I AM PATCH
The sun had set and a bright blue moon had risen over the city like a watchful wolf standing over her cubs. The night was cool for summer, but the comfortable chill was soothing and welcoming as I walked through the park. The only source of warmth was the lit cigarette between my lips, its fumes filling lungs as the taste of tobacco and nicotine filled my tongue. As I exhaled the toxic smoke, I breathed in the city air, watching the cars speed off into the distance.
I looked down at my old flip phone, I’m surprised even lasted this long seeing as everyone else changes theirs like they change clothes. It was a little passed one in the morning and there were still not a single message on my phone. I sighed and lit up another cigarette. I then put the pack in the back pocket of my acid wash jeans and continued walking towards what I like to think of as my picnic table.
I spent most of my nights there smoking or writing when inspiration comes to me. As I swung my legs over the seat and sat, I unwrapped the notebook I had tied around my wrist and pulled out the pen I had stuck in the messy bun at the back of my head. I opened the withered dark emerald notebook to a nude page and brought the back up the pen to my lips and tapped it quickly to sporadic rhythm.
What to write… what to write…
I took a look around the empty park, hoping to spark some inspiration, but like everything else in my life, it was empty. The trees were dark and looming over the edges of the playground, and the soft wind pushed the vacant swings back and forth, echoing a low squeak. The unoccupied jungle gym resonated with the laughter of the children who earlier overpopulated its monkey bars and slides. A smirk played at the edge of my lips as I heard their spirited cries of joy in my mind.
As I had just begun to lose myself in the thought of being a kid again, a figure immerged from the shadows behind the trees. It surprised me. The figure seemed tall with a disfigured shadow. As I focused a little more, I noticed the figure had a large guitar case on his back. I hadn’t noticed the newly lit cigarette in between my lips, I was so transfixed by this new person in my nightly sanctuary.
My heart began to palpitate as I noticed the figure was walking in my direction. I felt as though an invisible hand was taking hold of my lungs like a teenaged boy holding a bouquet of sunflowers on a first date, I couldn’t breathe. The anticipation of each moment, more deafening than the next.
The boy, now that the low lights of the streets reflected off his face, made his way to my table. He had brown hair, not too dark, but they seemed to match his eyes which glistened. He then nodded towards me, as if he were a familiar. I searched my mind to place him, but I couldn’t.
“Can I bum a smoke?” he said nodding to the cancer stick between my fingers. I nodded in return sitting up slightly to reach the pack I had just put away and handing him one of the last few cigarettes in my possession. Fuck. These need to last me until Wednesday. He took the cigarette and placed it between his fingers as if it had always been there. “Light?” I gave him the BIC that I left lying on the table. He put down his guitar, set it up against the table and sat down in front of me.
I was perplexed. What was he doing here? What did he want from me?
“So what brings you out this late?” He asks, lighting up the smoke.
I shrug, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Nothing, I don’t sleep much.”
The boy nodded understanding. I looked over at the guitar case, trying to decipher its model. It was semi-hard case, and judging by its width, it may contain a bass or an electric guitar. “You?” I said pointedly looking at the case.
He turned his head and smiled. “I am travelling through the provinces. I started off in BC and I’m hoping to get through each of them by playing with this baby.” The grin was still on his face, as he motioned to his guitar. I nodded absentmindedly and continued puffing on my cigarette.
“So did you get kicked out or did you move out on your own?” I ask him in a low voice. The night had become so quiet, I didn’t want to disturb it.
He lifted his brow, which had the reminisce of a healed piercing. “Kicked out.”
I nodded. I was waiting for that to happen with me. I didn’t know why I even had a home at this point, or if I could even actually call it that. This boy, though I’m sure he might be a couple years older than I am, had this intriguing air about him. What could he have possibly done to get pushed out of his home? Thrown? Kicked to the curb? He seemed to have such kind eyes, but then again, kind eyes could hide a shattered soul.
We sat there for what seemed like only minutes, just talking. He told me his story, and his travels, and before I knew it my eyes began to squint because the morning light began rising up from the earth in the distance. My heart hurt for this boy with no name, his life was a mirror of my own with darker shades and all I wanted to do was fix him, sow his pieces back together again and make him whole.
I looked down at my phone and saw the time. I’d have to work in a few hours. I looked back at him and smiled. He talked about travelling where his heart leads him, and I knew it brought him here. He wasn’t going to leave. This night wasn’t an accident and this gnawing feeling at the back of my mind new that he was going to be in my life. It was almost a magical feeling that drowned me in its entirety.
I got up, ready to say my goodbyes and the boy began to blink dumfounded, perplexed as to my leaving. He too must have felt this encounter fly.
“I have to go.” I said to him, the volume in my voice rising with the sun. He looked at me, his brown eyes catching the light becoming almost golden, almost disappointed that I was leaving. “I’m here every night.” I answer his unuttered question.
He nods in relief. “I’m Tristan, by the way.”
He watches me waiting for a response. He wants your name. Give it to him. I shake the voice in my mind and take a puff of the last cigarette. “I’m Patch.” I put the dark hood over my head and walk away, leaving this broken boy in sunshine.
The sun had set and a bright blue moon had risen over the city like a watchful wolf standing over her cubs. The night was cool for summer, but the comfortable chill was soothing and welcoming as I walked through the park. The only source of warmth was the lit cigarette between my lips, its fumes filling lungs as the taste of tobacco and nicotine filled my tongue. As I exhaled the toxic smoke, I breathed in the city air, watching the cars speed off into the distance.
I looked down at my old flip phone, I’m surprised even lasted this long seeing as everyone else changes theirs like they change clothes. It was a little passed one in the morning and there were still not a single message on my phone. I sighed and lit up another cigarette. I then put the pack in the back pocket of my acid wash jeans and continued walking towards what I like to think of as my picnic table.
I spent most of my nights there smoking or writing when inspiration comes to me. As I swung my legs over the seat and sat, I unwrapped the notebook I had tied around my wrist and pulled out the pen I had stuck in the messy bun at the back of my head. I opened the withered dark emerald notebook to a nude page and brought the back up the pen to my lips and tapped it quickly to sporadic rhythm.
What to write… what to write…
I took a look around the empty park, hoping to spark some inspiration, but like everything else in my life, it was empty. The trees were dark and looming over the edges of the playground, and the soft wind pushed the vacant swings back and forth, echoing a low squeak. The unoccupied jungle gym resonated with the laughter of the children who earlier overpopulated its monkey bars and slides. A smirk played at the edge of my lips as I heard their spirited cries of joy in my mind.
As I had just begun to lose myself in the thought of being a kid again, a figure immerged from the shadows behind the trees. It surprised me. The figure seemed tall with a disfigured shadow. As I focused a little more, I noticed the figure had a large guitar case on his back. I hadn’t noticed the newly lit cigarette in between my lips, I was so transfixed by this new person in my nightly sanctuary.
My heart began to palpitate as I noticed the figure was walking in my direction. I felt as though an invisible hand was taking hold of my lungs like a teenaged boy holding a bouquet of sunflowers on a first date, I couldn’t breathe. The anticipation of each moment, more deafening than the next.
The boy, now that the low lights of the streets reflected off his face, made his way to my table. He had brown hair, not too dark, but they seemed to match his eyes which glistened. He then nodded towards me, as if he were a familiar. I searched my mind to place him, but I couldn’t.
“Can I bum a smoke?” he said nodding to the cancer stick between my fingers. I nodded in return sitting up slightly to reach the pack I had just put away and handing him one of the last few cigarettes in my possession. Fuck. These need to last me until Wednesday. He took the cigarette and placed it between his fingers as if it had always been there. “Light?” I gave him the BIC that I left lying on the table. He put down his guitar, set it up against the table and sat down in front of me.
I was perplexed. What was he doing here? What did he want from me?
“So what brings you out this late?” He asks, lighting up the smoke.
I shrug, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Nothing, I don’t sleep much.”
The boy nodded understanding. I looked over at the guitar case, trying to decipher its model. It was semi-hard case, and judging by its width, it may contain a bass or an electric guitar. “You?” I said pointedly looking at the case.
He turned his head and smiled. “I am travelling through the provinces. I started off in BC and I’m hoping to get through each of them by playing with this baby.” The grin was still on his face, as he motioned to his guitar. I nodded absentmindedly and continued puffing on my cigarette.
“So did you get kicked out or did you move out on your own?” I ask him in a low voice. The night had become so quiet, I didn’t want to disturb it.
He lifted his brow, which had the reminisce of a healed piercing. “Kicked out.”
I nodded. I was waiting for that to happen with me. I didn’t know why I even had a home at this point, or if I could even actually call it that. This boy, though I’m sure he might be a couple years older than I am, had this intriguing air about him. What could he have possibly done to get pushed out of his home? Thrown? Kicked to the curb? He seemed to have such kind eyes, but then again, kind eyes could hide a shattered soul.
We sat there for what seemed like only minutes, just talking. He told me his story, and his travels, and before I knew it my eyes began to squint because the morning light began rising up from the earth in the distance. My heart hurt for this boy with no name, his life was a mirror of my own with darker shades and all I wanted to do was fix him, sow his pieces back together again and make him whole.
I looked down at my phone and saw the time. I’d have to work in a few hours. I looked back at him and smiled. He talked about travelling where his heart leads him, and I knew it brought him here. He wasn’t going to leave. This night wasn’t an accident and this gnawing feeling at the back of my mind new that he was going to be in my life. It was almost a magical feeling that drowned me in its entirety.
I got up, ready to say my goodbyes and the boy began to blink dumfounded, perplexed as to my leaving. He too must have felt this encounter fly.
“I have to go.” I said to him, the volume in my voice rising with the sun. He looked at me, his brown eyes catching the light becoming almost golden, almost disappointed that I was leaving. “I’m here every night.” I answer his unuttered question.
He nods in relief. “I’m Tristan, by the way.”
He watches me waiting for a response. He wants your name. Give it to him. I shake the voice in my mind and take a puff of the last cigarette. “I’m Patch.” I put the dark hood over my head and walk away, leaving this broken boy in sunshine.