I am Samantha

         Samantha hummed in exultation and clicked print. She scooped up her armful of odds and ends, shoved
them in her backpack, and dashed off to collect her papers. She skipped as she left the library, shuffling down
the steps and trotting along the sidewalk. As her foot touched the first stripe of the pedestrian crossing, a
metallic buzzing sound reverberated from a zipper pocket.

         “Hello?” She smiled into the receiver.
         “Hey, it’s Harry.” Samantha slowed her cheery pace a notch. They exchanged pleasantries as she walked
into the parking lot.
         “Well, so, I remember how brilliant you are at grammar, and, well…” Samantha stopped and looked back
at the library beginning to shrink in the distance.
         “Sure, I’ll fix your paper.” She jogged back in to the library, and heard the train bells go off as the doors
closed behind her.

         Samantha slid into a chair in the computer lab, opened her email and pulled up the document. She
lowered her eyebrows, sighed, and started typing.

         Two hours passed, Samantha sat with her eyes glued to the screen, erasing and rephrasing the last
paragraph, and read through the whole document one more time. She pulled up a reply email, attached the
document, and clicked send. She slowly swiveled her chair around, shook out her numb legs, and logged
herself out of her applications. Her eyes surveyed the room. She never saw anybody half as handsome,
never met anybody as charming as Harry.

         “Hey Harry.” Samantha nestled the phone between her ear and her shoulder, and wrestled the
library doors open with both hands.
         “It’s great, Sam! Did me proud.” Samantha laughed and they chatted for a few minutes, until Harry
smoothly segued into an exit strategy, and hung up. Samantha rolled her eyes. She flipped her phone shut.

         Samantha tumbled onto the train home, and nestled against the window, heart rate calming down, and
she sat looking at the other passengers in the reflection on the window. “Nobody half as interesting, nobody
half as well-dressed,” she mumbled. She looked at her own reflection and made a face.

         The train rolled in to the last downtown station, and when the doors slid open, Samantha heard a gritty
voice asking for spare change from the platform.
         “A quarter?” the man was asking. “A dime? One of y’all has gotta have a dime.” Samantha took out her
purse, and flicked a quarter out onto the platform. A shabby glove snatched up the quarter, and a bearded face
peered in the doorway, and turned away.

         “How was school?” Samantha’s mom greeted her as she trudged through the front door. Samantha
shrugged and smiled.
         “Hey, do you think you could make a late-night run to the grocery store?” asked her mother. “Milk and
eggs.” Samantha sighed, and dropped her backpack and books on the couch.
         “Sure, I can do that.”

         Samantha stood in the checkout line, basket of goods on her arm, glancing at the cornucopia of candy
and the glossy magazine spreads. A perfect, chiseled face with dreamy hair caught her eye. Tall, tan, fit,
instantly likeable, blue eyes, dark hair. . . “I’m seeing him everywhere,” she muttered to herself. She took off the
black cardboard slip covering a racy photo spread and slipped it over the young model’s face. She heard someone
step in line behind her. That someone tapped her on the arm.
         “Hi, Sam!” Mrs. Wilson, her matronly neighbor, stood beside a full-size cart, filled to the brim with whole
wheat, organic, pure cane sugar foods. “I thought that was you, just couldn’t tell from this angle.” Mrs. Wilson
looked at the magazine rack while Samantha checked out her items. Mrs. Wilson moved the cardboard slip back
over the racy photo spread.

         Samantha plunked the groceries into the fridge, and stuck the receipt to the freezer door with a magnet,
next to the two from the week before.
         “What is that, thirty bucks?” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “My dear mother.”
         “Sam, is that you?” Her mother plodded into the kitchen, bleary eyed, in a robe and slippers. “Mrs. Wilson
called a minute ago.” Samantha curled her toes. “She wants you to help with some service project. I told her you
probably would.” Samantha nodded.
         “Sure, I guess so. Night, mom.”

         Four teenagers in plastic hairnets, gloves, and aprons stood in a row, with tongs, ladles, and slotted
spoons in hand. Samantha walked up behind the serving counter, and looked up from tying her apron. Her eyes
widened as she looked at the growing queue of waiting patrons. One serving boy waved at her.
         “I’m Steven,” he said. The other kids introduced themselves in a chorus of adolescent enthusiasm.
         “Sam,” said Samantha. Mrs. Wilson came up behind her and handed her a soup ladle.
         “Hop to it, kids,” she said with a smile. “Food’s cooked, I’m outta here. Staff’ll help you out if you have
any problems.” Sam, blank-faced, took her place in line and began doling out soup dolefully. She glanced over
to find Mrs. Wilson chatting away with one of the homeless people, until she cheerfully waved and exited stage
left. Someone tapped Samantha on the arm. Steven had switched places with someone and was serving out
the cornbread.
         “Hey, Sam,” he said. “What do you normally like to do on Saturday afternoons?” He was a bit shorter
than Samantha. Certainly younger. Samantha struck up a conversation about yard work and chores. The line
began to shrink, and the food supply lessened. Steven snip-snapped the tongs as he talked.
         “I love that restaurant!” He said. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime.”
         “Sure, maybe,” she said. Steven looked suddenly hesitant.
         “I bet we could go for lunch there, after this, huh?”
         Samantha pursed her lips.
         “Yeah, maybe we could all go.”
         “Naw, the other kids have to go to soccer practice,” said Steven. “They’ve got lunches packed.”
         “Well, sure,” said Samantha. “Let’s go, I got a couple bucks.” Steven grinned.
         “No, no, lunch on me!” Samantha sighed, and smiled weakly.

         “Hey, honey, how was your day?” Samantha’s father handed her a piece of his apple. She crunched a bite
of it, and described the lunch fiasco, but left out all of the annoying bits.
         “Steven from our block, Steven?” He asked.
         “Dunno,” said Samantha. “He’s a junior in high school.”
         “Honey, don’t be so nice if you already know they don’t have a chance with you.” Her dad hugged her and
shook his head.                    “Sometimes I wonder if you have the capacity to be selfish.” Samantha looked up
at him, but said nothing.

         Samantha’s family transferred food from plate to mouth amidst the subtle music of ceramic clinking. The
dining room table was set with decorative serving platters, and the set of matching silverware. Samantha raised a
glass of water to her mouth. Her phone jangled. Her mother raised an eyebrow at her, and she hurriedly fished
through her purse.
         “Mom, I’ve got to take this call.” Samantha twiddled her fingers on the tablecloth, and her mother shook
her head.
         “Sure, honey,” her mother sighed. “Go ahead.” Samantha nodded and stepped out into the hall. Her heart
rose in her chest.
         “Hey, there, Harry.”
         “Sam! Guess what? My teacher marked up my rough draft, and she says it’s great.” Samantha pursed
her lips and rolled her eyes. No ability like predictability.
         “Sure, I’ll help you put the final draft on par with the first draft.”
         “I didn’t ask, you offered,” he said with a laugh.
         “Just one thing, Harry. You’ve got to do the actual writing. I’ll, like, advise you. All right?”
         Harry chuckled.
          “Aw, Sam. Grow a backbone.”
         Samantha immediately grew quiet. She sat down in the hall.
         “Come on, Harry, you know I never do anything I don’t want to do.”
         Harry chuckled again.
         “You want to do whatever your mom says? You want to let her get in the way of your relationships?”
         “It’s not like that, Harry.”
         Samantha got up and slipped outside onto the porch. She stood on the steps. Harry cleared his throat.
         “Well, enlighten me.” Samantha clenched and unclenched her teeth a few times.
         “Listen, Harry, it’s true. We weren’t compatible. It’s like, you took advantage of every opportunity,
including my good nature, and I didn’t stop you. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” Samantha let the words
tumble out.
         Harry laughed again. Samantha cocked an eyebrow.
         “Sam, I know you still keep my picture on your computer screen.” Samantha’s cheeks started a slow
burn. The crickets chirped for a few long moments.
         “Well, Harry,” she said slowly, as calmly as she could. “Go find yourself an independent, fiery young
thing that won’t write your papers for you, right? I told you, I never do anything I don’t want to do.”
         “I know. But you don’t say no to anyone. The word never even passes your lips. You know what I
realized? You’re not a Cinderella. You do everything for everyone because you want everyone to owe you.”
Samantha clenched her teeth, but she said nothing. Harry paused, but when she didn’t respond, he continued.
         “Everybody likes you, everybody is grateful to you, but nobody can return the favor. You won’t let them
do anything for you, you’re oh-so-polite, because you want to be in control. As long as I need something from
you, you have control of the situation. I’m still in your life.” Harry’s voice grew quiet. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”
         Sam’s cheeks burned and she almost dropped the cell phone. She blinked too fast and her heart was
pumping too fast. She didn’t want to cry. She blanked her face. She knew that Harry was trying to be nice,
but his concern hurt her even more. It was pity.
         “Did ya come up with that yourself, or have you been watching soaps again?”
         Harry coughed, surprised.
         “Get over yourself, Sam. You don’t have anything you want in life, and everybody walks all over you.
You’re not in control, but you think you are. I don’t want you to write my papers anymore, and I won’t call
you. Goodbye.”
         Samantha sat down on the steps. She looked out at the streetlights and the still houses.
         “He’s gone.”

         Samantha’s mother was refilling the family’s glasses when Samantha came into the dining room and
sat down at the table.
         “Thanks for joining us, finally. I wish you would make dinners with the family a priority, because we
were all here, waiting for you, and the food is getting cold.” Samantha looked at her mother, but didn’t say
anything.
         “Who was that? Harry?” Samantha looked up at her mother again, but didn’t say anything.
         “Samantha, are you all right?”
         “No.”