I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

I skid to a halt before I even reach the door. It’s shut, but through the
wall, voices bleed.
“Honey.” Neo’s mother. Through the blinds, I see her tight hands
soften on her husband’s elbow. “Calm down.”
“Don’t defend him,” Neo’s father says, only it’s not said, it’s bitten.
Papers crumple in his fist, papers I recognize. Neo’s mother holds
the cross around her neck. Then, his father starts to tear Neo’s
stories to shreds. Slowly. In full view of his son.
“It’s fine. You’re just confused. You’re young. I can’t blame you,” he
says, creeping closer to the bed, his quiet footsteps threatening. He
lifts the papers, tossing their remnants at Neo’s feet. “But don’t let
me find this filth again, you understand?”
I don’t hear anymore. I just see Neo staring out the window, his face
blank of anything. Only his thumb and forefinger move, tightening the
loop around his wrist.
—
That night, I don’t bring Wuthering Heights when I arrive with Neo’s
food. I set the tray down on the side table and observe the carnage.
The cardboard box is knocked over on the floor. The books are
gone, all but Great Expectations cradled in Neo’s arms.
“It’s not Monday,” Neo says. His voice is drained, wet at the back of
his throat. He picks up the apple off the plate.
Mondays are apple days.
“I think apples grow any day they want.”
“Thank you,” Neo says, but he doesn’t take a bite.
I don’t ask him about the shredded pieces of paper on the floor or
the broken pen oozing ink. I don’t ask where his books have gone,
and he doesn’t ask me about Wuthering Heights.