I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

much more strained than her husband. She tells me to stand up
straight and fixes Neo’s hair without asking. She’s fond of Neo.
People with harsh faces are always fond of each other. C’s brothers–
he has many, five I believe–are more like their
father: bellowish, large, talkative. C is a black sheep in the herd.
Whenever they visit, he doesn’t take the time to be in the room with
them as he does with us. He keeps his earbuds in and reads some
of his and Neo’s book, ignoring the mass of conversation.
I wonder what he thinks about. I wonder if tonight, he thinks of Neo’s
back, Sony’s lung, and Hikari’s blood. I wonder if ,instead, he thinks
of our soon-to-be escape and the adventures that lay in wait. I
wonder if he’s holding the promise Neo gave him the way I hold the
promise Hikari gave me.
It’s only a thin, torn piece of paper with a dream in its lines, right? But
it has her on it. Like Wuthering Heights, Hamlet, the Hit List, my poor
succulent, and her drawing, she is embedded in the matter. Anything
she’s touched, either with skin or words, I hoard. I may as well be a
smoker clutching nicotine patches.
I press my forehead into the stack of books, walking, walking,
walking, till the hum of chatter fades in. The cafeteria is busy for this
time of night. Those in scrubs stir black coffee. Others, some waiting
for results, some waiting for loved ones, mull over food going
uneaten.
At the near center, a couple sits across from a girl.
They’re arguing. I can tell that much. The woman has her head in
her hands, frustration flaring as she motions against the table. The
man has his arms crossed, his eyes downcast, his head shaking
now and then.
Hikari’s back is to me, yellow hair tied back in a ponytail.