I sat alone in the corner of the apartment hidden from view and void of any meaningful thought. The desk before me stretched endlessly in both directions, completely bare from any belongings yet it’s winding etches and oaken lines begged to whisper a story of a time gone past.
“It wants to tell us something!”, I proclaimed aloud to Patrick as I leaned forward on the edge of my seat, eyes bounding from crevice to crevice as I tried to figure out the best way to decipher the code.
Patrick whispered something into my left ear but his voice was so faint I failed to grasp any cohesiveness.
“Speak up dammit!!”, I yelled as I slammed my fist down onto the surface of the desk sending a cataclysmic shockwave out across the room.
Patrick wasn’t real.
Five years previous I had set off on an adventure across the globe with my then girlfriend.
A 28 and a half year old Man/Boy or manboy if you will, I had decided that wearing suits, knotting ties and saying phrases like “Mocha Mocha”, “Hiya Hiya” and “Venti no whip” in Americanised coffee establishments was a terrifying thought and so I had decided to ‘Feck Off’ for the year in search of enlightenment. Truth be told I had just been trying to catch my shadow and never grow up.
“Our Book!”, I gasped. “We’ll publish our book!!!”
Somewhere in between a thunderous Indian dose of soggy flatulent underpants and a miserable New Zealand rain soaked fruit picking field, I had conjured Patrick into existence.
What had started out as a friendly reassuring voice inside my head to help keep the insane thoughts at bay, Patrick had quickly escalated into an all powerful all knowing God to my senses, a conductor that had danced the fine tightrope between the blossoming fields of rational thought and the barren gorge of unfavourable madness.
He had kept me intact for the most part, guiding me when I was lost, carrying me when I stumbled. Such that our friendship grew I had eventually allowed all of his nearest and dearest to setup shop and abode inside my inner workings. They had been my numbskulls and I had been their master.
We had sailed all manner of seas throughout that year and had enjoyed many a rum deep into the night.
Like most things, that period of my life had eventually drawn to a close. The bountiful late nights had been transformed into hectic gridlocked early mornings, the pirated rum now swapped with skinny Lattés and regimental working days.
Patricks’s loud enthusiasm had dimmed to a whisper, his voice iced out by the deathly grasp of the ‘Real World’.
As I sat in the corner of the apartment trying to decipher the story that lay across the desk before me, an electrifying thought flashed across my mind. “Our Book!”, I gasped. “We’ll publish our book!!!”
With that, I could feel Patrick’s voice grow a little stronger.
We were about to begin another adventure.