So, I can’t stop thinking about what Hernando was doing while Lito called him incessantly… [ao3]
The apartment’s dark when Hernando enters. Blinds drawn and windows shut tight. He draws the shades and opens the windows wide, letting the afternoon sun pour in. A light breeze blows through, taking most of the stale air out with it.
Hernando stands in the center and, with an eye on the thick layer of dust lining the bookshelves, tries to remember the last time he’d stood in this space.
Technically speaking, this is his official address. His driver’s license has this address. Credit card bills, insurance, taxes, and the like all come here. His mother even sends birthday cards to this place but he can’t remember the last time he slid his key into that door.
He used to come by more often – checking up on the apartment and his neighbors, making sure everything was still as it should be. Now, he’d gotten into the habit of breezing through the lobby every few days to pick up his mail before continuing on his way. Putting this whole place in the back of his mind; not to be dwelled upon or considered. Out of sight and all that.
Wandering the apartment now, taking in the books and pieces and clothing that had never made their way over to Lito’s, Hernando realizes it hadn’t been his busy schedule that kept him from making the short journey upstairs on mail runs. It had been resentment that kept him grounded in the lobby. Resentment that he still cuts a check for this space every month. Resentment that he had just nodded in agreement when Lito suggested he kept this place. Resentment that he spent time building a home he had no real right to. Resentment that he and Lito could share a bed but they couldn’t share an address.
Hernando wrenches open the pantry door just to have a reason to slam it shut.
When the slam of the door echoes through the space, Hernando doesn’t feel the jolt of satisfaction he expected. He just feels stupid.
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lanablack 