In their Shoes part 1

I still remember that day on the beach.
How Sam looked.
They were slightly troubled, and I had no idea why. It was uncharacteristic and it worried me and made me want to squirm.
But I stayed calm.
Thinking back on it now, I should have done anything but stay calm. I should have demanded to know what was going on. I should have wrapped my arms around Sam and given them a hug, told them that everything would be okay.
The wind whipped through my hair as I sat tanning myself on a blanket next to Sam who was doing the same thing.
“I wanted to talk to you about something...is now a good time?” Sam asked, biting their lip.
My heart panged with nerves, “Sure,” I smiled.
“I was thinking about what "walking a mile in someone's shoes" means. Does it mean that all my knowledge doesn't mean anything unless I go through something?”
I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was very philosophical in everything they did. Usually something like this which was small compared to lots of problems, caught me off guard and caused me to feel very uneasy. I always felt like the worst was going to happen.
“No your knowledge means something but- sometimes you don't know how someone else feels until you go through the same thing,” I said.
I looked over at Sam and saw an expression and felt an emotion that unsettled me again. But I quickly shook it off and the feeling was forgotten.
“The human experience is universal. Even if you don't speak the same language, you understand what the other person is going through. Does it mean that my support is less ‘real’ if there was some sort of wall separating our communication?”
I laughed.
“No, Sam, it does not make it any less real. It’s the thought that counts right?”
“If you're hurt, I don't have to hurt myself in the same way so I can be there for you, right?” Sam asked in a shaky voice.
I remembered what I’d just gone through. A breakup with my boyfriend, and Sam had never had a boyfriend. She must be talking about this I finalized. I got slightly annoyed.
“No, you don't have to do that,” I said, “But it doesn’t mean you will ever understand. Can we talk about something else?” I asked
Sam sighed deeply.
Then their smile was back, “Ok, Ella; let's talk about something else. Let's have fun.”
I looked into Sam's eyes for a moment looking for anything to tell me if Sam was happy or faking. They seemed just fine, so I continued the day without another thought on the matter.
But now today I sit here.
Sam is dead.
I could have done something.
I would do anything to have another chance to talk to them again. Sam didn’t know; But I’d been in love with them since day one.
When they died, so did I.
And that day for me would be today, today was the last day.
***
Flash back

I sat very still on the couch as my mother laughed at a boring sitcom she thought was "our mother daughter thing." Every once in a while I would give a half hearted giggle as one of the characters did something dumb. It didn't seem like enough though because my mind was somewhere else. I had just fallen in love with another girl. The way my mom saw it, I was also a girl. To me, I had always felt like neither gender box could fit me. My mom was always asking, "So how was school? Did you meet any cute boys?" At which I would sigh and say my day was fine, and clomp up the stairs, ignoring the comment about boys. I had never been in love before. I had never even liked anyone. That is, until now, and it had to be a girl.
My mom sighed and reached for the remote. She picked it up and hesitantly clicked the off button and the TV went black. "Samantha?" she said, putting her arm around my shoulders, "Somethings up, I know you. Can you tell me what's going on."
I squirmed out of her grasp.
"I don't think you could ever understand mom!" I yelled, and ran crying to my room. Something about her caring nature at the moment had set me off. What if I didn't want to say? Or what if I did and she hated me forever? Plus when my older sister Jamie ever got even close to upset, there was mom at her beck and call. It was never like that for me. Even the way she said my name, Samantha, set me off. I was Sam and Ella had always called me that. The Ella I loved. The Ella I would do anything for.
I sat in the comforting dark fold of my room and sobbed. Just because I could, and it was time I let this poison slowly seeping into my blood, sweat, and tears; come out.
I picked my head up and looked around. Pictures of my mom and I hung on the walls. All the memories we had made stared back at me and her smiling face. For some reason, I'd been seeing her smile less and less.
I suddenly was overcome by guilt.
Shakily, I got to my feet. Taking a deep breath and feeling my feet sink into the soft carpet floor, I prepared myself to talk to my mom. I opened my door and walked down the dim long hall, all the way to the other side of the house and my mom's room.
I could see the light was on because of the crack underneath the door. She never had it on unless she was in there. She was all about conserving energy and water; the whole nine yards.
I knocked.
"Hey, Mom?" I said, "Can I come in?"
There was no reply and I figured she was just hurt by my earlier words, so I walked in.
She was laying on the bed, facing away from me. Her hair was spread out and a hand stretched in my direction on the bed. In it were a fistful of pills. As I looked closer I saw a glass of water spilt on the bed, the glass cracked on one side.
"Mom, What are you doing?!" I gasped.
I ran to the other side of the bed to get a look at her face.
Her eyes were closed and her skin was pale and colorless.
Frantickly I searched her neck to see if I could feel a pulse, but what I found was so faint it was barely there. My mom barely had a pulse. I screamed as loud as I could hoping someone, would hear me.
Jamie came running in the room and took in the scene. She ran to look at mom and repeated my actions of trying to find a pulse. She quickly reached in her pocket and took out her phone and dialed 911. Because she was older she had a phone and right now I was particularly grateful she did.
I will always remember the guilt from that day.The way I had treated mom. And then how we'd found her afterwards. It would always be all my fault.