I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

It occurs to me that no one but Neo and I know about this part of
him.
It’s a secret.
Secrets make people vulnerable. Vulnerability is an isolating force. It
pushes people away.
“I like what you write,” I say, hand on the doorknob. Neo glances at
me, and for a moment, I think, finally letting his guard down. “Your
writing sounds like music.”
—
The next day, when I put Neo’s tray down, he doesn’t look up.
Instead, he holds out something for me.
“A book?” I ask, looking at the cover. It’s rich with blues and gold, a
pair of eyes looking back at me, and The Great Gatsby written in
thin, elegant letters.
“Yes,” Neo says. “Read it.”
“Okay.”
I walk to the corner of the room and sit in the chair, opening the book
to page one.
“Wha- not here!”
Neo doesn’t like company, I forget. His vulnerability doesn’t like it.
So, I read on my own. In the hall. In waiting areas. In doctor’s
lounges. In the gardens. I read anywhere I can till the pages I have
left become fewer than the pages I’ve consumed.
“You almost done?” Neo asks, passing the nurse’s station.
“Mhm,” I nod, from behind the desk, enthralled in Gatsby’s torrid
affairs.