With All My Love
A person with a different story, a different name.
That first night, she was just a small girl curled up in a plastic chair in a hospital waiting room. Patrick’s mother was a free spirit, a woman who moved from one odd job to the next before they landed in Pittstown. She found a graveyard shift as a records clerk at a local hospital, her hours a mirror of his own restless sleep schedule. On this particular night, the air in the waiting room was thick and still, smelling of antiseptic and stale coffee. The fluorescent lights hummed, an endless, monotonous sound that made his eyelids heavy. He sat in an empty chair, his sneakers tapping a quiet rhythm against the linoleum floor, bored and rest
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