“A person learns how to love himself through the simple acts of loving
and being loved by someone else.”
—Haruki Murakami
I can’t take it anymore. I’ve lost Antonia. I can’t lose Sam too. He’s my oldest friend.
It’s the silence I hate. We’ve been through deaths of family members together. We’ve been through graduations. Through arguments and road trips and summers you couldn’t find one of us without the other.
I figured I would start with Sam. He’s easier to talk to than Antonia after a fight. Less stubborn. I sent him a text to meet me at the harbor. Everything is blue. The sky. The water. The reflections on boats. Nothing feels right without Sam in my life.
When Sam walks up to the bench, I stand up and hug him. He’s quiet at first and his hug feels stiff, but when I apologize he starts to loosen up.
“Please, Sam. Please. You have to forgive me.”
Sam deserves better. I acted like such a loser. An apology doesn’t seem like enough to make up for how I acted. I was confused about our relationship, but I was also jealous that I wasn’t the only girl in his life, so I led him on then blew him off.
I never tried to make things better.
I start crying. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t stop.
He’s standing there, wearing his sunglasses, trying to hide his face. He probably doesn’t want me to see how little he cares about me now. This is probably hopeless.
“My behavior has been so awful.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “You deserve better, and I want to do better. I miss our friendship. I miss you. Please forgive me.”
I fight the tears. I feel my face redden, and I try not to care who might be watching. “I know I haven’t earned your forgiveness, but please don’t give up on me like Antonia did. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
He doesn’t respond. I’m probably scaring him.
“I’m lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my entire life,” I confess. “I can’t sleep. I can’t focus.”
“What about Zach?” Sam asks.
Wiping the tears with the palm of my hand, I tell Sam the truth. “I really like Zach, but I can’t talk to him like I talk to you. He doesn’t know me the same way.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you held my hand last time,” Sam says.
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I seem to disappoint everyone I love. My parents. Antonia. You. It really makes me hate myself.”
“Jesus,” Sam says. “I didn’t know you felt this bad.”
Sam lets out a sigh and finally really holds me, and I crumple into his arms, listening to his heartbeat. It’s the comforting kind of hug I’ve needed for so long. The kind that says things are different.
After a moment, I sit up on the bench and look at him. My eyes are puffy and my vision is blurred from crying, but I can tell that Sam’s face has softened.
“Of course I did,” I say. “But I didn’t know how to say sorry. I was wrapped up with Zach and the campaign. And when Antonia stopped talking to me, I kind of shut down. It’s not an excuse for how awful I was, but I care about you. I’ve always cared about you.”
“Liv,” he says. “We’ll always be friends. I’m sorry I’ve been silent for a while. I guess I needed some space. Some time to just step away and stop running after you.”
He’s right.
“I guess what it comes down to,” he says, “is you can’t pretend like I’m everything to you and then treat me like I’m someone you can just blow off. I won’t put up with that anymore. Not to punish you. Just because I can’t take it. It’s not cool.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, sniffling.
“Also...” Sam says.
“What?” I ask.
I’m ready to plead even more if I have to. I guess friends have to do this sometimes. I’m ready.
“You’re going to fail science if you don’t start working harder. I saw your grade. It’s pretty awful. You’ve totally tanked the first quarter.”
And that’s all it takes. We both start laughing.
He shakes his head and gazes out at the water.
“Will you help me? Please?”
I don’t want him to think I’m taking advantage of him. I just need his help. He’s right anyway. I need to get back on track with school. Zach and the election can’t be the only things I focus on. I need to concentrate on making my own dreams happen too.
He throws an arm around me. “Duh. Haven’t I always?”
We laugh again. Talking with Sam is so easy. I want to tell him everything. About my depression. About the cutting. About how there are days I can’t go to sleep at night without puking up whatever I ate for dinner.
“I do a lot on my own,” I say instead.
I can’t tell him. He’d think I was disgusting.
“Of course you do. I don’t mean that,” he says. “You’ve helped me a lot in classes too. It’s what friends do. Oh hey, look!” He points.
And then Sam laughs even harder, because he spots a crab boat sputtering past that has a fish painted on its hull smoking a cigar and holding a rifle. It’s named The Codfather. I laugh too. At the same time, I cling on to his arm, thinking about more than fixing my relationship with him. He’s there for me, and that’s a revelation, because everything had been feeling so broken. But not everything is fixed, or perfect. My nerves well up, disguising themselves as laughter. As I feel Sam’s warmth and sudden acceptance, I’m excited about seeing LeFeber’s art. Because, if art reveals anything, it’s how much love matters in the world.