The Boy Who Changed My Life

Untitled Part 1

An eight year old boy walked into our Sunday school class one Sunday morning, holding a brand new copy of the New Testament in his back pocket. He sat down near the end of the long brown table, set parallel to the door, and end to end with another one just like it. A the head of the long table was a chalkboard with a Bible verse written upon it with colored chalk. The boy sat on the end opposite the chalkboard, in the dark part of the room. He was surprised when I, being about the same age as he, came walking into the room with my new Easter Bible I'd just gotten the Sunday before. Dressed in a pretty , frilly, pink dress, I sat beside him. For a  moment, the boy sat there, pretending not to notice me, but then I did something surprising. I took his hand in mine and said, "Hi. I'm Ashley Brannen. What's your name?" He looked at me for a moment, and then replied, "I'm Sammy Hight." "Well, Sammy," I said, "We aren't supposed to sit at this end of the table if there are seats closer up. Would you like to come sit with me and my cousin Brittany?" A little unsure what to think of my offer, Sammy accepted it after some thought. 

After the church service, Sammy and I sat together on the bus ride home. At the last stop, Sammy asked me, "Why didn't you get off at any of the stops? The last stop is the church." I explained that my grandmother lived across the street. I always rode the entire bus route and then walked to my grandmother's house afterward. There, I would have lunch and then go home. "Oh. I just thought you forgot to get off was all." he said. 

As we grew, we were almost inseparable at church. We always sat with an elderly lady named Mrs. Fox in the third row on the right side of the church auditorium. Sometimes, we would have to be separated by Mrs. Fox because we would pass notes during church until time for children's church. On the way to children's church, we'd meet up and stick together, so as to get seats side by side. This worked until Mrs. Overdorf, the children's church teacher, saw us talking during her lesson. She then had us sit on opposite sides of the table. But no matter which adult separated us, we would somehow find a way to communicate with each other. As the years went on, Sammy and I became the best of friends. We were in fact, like brother and sister. 

As the years passed, Sammy's blond hair grew browner, until it was like his mother's. His eyes, having looked gray against his blond hair, were now brown and beautiful. He grew tall and skinny, while I grew tall and round. As the years went on, Sammy became Sam. He and I did many things together, ranging from vacation Bible school to just sitting around together, talking. When my dad left to live in Ohio, it was Sam who was there to let me cry on his shoulder. We were closer than ever now, really part of each other. 

When Sam and I were twelve, we got to join the church youth group. While in the youth group, we had crazy, but fun activities we got to go on, such as video scavenger hunts and crazy Halloween acti vities. One year, we went to a haunted house in Anderson. Sam, Brittany, Sam's girlfriend, Kim, and I were all in the back seat of the church van talking. We talked about my dad, some crazy dreams I'd been having, and a whole lot of other stuff. He offered some advice, and I talked some more about my dad. 

When we got there, we had to stand in this really long line and go into the place as groups of seven. While we were waiting outside, this scary, yet really hot looking dude in black and white face paint, a black trench coat, a black outfit under that, and fake blood dripping on his face that looked like it had frozen in the autumn coolness, walked up to us. His right hand, decked in black leather gloves, clutched a baseball bat at his side. He walked around like he was just looking for someone to kill. Then his eyes settled on me. He held his left hand out to me, and I walked up to him, reaching out to take his hand. I had my hand just about in his when I looked up to see the bat on his shoulder. I jumped and screamed for all I was worth. But Sam, being the good, fun friend that he was, just stood and laughed at me, until I buried my face in his bony shoulder, crying. Then he stopped laughing. "Why were you so scared, Ashley?" he asked me later. I told him that I had never been to a haunted house before and that the guy's bat scared me because I thought he was really going to hit me. Sam put his arm around me and told the guy to please back off. So, the guy went and bugged the boys behind us. 

Another of the best times I had with Sam was the video scavenger hunt. This is what we did. There were various tasks we had to do around the town and we, as teams of five, had to have our team leader video tape us doing these events. After each team returned to the church, we got points based on who came back first, who completed the most stunts in the time given, and whose video was the funniest. Surprisingly, during this part of the activity, no one sat with Sam. So, just like the day I met him, he, Brittany, and I ended up at a table, just the three of us. 

A few months after the scavenger hunt, Sam and I hid Easter eggs in the churchyard for the little kids. I was standing with him and his friend, Scott, until my sister came up to me with her bag ripped. I, being the coolest big sister ever, took the hem of my pretty blue broomstick skirt and fashioned a bag out of the extra material that was in it. "Sorry, boys." I said. "I have to go now. My sister needs me." As I walked away, Sam and Scott were laughing. This was the last time I saw my best friend. 

On Tuesday, May 20, 2003, I was getting ready for my seventh grade band concert when Pastor BOb called. He told my mother that she needed to tell me before I heard it from someone else that Sam had died at 6:30 that morning. I was shocked at first, thinking that my own mother would lie to me about something like that. I cried for a minute, then went back to getting ready because I knew Mr. Shaver would not excuse me from the concert for that. Zach Gillihan wouldn't keep his mouth shut. He loved to pick on me. We were in our seats after our part of the concert, and I yelled at him. I told him, "Look! You don't wanna mess with me tonight! I just found out before the concert my best friend is dead, but I'm here anyway. Don't make me hit you, because I will!"

The next day was really hard at school. I cried all day and I didn't want to talk to anyone. My friends were all worried about me. Even the principal asked if I was okay. Yes, I was fine. Or so I thought. By the end of the day, I had had to excuse myself from class at least once in every one. When I got home that day, I just lay down and cried myself to sleep. 

That Friday, after school, Mom took me to the viewing, where I slipped a note into my best friend's casket, right next to his left hand. I still remember what he was wearing. He had on a white wife- beater shirt under and orange shirt with flames and dragons on it ON the collar of the shirt was a gold angel pin. I was okay until the funeral that Saturday. 

Saturday, May 24, 2003 was a pretty cloudy spring day. The wind was blowing gently that day. I went to my cousin's house and she, her mom, and I went to the funeral together. At the funeral home, I saw his dad. His dad wore a pair of black dress pants and a dark green dress shirt, leaving his long, red hair down his back. He wore thick glasses. He was angry. I was afraid to talk to his dad. 

At the graveyard service, I gave Sam's mom a note that I had written to his parents, and I laid a daisy on his casket. After the funeral, I went home, lay down, and cried myself to sleep. This had been the worst day of my life. 

Sam taught me a lot in the short five years I was his friend. He taught me to be a friend. He taught me the value of that friendship. And above all, he taught me to tell my friends how I feel about them every day because I am not guaranteed a tomorrow with them. Friends are an important thing in everyone's life. Don't forget to tell yours what a treasure they are to you.