PERFECT CANVAS ━━━ luke patterson.

i. i miss you

I ALMOST screamed. My sketchbook held high in the air, launching myself several feet away from the park bench I occupied.

Then I remembered the time, and I would prefer not to be known as the girl who woke up the entire neighborhood due to her fear of spiders. Instead, I settled on silent terror, unblinking and frozen in place as I stared down at the insect that was making itself at home on the bench. I probably stood there for a handful of minutes, barely moving, before lowering my sketchbook to my side and making a mad dash to retrieve my pencil and backpack before the spider made a move toward them.

The night is peaceful, compared to my panic which has begun to die down. Calming my racing heart I survey my surroundings, I notice a slight chill in the air that I hadn't previously felt. I must've been so consumed in drawing that I failed to notice the subtle changes occurring around me. Additionally, I noticed that it has grown significantly darker outside since my arrival.

I spare a glance toward the spider before dropping my backpack to the ground, wood chips attaching themselves to the bottom of it. Placing my sketchbook and pencil inside, I trade them for my phone and turn it on to see the time has changed from 9:00 to 11:30. It felt like only two minutes had passed, not over two hours.

Sure, I always arrive at the park late but even then I'm usually home around 10:30 not midnight. The park has become something I do almost every day ever since my mother and I moved here, and she would not be thrilled if she knew I was out this late, but she's not even home or even in town, so what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

The bond between my mother and I had always been distant, and it worsened after my father's passing about a year ago. After he died, my mother started getting rid of everything that reminded her of him. At first, she didn't do it immediately, so I had hope. But eventually, everything of his was gone. However, there was one thing she couldn't get rid of--me. So instead, she removed herself from my life by always being on a "business trip." However, I know this is just a way for her to stay away from me as much as possible, and she is doing the same thing right now.

My father, on the other hand, was my best friend. He was be the person I would go to for help, or my shoulder to cry on whether it was a bad day at school or another argument with my mom. He would always be there for me. Now I no longer have that shoulder or the person to confide in, now it's just me tackling everything.

Moving has been something that I've gotten very used to. With my mother always getting transferred around for her job, I was always left in the small apartment she would rent for us to stay in. As of right now, it's a small apartment for me to stay in since she is now unsurprisingly out on one of her frequent "business trips."

So while she's away on this new trip I come to this park that nobody in the neighborhood seems to visit, claim a bench or table, and draw in silence.

What I choose to draw varies on a daily. I like to think I'm not half bad, though I only have my dad's words to base it on, which were only positive. . . So how much do they really count? But, there are many different things that I have drawn, such as the random flowers that have blossomed in the bushes scattered around the place, though, those are only visible during the day. Meanwhile, at night, I usually end up drawing simple things because I can only see so much, such as a constellation I would spot in the sky.

This has become a getaway for me. I find a place, such as this park, at every place we've moved to. I couldn't stand to be cooped up inside with the only exception being school. It also distracts me from my reality, a reality that I so badly want to leave on the side of the road and drive away as fast as possible.

At least I have drawing, something that I've always enjoyed doing, and ever since my father passed I have been doing it a lot more because it makes me feel connected to him and the memories we have. I remember how he would always seem to catch me in my room with either a paintbrush or a pencil in hand. He was always there hovering over my shoulder and giving me ideas or sometimes even joining me.