Looking across the room I see a girl about my age wearing a bright orange wig. I would never imagine that one day I would call his girl my best friend. I recall this memory of when I first met my best friend Sam as she blows out fifteen candles on her birthday cake. I’m Kim, my best friend Samantha and I have been cancer free together for the last two years. Seeing her now she seems fatigued. She must have been up late cramming for our math exam. It’s almost past my curfew so I hug Sam and wish her happy birthday one more time before I head home.

The following morning at school I wait at Sam’s locker. Oddly, she’s still not here when the first bell rings. When attendance is taken and Sam’s marked absent everyone wonders if something is amiss. Sam treasures her flawless attendance record. After the final bell I hurry home to see if Sam has called me. The moment I walk in the door I realize something’s wrong. My parents don’t get home from work for another two hours, yet here they are sitting at the counter. My mother has a mask of grief over her face, “Oh Kim were so sorry.” She says trying to keep her voice from cracking.
“What's wrong?” I whisper, dreading the answer. I always get a sick feeling in my stomach when something happens to Sam, always afraid that the cancer is still following us.
My father who has been quiet takes a deep breath, “Honey Sam’s cancer has come back. She was taken to the hospital this morning. They took some tests and found cancer cells.” I have lost the ability to speak. This can’t be possible. We beat the cancer two years ago, together. Tears run down my cheeks as I sprint up stairs and collapse onto my bed, now bawling. Facts of the disease and the survival rate that the two of us read over and over again swarm into my head. My feelings bring too much pain so I sleep instead. But thoughts haunt my dreams as well. I’m back in the hospital, in room 412 where I met Sam. We were young, only 11. Her face was so distinct; full of bravery and not a bit fear. She held my hand to help me through that day. But in my dream I’m the one holding Sam’s hand and she is the one crying.

I wake as the sun is rising, covered in sweat. Quickly, I put on new clothes and stumble down stairs. It’s obvious my parents didn't get much sleep either; Sam was like a second daughter to them. “We have to go to the hospital, right now!” I blurt out before they can even ask if I’m okay. Thankfully they understand that Sam needs me just as I needed her that first day. When we arrive at the hospital I realize I didn’t even brush my hair, but I don’t care, the only thing that matters right now is Sam. I don’t hesitate to open the door when I reach her room. She lies in the bed; she’s so pale her features are lost on the cotton sheets. When her eyes open she smiles, “Trying a new hair do I see” I’m glad she’s still is well enough to tease me.
“You shouldn’t be talking, have you looked in the mirror lately?” We’re both giggling, but hers turns into a cough. Our parents had left to see if the cafeteria has any decent coffee while we were bantering, so we’re alone. I know exactly how she feels; I’ve already been through and survived the killer. Even though she seems strong I know her too well and know that she’s frightened. Without a word I walk over and take her hand
“I’m not leaving until your better.” I say looking straight into her eyes. “We are survivors. We did it once, and we’ll do it again.”
A tear drips down her cheek, “Thank you Kim.”

Days go by slowly. My parents allow me to stay with Sam at the hospital and skip school as long as I complete the work. Sam and I pass time just like we used to by watching re runs of Seinfeld, doing each other’s nails, and playing endless games of Go Fish. But sadly Sam has had no real improvement. She has little energy, sleeps most of the day, and has lost her appetite. One morning I wake in my hospital chair to see Sam writing a note. “Watcha doing?” I ask her.
When she looks up, I see she has tears in her eyes, “I need to write a note to my parents. I don’t know how long I have, but I realize I’m not getting better.” I’m in disbelief when she says this.
“You’re going to be fine. You’re a survivor Sam; remember that.” I can see she’s succumbing to the disease, and wish that I could some how change places with her. She makes a gesture asking me to come over to her.
She hands me the folded note, “Kim, promise me to give my parents this note after I’m…gone” She struggles with the last word. She pulls me into a hug, “I love you Kim.”
Now were both crying, “I Love you too Sam.” When we let go of each other, I take her hand. I stay there holding her while she sleeps, but after an hour the beeping of her heart monitor stops. The nurses will be here soon so I only have a few minutes to say good-bye. When her chest doesn’t rise with her following breath I let go of her hand and reach into my pocket. I take out my hospital bracelet from the day I met Sam. I’ve held on to it for three years. I gingerly attach it around her wrist next to her current one. I whisper, “Goodbye Sam.” And walk out the door.

The weeks after Sam dies are a blur. I can remember certain things like handing her parents the note, going to the funeral, and people saying sorry to me at school, but nothing more than that. On the 23rd I refuse to go to school since this would have been Sam’s and my third cancer free anniversary. Thankfully my parents understand. Every year Sam and I would visit that hospital room where we first met; it had become a tradition. I decide to go for her, and ask my dad to drive me. When the nurses see me, they have sympathetic expressions. They all know me and have no doubt heard about Sam. As I step out of the elevator on the fourth floor I hear crying. There is a little girl no older then eight itching her Barbie blond wig refusing to go into the room; our room. She must be getting her first treatment. “Please darling the doctors will make you better.” Her mother tries to reassure her, but the girl refuses. She reminds me of myself, but even more of Sam. Without thinking I stride over to the little girl. Her mother is stunned when I begin speaking to her.
I tell her exactly what Sam told me, “Its okay, the doctors are going to get rid of that wicked cancer monster, and you’ll be very healthy again.” I tell her with confidence. She smiles and stands up.
“Who are you?” She asks me.
“Kim.” I say.
“Mommy, I’ll go in if Kim comes.” This surprises me as well as her mother.
“If Kim’s okay with it I don’t see why not.” The girl’s mother says.
Before I can say no the little girl says, “My names Sammy, but you can call me Sam.” I have a pang of sadness but still take Sammy’s hand and walk her into the room. I know Sam is watching and proud of me. I won’t let her go through this alone, I think to myself. I will be there for her just as Sam was there for me.