The Backpack
Silver have released my Christmas story, The Backpack
There's only ever been one man for Patrick. Paul was the six-year-old boy who kissed him after Patrick helped find his mom in a mall full of Christmas shoppers, the teenager who showed him kindness at Christmas when Patrick needed it most, and the lover who has shared his life after a chance meeting, three Christmases ago.
When Paul holds out the faded scrap of paper, Patrick feels his carefully constructed world crumble around him. Will Paul still love him even knowing the secrets he has kept hidden? In the glow of the Christmas lights, Patrick has to face his innermost fears with the man who has always been his whole world.
"I'm sorry, dear, but all the rooms have just been taken."
"The vacancy? Oh, we filled that this morning. Thank you for asking."
But the signs don't get removed from the window. The flicker of the eyes as they lie to you.
Why can't they just be honest? "You're a bum, with no job, no history, and we don't want you here."
Crawling in behind the flattened cardboard boxes in the mall, you hide here during the day to get out of the weather. It's blessedly warm here, and for once, you aren't hacking up a lung and maybe a rib or two. If you're allowed to sleep here for long enough, maybe you can make the meds last a little bit longer, and you won't need to endure their questions and their pity as they poke and prod your thin body.
Please God -not that He exists- let it be George on duty today. He'll turn a blind eye while you get some sleep, and there might even be a cup of coffee waiting when you wake up. George is like that.
Bing Crosby croons you to sleep, sending you into an uneasy rest with his futile dreams of a white Christmas. You don't, dream of a white Christmas that is. You dream of warm summer evenings and lazy grass, your momma's hugs, and large hazel eyes.
Your fingers check. It's still there. The scrap of paper that he gave you. You fall asleep dreaming of him and the unexpected kindness of a stranger.
There's only ever been one man for Patrick. Paul was the six-year-old boy who kissed him after Patrick helped find his mom in a mall full of Christmas shoppers, the teenager who showed him kindness at Christmas when Patrick needed it most, and the lover who has shared his life after a chance meeting, three Christmases ago.
When Paul holds out the faded scrap of paper, Patrick feels his carefully constructed world crumble around him. Will Paul still love him even knowing the secrets he has kept hidden? In the glow of the Christmas lights, Patrick has to face his innermost fears with the man who has always been his whole world.
"I'm sorry, dear, but all the rooms have just been taken."
"The vacancy? Oh, we filled that this morning. Thank you for asking."
But the signs don't get removed from the window. The flicker of the eyes as they lie to you.
Why can't they just be honest? "You're a bum, with no job, no history, and we don't want you here."
Crawling in behind the flattened cardboard boxes in the mall, you hide here during the day to get out of the weather. It's blessedly warm here, and for once, you aren't hacking up a lung and maybe a rib or two. If you're allowed to sleep here for long enough, maybe you can make the meds last a little bit longer, and you won't need to endure their questions and their pity as they poke and prod your thin body.
Please God -not that He exists- let it be George on duty today. He'll turn a blind eye while you get some sleep, and there might even be a cup of coffee waiting when you wake up. George is like that.
Bing Crosby croons you to sleep, sending you into an uneasy rest with his futile dreams of a white Christmas. You don't, dream of a white Christmas that is. You dream of warm summer evenings and lazy grass, your momma's hugs, and large hazel eyes.
Your fingers check. It's still there. The scrap of paper that he gave you. You fall asleep dreaming of him and the unexpected kindness of a stranger.