Hope. The name wouldn’t stop ringing in my ear.
I wanted to visit her. I wanted to just knock on her door, wait for her to open it, and yell “Stupefy” just to see if she’ll yell “Protego”. I wanted to be with her again, but I knew that I shouldn’t. It’s best to not get attached to anyone. That way, when they leave you, you won’t have to spend days sitting in a dark room, sobbing, and wondering why; wondering if there was anything you did or said that made them want to go away, wondering if there’s anything wrong with you. I made it to their front porch, but then I decided to just take a walk instead. And out of nowhere I felt something, or rather, someone throwing rocks at me. I figured it was just another method of bullying.
“Geez, I didn’t know stoning was the new fad.”
I heard a laugh, and then I knew.
“You should be a comedian Cabbage Patch.”
“Yeah, I bet they’d find my life hilarious. What are you doing up there?”
“Up where?”
“On the roof of your house.”
“Oh, well my parents told me I wasn’t allowed to leave the house.”
“Why?”
“For talking to a stranger. They’re really strict.”
“Yeah, because we all know that talking to a kid whose self-esteem is about the size of a mole hill is extremely dangerous.”
“Exactly! Oh, by the way, your name is too long. So I hereby declare that from now on, you shall be known as Catchy, and you shall be mine; my Catchy.”
“Your Catchy?”
And that’s when I caught her smiling. She tried her best to hide it, but it was no use. She couldn’t hide it from me.
“Shut up and get over here Catchy.”
“How?”
“There’s a ladder over there.”
“You want me to climb up to your roof, using a flimsy ladder that’s probably older than me?”
“If it’s not too troublesome, yes.”
“Alright.”
I took the wooden ladder and set it up against the rim of their roof. I was only halfway up when it suddenly started to break. I decided that it would be best if I just stayed in that position.
“Hey, Hope. You know what this reminds me of?”
“What?”
“She speaks! Oh speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head. As is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air!”
“Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”
And then, it broke. I fell to the ground and Hope’s parents heard it. We both laughed for a while before we realized that Hope’s parents would probably shoot me for trespassing on their property, and for talking to her. So we said our goodbye’s and I ran away as fast as I could.
YOU ARE READING
Hope
Historia Corta'Strange; that was always the word used to describe me. My teachers knew me as the strangely quiet kid in the back. The other children knew me as the strange kid who was always reading. Their parents knew me as the strange child who was always alone...
