I Fell in Love with Hope(28)

“Neo, what do you dream of?” I ask, chewing on the chocolate Sony gave me. Neo shook his head when she offered earlier. Now he just sucks on a single square, letting it dissolve in his mouth.

“Lately?” he asks, moving the chocolate with his teeth. “Annoying cats and C’s shitty music.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Do you dream of publishing your stories?”

“I don’t know. If I ever write for money, it’s just so I can keep writing.”

“Isn’t that why all writers write?”

“No.” Neo shifts on his feet. His muscles haven’t been used in a while. They’re learning to work around an unbent spine. “Some people write so their name will be bigger than the title,” he says.

Neo is a good writer, even if he doesn’t believe it. He makes me feel despite the fact that I don’t remember how. Even Shakespeare doesn’t have that power. I know his stories can do that for people who need it. One day.

Neo’s weight shifts away from me. He stands on the balls and heels of his feet, upright. A breath shakes through him from ankles to neck. Despite the lack of him, he is able to stand, no butterfly rash or swelling to be seen.

“You’re getting better,” I say.

Neo stiffens. He leans his weight back onto my arms, clutching them. “I’m not leaving, Sam.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

His fingers detach from me mechanically. He settles back on his unmade bed in easy steps.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask. His face is scrunched up, more than usual.

“No.” He grabs the papers on his side table, his pen too. “I have to fix Sony’s escape plan. It’s straight out of an action movie.” When he says Sony’s name, his eyes wander to the neon sleeves pulled over his knuckles. She isn’t with us now. She can’t be. Some turmoils of one-lungedness have to be handled alone. Maybe not alone. Maybe just with a cat.

The color catches Neo off-guard. He puts his hand on his chest and breathes in a little deeper to feel it rise and fall.

“Is she okay?” he asks. “I know you were with her yesterday.”

Yesterday, I got on my knees the way Neo would have if he were submerged in Sony’s blue. I held Sony once the doctor left. She didn’t cry, but she needed to be held. She needed to not be alone. Eric came in at the end of his shift and took her for ice cream. She accidentally let it slip that there was a cat in her room. It had bladder control problems. Eric pinched the bridge of his nose and told her that if she cleaned after it, he would just pretend it didn’t exist. He bought her a litter box and a food and water bowl. Later, when Sony had little strength left, he took her back to her room and spoke to her for hours, telling her about all the kids she hasn’t been able to play tag with lately. The mask didn’t hide her smiles. The ventilator was nowhere near as loud as her snorty laughs and teasing. When she fell asleep, Eric ran his hands through his hair. He cried. Silently. So that he wouldn’t wake her. His sobs were all breath. He covered his mouth till the dread he couldn’t carry left his body in tears. Then, he wiped his face, stood, and checked every vital sign, screen, and machine connected to Sony. Before he left, he kissed her forehead and whispered something I couldn’t hear.

It’s unfair. That those you take care of usually end up being the ones you care about. I should know. It’s what Eric and I have in common. We aren’t supposed to love them. Narrators and nurses mustn’t get attached. We are tied to this place, and they are tied to a pendulum swinging to either side of the ledge.

“Don’t tell me, actually,” Neo says, wiping his nose. “It’s better if I don’t know.” He scatters his papers above the sheets, recreating his sea so that there’s noise to fill the quiet. “Why are you still standing there? Go see Hikari or something.”

When he says her name, my eyes don’t wander. They unfocus. All my senses rush to my hands, the ones that mirror hers. I reach into both my pockets.

“I shouldn’t.”

Between my thumb and forefinger, my succulent peeks, only its container concealed. In the other pocket, Hikari’s note sits folded in my palm. Last night, I was supposed to meet her in our old cardiology wing, but I couldn’t summon the courage.

“Why?” Neo asks.

“She’s scary.”

“Aren’t I scary?”

“No. You’re small.”

He grumbles. “She doesn’t want to bite you. What the hell are you scared of?”

“I don’t know what she wants.”

“I’ve never understood what it is you want.”

“Wanting is useless for someone like me.”

Neo looks up from his writing, waiting for me to look at him too.

“Someone like us, you mean,” he says, his voice gaining an edge.

“Sorry.”

“Sony wants to play with her kids and the freedom to do whatever and go wherever she pleases,” he goes on, bypassing the awkward pause that would’ve been. “I want at least a part of me to be immortal, and Coeur wants–well–”

“Shitty music?”

“Probably.”