I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

“Hah, a clumsy dealer. Thank you, dear.” Henry’s constant laughter
falters for a moment. He thins his eyes, tilting my chin gently to get a
better look at my face.
“Have we met before?” he asks, searching.
I smile at him as I did at my butter baby, shaking my head. “I don’t
think so, sir.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.” Henry pats my cheek. “Such a pretty face.”
Henry’s said that to me before. He’s asked me that question before
too.
Because in a sense, he and I have met, a long time ago.
Henry is dear to me. His stories of army days and the war are
echoes of memories we share. After all, Henry didn’t buy that pipe,
he stole it from a friend. A friend he lost on a bloody day, along with
all the flesh and bone under his right knee.
“Another game!” Henry orders, pushing his chair in, tapping his one
leg.
“Alright,” Sam sighs. “But only one.”
“What are ya?” Henry teases, tossing him a hand. “Scared?”
“Scared of losing all my change.”
Sam and Henry play another game. All the while, Henry hums old
songs, smoking, talking to himself. At times, I’ll catch him having
entire muttered conversations with the air. I wonder if that is a habit
one develops living alone.
I wonder if he’s talking to someone in particular, a ghost with which
he shares that pipe.