I Fell in Love with Hope(43)

“I’ve already read it.” Neo picks up the book as if he’s ignoring it, ready to hand it back and reject it yet again. The familiar tone hits C in the face. Like when his teacher would dismiss his inability to understand. He wallows in the embarrassment and perhaps starts to accept that Neo may never truly forgive him.

“Okay,” he whispers, turning around and grabbing the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

C halts. He turns back around. The book isn’t thrown aside or abandoned. Neo slides his hand across the first page, tucking his knees to rest the weight. He takes off the hood and nods at the chair by his bed. “Sit down and be quiet.”

—

Neo reads to C in a different way than I read to him. There’s no monotone drawl over every passage. He works across the chapters with smoothness, sure to side-eye C when he flips a page to make sure he’s paying attention. He is. He props his chin on his arms and every time Neo picks up the story again, C admires him.

They make it a habit to read every day. They exchange numbers. They text each other after hours when they should be sleeping. C sometimes sneaks into Neo’s room, and they listen to music while laughing over the nurses they tricked. When C gets discharged a week later, he messages Neo every single day and visits us every afternoon. He doesn’t swim anymore, he says, so he has no responsibilities anyway.

A month passes of this routine, but one day, we don’t hear from C anymore.

Sony and I worry. We ask Neo if he’s messaged him. Neo shakes his head, his thumb dragging over the edge of his phone.

Two days pass. Neo doesn’t get out of bed, a familiar disappointment settling in his gut. Sony and I stay with him to alleviate it. It isn’t till the sun is about to set on the third night that we hear a voice hopping down the hall, fading in like music.

“Neo! Neo! Neo!” C comes running, almost falling over when he opens the door. The shape of him behind the blinds clears. He enters breathless, some sort of school assignment in his hands. He’s wearing a hospital gown, and what made him trip wasn’t the door but an IV strapped to a pole and connected to his arm under a thin piece of tape.

Neo looks him up and down with horror in his eyes.

C’s fingers shake and with every breath he takes, he winces.

“Neo, look,” he says, no preface, limping over to his bedside and sitting down next to him. “Look, I got an A.” C shows Neo the paper, pointing at the red letter near the top. There’s a giddy smile on his lips. It can’t keep its form, twitching like his muscles.

“What happened?” Neo breathes, touching C’s face with the most delicate reach. He moves aside the gown’s collar, tracing scars atop his veins.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” C takes Neo’s hand. He kisses his fingertips. “Look,” he says. “Read my paper. I wrote it all by myself.”

Neo, with the greatest reluctance, obeys.

C smiles at Sony and me and asks us how we’re doing. We both say we’re doing okay. Neo reads C’s paper, half his attention on the words, half of it lost.

Cardiovascular issues are points on a broad spectrum of severity. What’s nice about the heart is that in most cases, if you catch the problem early, it’s salvageable. What’s more difficult about the heart is that it’s essential, and if you aren’t fast enough…

—

When the night casts a muted blanket, Sony and I go to the gardens. Neo and C sleep inside, tangled like little kids beneath the covers while she and I lean against the great barrier and look at our city. Out there, people always look twice at people like us. They glance at the hospital on their way to work or from their office building, and they see doctors and blood and gray. They don’t see our books or our broken things. They don’t see a disabled poet and broken-hearted composer making promises in the night.

They don’t know what it’s like to drown or to be cut from gardens. It’s uncomfortable for them to witness it. Sick people attract and repulse. Dying is a fascinating idea and a terrifying reality.

“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” Sony says. Faraway stars reflect her gaze, drawing string lights across her freckles.

A sigh works through me.

I rarely feel anything.

When I do, it’s muted, purposefully, like the dark.

Hearts are essential, though, aren’t they? Everything has a heart. Even books, broken things, and I. Mine is locked away, frozen by the night in the snow. At least, that’s what I’d like to believe.

But love is not a choice.

“Without you, we would all be alone right now, Sam. You know that, right?” Sony says. “We love you.” She takes my hand across the railing. “Don’t ever forget that.”





the bridge




Our heist begins when the broken clock should’ve stricken noon.

A few flights of stairs. That’s all we have to conquer. Just a few flights and we’ll be free. Neo and C cling to the railing, looking down the seemingly infinite spiraling steps. Their feet shuffle, anticipating.

Sony is waiting for us downstairs. She’s the oldest on paper, making her the only one who can actually leave without arousing question. Neo and C are known for wreaking havoc and not being legally allowed to. Sure, we’ve slipped off to the gas station across the street, but that’s different. We’ve only actually pulled that off a few times, and Eric was waiting in the lobby with his arms crossed and his foot tapping both times.