Spit. Spit. “I suggest you develop a taste for them.”
“Why?”
“It’ll help with the cravings.”
“I don’t need any help,” I responded, defiantly.
“Suit yourself. But just so you know, I’m running from my past too.”
* * *
Later, lying in my cot in the bus, my mind raced. I’d been so close to destruction tonight. Why did I always insist on cutting myself off at the knees? The urges were getting stronger, to the point where I was now actively sabotaging myself. Tonight, I’d walked right into the path of temptation. Something had stopped my forward motion… this time… but it was getting harder to resist.
I just wanted life to be normal again, like it had been before the kidnapping. Before the endless relapses. Before I lost her. Every day that went by, I drifted further from where I’d once been… from the man I wanted to be. It’s not like I’d been a real prize back then either, but at least life had been easy and fun, and I had sunlight and dreams. I had the ocean… and Sam. Now, it was all gone, and finding my way back to that light was as daunting as retracing my footprints through a forest after a punishing rainstorm.
When I was feeling particularly down in the dumps, like today, I’d lie in bed and ponder what had made me the one degenerate in a family of champions. What had been different in my upbringing? Why had I felt the need to self medicate where my siblings seemed content inside their own heads? Even Jake, who clearly had the most to lose, seemed to be functioning on a level higher than me. To the outside world, I was a flirty, outgoing guy, but inside there was darkness – an entity that refused to just let me be.
Left to my own devices, I’d be lying dead in a ditch somewhere; but I was a McKallister, and that meant every single person in my family was all up in my business, like Jake had been earlier. I knew it came from a place of concern, but until I was ready to accept the help, no amount of intervention would stop my downward spiral – not the counseling or the parent participation, and certainly not the outpatient rehabilitation programs that were routinely forced upon me. God knows, I’d figured out how to work that system like a champ. Never taking it seriously or trying to learn from my mistakes, I’d done nothing in rehab but dick around, charm the workers, and slip under the radar.
My loved ones tried, they really did, but fixing me was the equivalent of treating a gunshot wound with Band-Aids. By the time I completed the various programs they’d lined up for me, I was no better off than when I’d gone in. It’s not that I didn’t want to be the man they expected me to be, I just didn’t know how. It was like a light had gone out inside me, and now that evil was lurking everywhere, I was content to just nestle myself in its shadows.
Reaching up to the little shelf over my bed, I pulled down the well-worn letter I’d kept with me all these years. Sometimes I read it when I needed a little extra perspective, like tonight. The edges were frayed, and the body of the text was now being held together with tape. But even though I’d memorized the words and could recite them in my sleep, I reread the letter anyway.
Once, I’d had a starring role in the story of Samantha Anderson’s life. And I never got tired of reading and rereading the part where she described how I’d changed her for the better. Yes, I’d brokered a peace between her and the sea, but I’d done more than that – I’d loved her unconditionally, something she admitted had been lacking in her life. And I could feel with every word she wrote that Sam loved me back. With just the stroke of her pen, she elevated me beyond the screw-up everyone else saw. She made me real and flawed and worthy. And that was what I held onto in my darkest days. There was a girl out there somewhere who had loved me… and maybe, just maybe, she still did.
I’d made a huge mistake. I knew that now. Young and stupid, I figured she’d be around forever. But then, I hadn’t factored in the kidnapping or the drug addiction or her mother’s murderous ways. I knew I loved Sam, but I hadn’t fully appreciated what she’d meant to me; nor did I realize the extent of her suffering until she was gone. I wished I could go back and change the decision I’d made the day Jake was taken… the day I reached for the drugs instead of her. Maybe if I’d made a different choice, I wouldn’t be here today holding what I had left of her in my hand.
The urge to search for her was always there, but what would I do once I found her? I couldn’t just drop into her life with a drug addiction. She didn’t need that, not after what she’d been through with her mom. If anyone deserved peace and happiness, it was Sam. I would be nothing but more hardships thrust upon her, and I refused to be a burden. Besides, if Sam had realized her dreams of an East Coast school, then it was safe to assume thousands of miles separated us.
Maybe someday, when I was worthy of her love, I’d find Sam again – and then all bets would be off. I’d fight for her and stop at nothing to win her back. No obstacle would be big enough to keep me away. But that was when I was worthy, and I wasn’t so sure that day would ever come.
Folding the letter, I ran my fingers over the flimsy paper before replacing it on the shelf and whispering, “Good night, Sam – wherever you are.”
22
Samantha: Genetics
“Samantha Olivia Anderson.”
The sun was warm and I could hear the sounds of the waves crashing onto shore as I crossed the stage to accept my diploma at this university by the sea. No, I wasn’t graduating from an Ivy League school, and no, I wasn’t getting that English Lit degree I’d always pictured myself earning, but life has a way of changing you when you least expect it, and adapting was the only way to get ahead of the game. And that’s where I was now – ahead. So far ahead of where I ever thought I’d be. My mind was challenged, my body was strong, and my soul was filled with happiness. Those old dreams of escaping to some far off place had faded away once I’d decided to live my life in the open, free of fear.
With that change in outlook came a redirection of my passions. Instead of spending my life analyzing the literary classics, I’d applied and was admitted to the biology program at UC Santa Barbara with a specialty in aquatic studies. I spent my four years studying ecology, marine botany, and deep-sea biology. Not bad for the girl who once hated science.
And now, here I was with my head held high as I walked across the stage to accept my due reward. This degree meant more to me than just a piece of paper. It meant I’d stopped living in the past and had embraced my future. Sure, there were a few key players missing from the celebration – namely, anyone blood-related to me – but I’d cultivated a small contingency of supporting players who meant more to me than some title. Who needed marrow-matches when you had friends like I did?
Making the trip from San Diego were my Aunt Kim and cousins Jennie and Joyce. We’d grown incredibly close in the year and a half I’d lived with them … so much closer than I’d ever been to my mother the first seventeen years of my life. With them, I’d realized the full scope of who I could be as a person.
And then there was Shannon, the one constant in my life. She’d graduated with a bioengineering degree last year and had moved back home to work in the same lab where both her parents and one of her two brothers were employed.
“Samantha! Samantha Anderson.” Her shouts reverberated through the crowd, but it wasn’t just her voice I heard. Stewart, Shannon’s boyfriend of three years, was screaming just as loud. Never in the history of soul mates had there been two people more suited for each other then Shannon O’Malley and Stewart Fitzpatrick.
Born on the same day, Shannon and Stewart could have been litter-mates. Their hair was the same shade of red, both were tall, skinny, and they both sported matching ‘his and hers’ humidifiers. Yes, that’s right – if possible, Stewart was even more allergic to the world than Shannon.
And the similarities didn’t end there. The two were Harry Potter fanatics who regularly dressed up like their favorite characters and wandered around town flicking their wands and performing fake spells in front of startled onlookers. Like journalists on the national news stations, they agreed on literally everything. They ate the same food, they liked the same TV shows, and they regularly finished each other’s sentences, playing the whole jinx/double jinx game ad nauseam.
The two were in sync now as well, combining their vocals skills to catch my attention. As if their merged voices weren’t enough, they’d taken it a step further with the simultaneous use of cowbells. Under the misguided belief that graduation rituals couldn’t have enough of those handy little noisemakers, Shannon had brought four – one for herself, one for Stew, and two more for my cousins, who joined in the ear-splitting commotion.
“Samantha Anderson!” Cowbell. Cowbell.
