I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

He grabs the corner of the tray and flips it over, its contents clattering
against the tiles. Then, he marches off, leaving me to clean a second
time, now, on my own.
—
That night, despite our encounter, I bring Neo his dinner.
He’s not writing. His anger has subsided. Instead, he bites his nails,
twirls his pen, and taps his fingers like his mother does.
“Did you tell anyone?” he asks.
I put his tray down on the bedside table and shake my head.
He thins his eyes. “Why not? What do you want?”
“I’m not sure what it is I want,” I say. “But I’m not good at talking, so
no, I haven’t told anyone.”
“Are you autistic or something?”
“No.”
“So you’re just weird?”
“Yes, I’ve been called weird before. But you’re not good at talking
either.”
Neo scowls, waiting. Insults come in two parts. “You’re mean,” I
explain. “I don’t like what you say.”
“Get out, weirdo,” he mutters. He uncaps the pen with his teeth and
lays it to his ocean. He doesn’t pay any mind to the plate of food.
I pay mind to his body. His clothes are loose, but they don’t conceal
as much as he thinks they do. His skin is grayer, his neck and ankles
considerably thinner than they used to be. He hasn’t left because he
isn’t getting better. He’s getting worse.