Teenage Misfits

It's night time, and I once again find myself roaming the empty hallways of the hospital. My work place is on one of the upper floors, and since patients only stay on the lower floors, staff doesn't hang around upstairs.

It was only a few nights ago that Sam and I had bonded. I thought it would have been boring, for him to just sit there and watch me paint, but it was enjoyable. He kept the conversation going easily, and for once in my life I actually felt normal. Like instead of being a resident at the hospital, I was a normal teenager -with a best friend who loved my art and loved to watch me paint.

I quietly round the corner that leads to the hallway where my work space is but stop short when I hear a soft sound -mellow and clean. I look around the hallway to see the door to my destination slightly open and light streaming out of it. That's where the sound's coming from. Somebody's in my art room.

I rush down the hall and throw the door open, I see Sam and watch as he jumps at my sudden entry and almost drops the accoustic guitar that he's holding. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

He smiles sheepishly at me and sets his guitar down next to the chair that he's lounging in. "So here's the thing... My parents kicked me out." He says.

"So you're here?" I ask.

"I have nowhere else to go." he replies.

"Don't you have any relatives or something?" I ask.

"Not in this state." He says then adds, "If you really don't want me here, I'll find another room -but I have to stay at this hospital. I have no other options right now."

"No, you can stay here just...." I sigh, "Just don't mess anything up, alright? I worked my ass off on everything in here and I won't appreciate it if it's ruined."

"Deal." He says and smiles at me, "So are you planning to work on your art?" He asks.

I shrug and sit in the chair directly across from him, "I was, but now I'm more interested on you and that guitar." I say with a raised eyebrow, "I didn't know you could play."

He shrugs, "I'm okay. I started a few years ago and have been on and off with it."

"You should stick with it, I bet you'd be really good." I reply.

"It's more of a hobby, I don't really think I'll get anywhere with it." He says and strums a few chords.

"Well, for me, art started out as a hobby, but now it's a talent." He looks up at me from his guitar, "If I ever get out of this place, I'd really like to be an art teacher." I finish.

He smiles at me and gently placing one of his hands on my knee as a comforting gesture. "You're going to get out of here. You'll be a great art teacher." He says, and then it hits me. He doesn't know what I'm diagnosed with, but he's never asked. I don't want to tell him, I want to be like him and believe that there's still hope for me to lead a normal life.

"And you're going to make playing guitar your talent and you'll be a great musician." I reply with a smile.

"You know what? Come here every night, and work on your paintings and while you do that I'll practice my guitar." He says.

"Fine." I reply and get up from my seat, "And I'll let you stay here if you let me paint a portrait of you." I add.

He nods, "My hidden talent is being able to sit still for hours and let a beautiful girl paint a picture of me." he replies.

I flick the side of his head as I walk pass him, "Don't be a kiss up." I say.

"I'm not." He replies.

I roll my eyes in response, but I can't seem to keep the smile off of my face.