I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

“Reading makes me feel,” she says.
Feel.
Emotions and I don’t have the best relationship. It’s a distant, bitter
affair
—a divorce. Emotions are disgusted by me. They’re a gust of wind
on the other side of that ledge, and even if they toy with my hair or
stroke my skin, I ignore them. Emotions are with the ghosts I buried,
husks of what they were, hollow hauntings. But who knows? Maybe
Shakespeare can dig them up.
“I haven’t read Hamlet yet,” I say, peering at the cover.
Hikari looks at me like she has a devious idea, and you already know
I’m done in by it.
—
We read on the rooftop for an hour. At first, in the white noise. In the
breeze, an intruding, whorish bastard who can never stop copping a
feel. I ask if we can go inside and read in the warmth. It’s a lie. Hikari
keeps the roof plenty warm. I just want to get away from the wind.
I’m jealous of how free it is to touch her.
Hikari agrees, and we settle in the crook of a hall I know where very
few pass. It used to be an extension of the cardiology department,
but now it’s more of a dead-end spot where doctors come to take a
phone call or have mid-shift breakdowns. Either way, I like it. There’s
no wind. It’s a place where hearts were once healed.
Hikari and I sit against the wall. I’m the one who holds the book.
She’s the one who assigns theatrics. She claims certain characters,
gives me the role of others, and we read aloud. It’s less passive than
I’m used to, with lots of existing involved, but I like it. I like hearing
her voice travel, the dramatic pauses, and the dedication she takes
to her audience of one.