More Than a Story: Part 4~Ali Cummings

More than a Story
Part 4

On any normal day, I would jump if the phone rang to see who it is. And I would answer it if it told me that it was a collect call straight from Ruffin Road.
But today wasn’t a normal day.
Go figure.
So when the phone rang, Hannah ran to answer it. "Hello?"
I was in my room, laying on my bed, and replaying the previous nights events. But when I heard Hannah answer the phone, I started to listen intently.
"Yes, she’s here. No . . . I don’t think she’s busy. Yes. Okay. I’ll get her."
Ah. It must be Sara or Olivia, calling for Renee. And any minute now, Hannah would be walking down the hall, past my doorway, and up to Renee’s room to hand her the phone.
But to my utter astonishment, Hannah stopped at my doorway, walked in, and handed the phone to me.
"It’s for you," She said, and then walked out the door with a sigh.
My hand containing the phone was shaking, but I managed to lift it to my ear and say weakly
"Hello?"
"Hey, Meg." A familiar voice said through the phone. I knew that voice. Sara.
"Hey." It sounded like a stupid reply. I wanted to say something else, but everything that I thought of sounded even more ridiculous than just "hey".
There was an awkward silence between us, in which both of us were no doubt trying to figure out what to say to the other. Then finally, Sara spoke, and I let out my breath.
"How are you doing?"
"Fine." I said plainly. "You?"
She sighed. "I’ll live . . . eventually."
"Need anything?" I asked.
"Not really. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know how close you and . . ." Her voice trailed off. There was more silence. I heard nothing but the slow, steady ticking of my wall clock for a full three minutes. Sara took a deep breath. "You and Sam were."
Finally, I could stand it no longer. "Nothing will ever be the same!" I nearly shouted. "I can’t keep going on like this! I just feel empty, like a part of me has been unwillingly ripped out and I’ll never get it back! There hasn’t been a single night since Monday that I haven’t dreamt about him, and it’s all my fault!"
"What do you mean, it’s all your fault?"
"I mean, if it hadn’t been for me, Sam would never have died! He would have never been on his way back from the mall, and there wouldn’t be any ice, and there wouldn’t have been a car crash, and he would still be alive!"
There was such a silence that I thought for a moment that the whole world had stopped turning.
"Meg, none of this is your fault. He had insisted on going that day. It wasn’t his fault either, though. It was an accident, and I don’t want you to blame yourself."
This time I was silent, taking it all in.
"But if it wasn’t for me . . . if I had just stayed home from church that night in January, then I wouldn’t even be here right now . . . and he would be . . ."
"What do you mean you wouldn’t be here?"
I paused, and then finally it came out. "I was going to . . . I would have . . . killed myself that night if it hadn’t been for Sam."
There was a deathly, ghostly silence that filled the room to the brim as the horridness of my truth finally came spilling out. I had told no one of my plans to commit suicide, and now it was out.
"There is no way he would still be here if you had done that." Sara finally said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if he had found out that you actually killed yourself . . . on a night when he was supposed to actually see you, no less . . . he would have blamed himself. He would have blamed himself for it, and he would have told himself that he could have stopped you, or he should have seen that coming, or something like that. And if he didn’t blame himself to death . . ." Another huge pause. "He would have died of a broken heart.
"I don’t think you know just how much he loved you. When you first came down here, he came home telling of a girl who seemed really lonely and solitary. And then one Wednesday night, he came home saying that you had talked to him, Tyler, and Rachel, and that you seemed like a nice girl.
"And then it sprouted from there. He was ecstatic all VBS week, and on that last day, when Ashlee said those things about you, he flipped, and he was about ready to kill her because she had made someone as nice as you so upset. And then that’s when it started.
"Renee told me a short while after that that you had a crush on him. And, well, I told her that Sam had a crush on you. After that, we had so much fun monitoring the whole thing, and it started to become more and more obvious. She had fun tormenting you at home, and I did the same with Sam. You should have seen how red he went one afternoon when our grandfather asked if you were his girlfriend."
I closed my tearful eyes for a moment and pictured Sam, going red as a tomato. It was funny. But it was also painful.
"And then, just a week before the . . . well . . . accident, Sam came to me and said ‘I don’t know what to get Megan for her birthday. She’s going to be 14, and I’ve known her for, like, three years, and I don’t know what I should get for her.’
"So I said ‘Just figure something out that would be special to you and her, and go from there.’ So then he stood and thought for a minute, and then a huge grin swept across his face, and he said ‘I’ve got it!’ And then he ran out of my room, and I knew that something was up.
"So then I went and asked him. And he just smiled and said ‘I just have a feeling that it’s going to be the best birthday present ever!’ And then he just laughed, and I knew something was definitely up.
I laughed a bit. I could almost hear Sara smiling as she listened to my brief laugh.
"And then finally he came into my room Sunday night and handed me this note that he had wrote. He asked me if I thought it was okay, and I just smiled and said ‘I have a feeling that she’s going to love it’."
Sara sighed. I almost cried again. "I still have it."
A sudden question popped up into my mind. "Do you think that maybe . . .?"
"I’ll bring it Sunday."
"Thanks."
I was beginning to hate silence, because it once again filled the room.
"Well, I guess I’ll see you then,"
"Yeah,"
"See you, Meg!"
"Bye,"
"Oh and don’t forget," Sara said suddenly. "No matter what, none of this is your fault."
I smiled. "I know that now. Thank you."
"No, thank you!"
And as I hung up, I felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders, and I could not wait until Sunday so that I could read what this mystery note said.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
In fact, Sunday came all too quickly, and before I knew it, I was home from church, getting changed, Sam’s unread birthday note sitting on my bed.
It was his alright. I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere. And as I sat down in my Clarity tee and favorite blue jeans, I felt it. It was rather lumpy for a note.
I was about to open it when I realized something. This Friday was my 14th birthday. Why not save it until then?
So then I carefully picked it up, and carried it over to my desk. As if it were made of glass, I sat it down inside my desk cabinet and softly closed the doors.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Wednesday was an improvement. Everyone seemed to have their heads on straight and their cools kept (including me), because it was an uneventful night.
After class, Lindsay and I walked around church and talked for a solid hour. I told her about the note, and she almost cried herself, gushing on and on about something about it being romantic.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
Thursday, the 20th of December. The shortest day of my life. As I laid down to go to sleep, I felt that excitement that only my birthday could bring creeping back to me. No matter what, I was going to make it rock.
~ ** ~ * ~ * ~ ** ~
I yawned and sat down on my bed. It had been a long day, full of fun and games and Olive Garden bread sticks. I sighed as I pictured the plate of steaming spaghetti again and laid back, content. I was closing my eyes sleepily when they fell on my desk cabinet.
Suddenly I was wide awake, and I sat up so fast that I felt dizzy. I got up and walked across the room. Reaching my desk, I opened the cabinet and carefully took out the note that had been nagging at the back of my mind for the past week. Sam’s note.
I opened it with the utmost care, as if I was afraid that it might shatter if my hand as much as slipped. And then it was open, and in the piece of paper holding everything together, I found another paper, folded, and a small bit of sky blue wrapping paper.
I unfolded the paper first. In it was unmistakably Sam’s handwriting. I took a deep breath and began to read it.