I Fell in Love with Hope(86)

“I want to be with you,” he says. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. What if I don’t get the chance?”

Neo, like the stone he is, isn’t shaken by such words. He would’ve said in the past, that choosing between what-ifs is not a luxury for people like them. He would say that the world is fundamentally unfair and chances are illusions of choices time takes for itself.

But Neo is not imprisoned by the past. He is the strongest out of all of us, but he is also the most willing to be weak. He doesn’t put up a fight, not for himself. The only people he will fight for are the ones with him now.

Neo wipes C’s tears with his thumbs and cups his face. “Then I’ll spread your ashes in the sea and walk into the waves.”

C blinks, his hands falling on Neo’s.

“You really are a writer,” he whispers. “You’ll read to me tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll stay with me after I fall asleep?”

As he tidies up Neo’s collar and wipes his shirt of any sand, Neo hugs C around the neck and presses his nose into his hair.

“Si Dieu me laisse, on sera ensemble pour toujours,” he says, and though it is broken and perhaps not said completely right, C hugs him.

“Your accent is terrible.”

They laugh together and when C finds the strength, he walks back to the car holding Neo’s hand.

We go home all in the same car’s backseat, uncomfortable with wet pants and sandy shoes, huddled under a single blanket, letting the wind kiss us goodbye through the windows as the bomb on C’s wrist goes tick, tick, tick–





music




Coeur never knew what he liked. People asked him what his favorite color was. They asked him if he preferred playing at the park or in his backyard. Coeur was quite indecisive on the matter and as a four-year-old, he spent an inordinate amount of time thinking of answers to these questions. But why did he have to choose? Both the playground and backyard were fun and if any color went missing from the world, Coeur would miss it.

With these indecisive philosophies and relatively quiet nature, Coeur became a passive child compared to his rowdy older brothers. He was the kind that just went along with what others did and liked. As Coeur grew up, however, he found that this lack of personality made him feel hollow. The kids on the playground had their favorite games. Some had insatiable energy and capricious attitudes, while others were tender voiced, and lethargic. Coeur, for the life of him, could not figure out what he was, so he must’ve been missing a part of himself, right?

That’s what Coeur believed the pain was. The muscles between his ribs ached. His teeth were sore. His hearing faded in and out by the time he was ten. Coeur never said a thing about any of it. He believed it was merely a symptom of being empty.

When he graduated into adolescence, Coeur found his peers liked him. Girls called him a pretty boy, and boys respected his size and athleticism. Questions of personality became irrelevant in the face of popularity.

To maintain his image, Coeur took up swimming. Not because he liked it, but because being good at it made him like himself.

His hollowness felt momentarily breached, filled with the pool’s water when he swam. Winning race after race kept the dam full as people clapped.

The dam, he found, leaked rather fast.

When Coeur’s father drove him home from a tournament, saying they’d have no more room for trophies, he clasped Coeur’s shoulder and said he was proud of his son. Coeur found the age-old question sitting at the back of his mind like the hook on a drain.

Why?

Coeur didn’t try very hard at swimming. He was just good at it because he was tall and naturally muscled. He looked at his dad from the passenger seat. Then, he turned back around to face the road, too afraid to ask.

Coeur did find distractions from the hollowness. He found peace in an old record player his mother gave him for his birthday. Not much of a talker, he listened to music all day long because even if he had nothing to say, he always had something to sing. His habit worsened when he got earbuds and a phone. Music became his constant companion.

It was hardly enough, though. One can’t live their entire life lost in diversions. There were only so many songs that sounded out Coeur’s desire to feel complete.

A girl once took it upon herself to kiss him.

Coeur was poor at academics. Numbers were difficult for him to wrap his head around, and words were far worse. A girl in his class offered to help him study. At her house, about twenty minutes in, she pressed her lips to his.

Coeur was startled. He’d never kissed or been kissed, and the concept of kissing had only crossed his mind as something people did because they were in relationships or because they were bored.

Coeur was bored most of his life, but he’d never resorted to anything sexual to cure it. Like everything else, he wasn’t sure if he liked girls or boys or anyone at all, so it was easier to ignore the choices. But it felt good being liked. It filled his hollowness as she got on top of him, and they kissed till their mouths were sore.

“Why are you doing this?” Coeur finally asked.

“Because I like you,” she said, kissing his jaw.

“But–” Coeur pushed her away gently. “Why?”

It took the girl a moment. Her eyes flickered about as if the answer lay somewhere around her bedroom. Then, she did what Coeur feared she would.