I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

But not his sickness.
He and I sleep in the same bed every night. Before nightfall, I always
tune the radio to his favorite station. I stand on the cot, humming and
nudging till Sam stands up. A smile slowly curves his lips and we
dance together like we used to.
I tell Sam about the other patients I see when I bring our breakfast to
his room. He smiles curtly and kisses me, as is our routine. I ask, as
we eat, how he’s feeling. He says he’s alright, but he hardly eats a
thing. I ask if he’d like to go on that escape soon, the one we’ve
been planning. He says maybe tomorrow as he has been for a lot of
yesterdays.
Sam gets bad coughs at night. He spits up blood, gripping his throat.
I rub his back and fetch him warm water till the fits ease.
The medicine he’s been pumped full of is meant to keep him alive,
but it has the added effect of dulling his senses. When I kiss him, he
gains no color.
When he eats, his boyish grin never comes.
The simple pleasures he used to rely on for sanity are no longer
pleasures.
His passion begins to starve the longer this sickness remains.
He looks out the window for hours on end. He closes his books
before finishing them. His smiles are fewer. His kisses are lighter. He
doesn’t ask about other patients anymore.
I offer that we go to the park, to the bakery, to see our stars, or go
read Ella the newspaper. Sam says he is tired. He says, maybe
tomorrow.
A few weeks pass and Sam weakens considerably.