out that morning on the news (they had both managed to live in the same small South Carolina town) but she took the morning to get the story straight. Once she had, it was already noon, when my phone got the text.
Vivian—who was completely understanding of me—just sent me a text with the funeral arrangements and dates after I hung up on her that evening. Since I lived in Florida, I had to take a flight out immediately and she met me at the airport that night. I held myself strong and resilient in the terminal, but as soon as we walked inside her house and sat down, I cried in her shoulder the entire night. She knew the story, the one I just shared, so she knew my heartbreak and anger and regret.
But this morning when I woke up, as I physically attempted to get myself out of bed, my mental capacity was drained. There was no way I was going to be able to make it to the funeral. His best friend and roommate would be there and so would Bethany. It was okay for them to feel the way I felt. They had known him his entire life, but me? My emotions couldn’t compare to theirs. I didn’t have the right to feel like this, so when Vivian asked if I was ready, I lied and told her I’d meet her there. But the look she gave me as she walked out told me she knew I wouldn’t make it.
Everyone’s left the burial plot since I’ve been here. I sat in my car and watched the last person and even the cemetery worker drive away. I just wanted it to be Sam and me, hearing my story while crying out to God why something like this would happen to fragile ol’ me.
I don’t even know if he heard me from where he is now. I know he’s up in Heaven, but I doubt he has time to listen to me if he’s up there worshipping God or reuniting with family members. If he didn’t, then that’s fine--just another instance of me replaying my life, how he forever changed me and the possibilities of what could have been. But if he did, my thoughts are simply that he already knew how I felt…and that he loved me too.
But outside of telling him my story—or our story, I came for one more thing. I pull the two items out of my pocket and set them on the ground in front of the tombstone. I can no longer stand strong; my shoulders begin to heave while my breaths are raggedly drawn, the tears continue to fall and my heart aches. I can’t look at his grave anymore and I get in my car and drive away, knowing I’ll probably never come here again.
And even though I drive to distance myself from it, the image still resonates in my mind. The envelope with the letters. But remember that picture I had burned at the park over 20 years ago?
I had doubles made of it.
I guess since I gave him my heart, he can have the last physical memory too.
Copyright 2011 Belinda Serrano. All rights reserved.
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