Rain

•6•

Just a little in between the classes writing!

Patrick sits up in his room. His left hand is palm up, the medicine sitting on it, the burning subsiding. His door is locked because he's with his notebook. The lyrics from earlier are unfinished but he's not inspired to write those. He's writing new ones. He hasn't gotten much down yet, but he's gotten an intro and a first line.

If you were church, I'd get on my knees
Confess my love, I'd know where to be
My sanctuary, you're holy to me
If you were church, I'd get on my knees
I'd get on my knees, I'd get on my knees

Take the pain, make it billboard big and swallow it for me.
Time capsule for the future
Trust me, that's what I will be

He starts to slowly piece together more but his mother yells for him. He sighs and grabs his fedora, placing it on his messy hair. Quickly, he throws the notebook under his bed. He can't take the time to properly hide it. He'll continue writing after dinner anyways.

"Patrick, set the table." She slides a stack of plates, napkins, and fancy silverware toward him.

"There's not enough chairs..." Patrick looks toward the usual eating table, just off the kitchen.

"Dining room." She nods, going back to cutting the tomatoes.

Patrick sighs and picks up the stack of fancy items, probably amounting to more than his guitar, and carefully carries them to the dining table. Patrick is a fan of the dining room. There's a few random ass decorations on the taupe painted walls. An oriental rug sits on top of the hardwood floors and under the expensive dining table. The entire table seats exactly 6, even though they have 8 chairs. He sets out the plates, then folds the napkins, and then puts the silverware on top.

"Anything else you want me to do?"

She scans Patrick, "take off the hat."

He touches the brim. "I like the hat...you said you liked it too."

"Not for a dinner."

He sighs and shakes his head. "My hair is too messy."

She pauses and looks up at him. "Brush it." She says with wide eyes.

He opens his mouth to complain but his mother interrupts. "Patrick."

He groans in extreme displeasure before heading back up the stairs, adding emphasis on certain steps.

"Stop stomping!"

He rolls his eyes and heads to his room. He brushed his hair ages ago but it didn't work, why would it work now?

"What're you still doing up here? They're suppose to be here any moment." Patrick's dad, who was upstairs switching his attire to something more formal, doesn't know about the mini argument.

"Mom said I can't wear the hat." He says, hoping his dad would take his side.

"Well hats at dinner aren't formal."

"Look at my hair!" Patrick runs his hands through a few times.

"It is messy." His dad nods in agreement.

Normally that would be an insult but Patrick smiles. "See? Can I wear the hat dad? Please?"

After a few moments of deciding, his dad agrees. Patrick tries to hide a smug smile as he walks behind his dad, in his fedora, down the stairs.

"Patrick! I told you not to-" His mother starts.

"I let him wear it."

"You're suppose to take my side!" His mother frowns.