Sam
Past
Villanova, Pennsylvania
Age 16
“THANK YOU, MISS WESTON. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else. I’m so sorry for your loss.” My family’s lawyer picks up the pile of papers that Aunt Peggy just signed and leaves the room.
She stands up and reaches for my hand. “Let’s go home.”
Home.
“My home is a pile of rubble, Aunt Peggy.”
That fucker blew up my parents along with himself and the kitchen. The rest of the house burned to the ground, around their charred bodies. I can’t get the image of my pregnant mother screaming for help out of my brain. My father, lying helplessly unconscious on the floor.
She’s silent as she leads me from the room.
“What am I going to do, Aunt Peggy?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. I’m an orphan at sixteen.
“I’m here, Sam, and I’m not going anywhere,” she promises as she pulls me against her.
“How can you promise that? How do you even know? They’re gone, and all it took was a second…” I question her, practically accusing her of something she would never do.
“Honey, I will do my best to make sure I stay here with you. That’s all I can do.”
WE RIDE SILENTLY BACK TO OUR HOUSE, and I rush up to the room that used to be the guest room but is now mine. A box sits on the dresser that I’ve been terrified to open. It contains everything I own. Aunt Peggy went to the house and pleaded with the investigators to take what they could from what used to be my room. They sifted through charred furniture and clothes, and this box is all I have left.
There are messages taped to the top of the dresser on yellow Post-it Notes from Cassie. She’s been leaving them on the front door, begging me to call her. My aunt has been moving them to my room to remind me to call my best friend.
I pick up the phone and dial blindly.
“Cassie?” I say when I hear her voice. The sobs come frequently and without prejudice. I sometimes go days without crying and other days I cry every five minutes. The loss is crushing and debilitating. I can’t feel anything but immense grief and sadness.
“Hey, Sam,” she says softly. “How are you?”
How can I answer that question?
I suck.
Life sucks.
My family is gone.
I’m alone.
I don’t want to feel anything anymore.
“Not good, Cass,” is all I say in response.
“Do you want some company?” she asks.
This grief is crippling, and I can’t imagine unloading it on my best friend.
“No.”
She sighs heavily and I feel bad. She wants desperately to help me through this. But nobody can. Until you feel the utter loss and destruction that I have, you just can’t understand what I’m going through.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. I love you,” she says, and we hang up the phone.
I have nothing left to love.
The box sits on my dresser, and I lay my hands on it. Am I ready to do this? Dread fills my chest as I lift the box and carry it over to my bed. I sit down next to it tuck my feet underneath me. This small box contains the remnants of my entire life.
I pull one side open and the rest of the sides pop up. The smell of smoke and ash fills my nostrils, causing my eyes to water and my throat to burn. Am I breathing them in? Are they a part of this ash?
I know this is not true, because their bodies were found. Charred, unrecognizable. But they were found. We buried them next to each other.
The first thing I see is a shoe. It’s burned quite a bit, but I recognize it immediately. One of my Steve Madden platform flip-flops. Why the hell would someone even take this out of the rubble and ash?
I hold it in my hand and turn it around, inspecting it for further damage. Without the other one, it’s useless so I toss it across the room and a cloud of soot forms when it hits the floor.
Disgusted, I continue to pick through the contents of the box.
My old pink stuffed dog is in here. She’s just as gray as she was before this happened, but she has a coating of fine ash and dust on her. I called her Googie because I didn’t know how to say doggy when I was little. So the name stuck. My Googie.
Tears fill my eyes as I pull her to my chest. Mom told me I got her the day that I was born. I can’t believe she wasn’t incinerated in the fire. I place her gingerly on my pillow and know I’ll be snuggling with her tonight.
There’s something shiny in the box that catches my eye, and I reach in to grab it. It’s my Sweet Sixteen charm bracelet. I hold it up in front of my face, dangling it from my little finger. The single charm catches light pouring in through the window. This charm bracelet was my mother’s, and she gave it to me the morning of my sixteenth birthday. The morning she died. She was dangling it over my nose while I woke up. It’s old-fashioned but retro looking. I love it, and I love that she gave me what her mother gave to her when she turned sixteen. It miraculously doesn’t have a speck of ash on it. I open the lobster claw clasp and wrap it around my wrist. The coolness from the gold metal tingles on my skin, and I hold my wrist in the air so I can inspect the bracelet closely.
I love you, Mom.
I don’t think I can bear to go through this box anymore. This is too painful. I stand up and prepare to close the box up again when one more thing catches my eye. I reach in and pull out the familiar blue ribbon. My First Place award from the science fair in fifth grade. I feel the threads between my forefinger and thumb and rub it gently. At one time, I felt victorious holding this between my fingers. But suddenly I feel rage.
The ribbon falls from my hand and onto my pillow, and I hurl the box from my bed. It hits the floor and another cloud of soot fills the room.
My whole life in a box.
I try to regain composure. I place my head on my pillow, next to the blue ribbon and Googie. I stare up at the ceiling and let my eyes close slowly. I imagine myself, floating in our pool, just my nose and mouth exposed to the air.
Deep breaths.
In.
Out.
I inhale and exhale as if my life depends on it. Each breath slow and deliberate.
Please tell me what to do, Dad.
Can you hear me?
I need you now more than ever.
My silent voice goes unanswered.
My breaths remain even.
I feel like I’m floating.
I wish I were floating.