Turn Back the Clocks, Give Me Some Time

Pete picked up another rock, throwing it directly at the windows that shut Patrick away from the world. The rock bounced lightly off the glass, making little more noise than the rain. Patrick was there, Pete could just tell.

"Patrick." Pete said, picking up a bigger rock and throwing with more force. It was dark, and Pete needed to leave. The feeling of leaving was too good, and Pete couldn't deal with another second in that town. Patrick was going to be 18 tomorrow, and Pete was almost 20. By the time they were gone, Patrick would be a legal adult and they wouldn't be caught.

The light in the room Pete had been throwing rocks at lit up, illuminating the shadow of the boy he was hopelessly in love with. Patrick opened the window, and leant out, squinting down at the dark grass to see Pete.

"What do you want? It's past my curfew." Patrick sighed, staring back into the room as if he was expecting to be caught.

"Come with me." Pete started, "Like you said you would, all those summer nights ago. When we were fourteen, you said you'd run away with me. Well, you need to tie the bedsheets together. We're going to leave this place together."

Patrick didn't frown, but he didn't smile either. Pete didn't know how to take it, but Patrick disappeared from the view. His heart was racing. He had a full tank of gas, his bass, a guitar, and a dream. That'd be enough to keep them together, especially with his wallet full of money. He'd slowly taken all of his life savings out of his account over the last few months, and made sure to get rid of any family pictures.

Pete saw the bedsheets out of Patrick's window, and ran to the base of the house. Nobody was in the kitchen, the only room which had a window on that side of the house except for Patrick's own room, which meant Pete could grab onto the sheets and secure them. Patrick was wearing his glasses when he peaked out, his coat on and a few of his things attached to him. His backpack, probably full of clothes, and his guitar.

"Come down."

"I'm scared."

"If you fall, I'll catch you." Pete tried to calm Patrick, who clearly wasn't getting happier about the idea. Still, he cautiously secured the end of the bedsheets to the latch on the windows, and slid down to fall almost onto Pete.

"Where now?"

"My car." Pete said, leading Patrick quietly back through the forestry behind the house. A few brambles and bushes later, and Pete could feel his heart beating faster than ever. He was finally going to make a new name, follow his dreams. His parents hadn't even cared that he was leaving, and weren't suspicious when he took the guitar. It all seemed so unreal, but Pete had friends who'd help him. He was going to turn back the clock himself, and break out. Make a new name.

Patrick was quiet, loading his things into the back. He wasn't complaining, but he didn't look comfortable. Probably worried that his parents would find out. Pete was quiet too, humming along the tune to something he couldn't remember.

"Maybe we're aiming too high, Pete, I mean... W-what's the chance we'll survive?"

"Get used to looking up, Patrick. Aiming high will get you places. Look, do you want me to tell you to go home? I'm leaving this town, and you can come too. You said you would. But if you're not going to, leave now. Just, lose anything that people can find me with. I'll call you when I get somewhere important." Pete's words were quiet, the fact it was so late almost the only reason. His eyes were screaming.

"No, I'm coming. I wouldn't let you go alone. You'd get h-hurt." Patrick said, quietly filing himself away into the car. Pete followed in, taking his seat in the drivers position. The sky was almost as dark as it was the day they'd met, and Pete wouldn't let himself forget. He looked at the gear-stick, moving a bottle of caffeine pills from his way and setting it into drive.

"Say goodbye to this shithole. I'm sorry you can't go to prom, though."

"I don't need prom. Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Away. Chicago sound good?"

"Too close."

"Vegas?"

"That's cliché."

"You pick somewhere then."

"New York."

"Get out my map, I'll start going in the right direction but let's go." Pete said, turning the radio up. The digital clock read 11:44, and he pressed the accelerator down hard. He was not going to miss this town at all. Rain is glistening off of the plants, and Pete doesn't stop to take it in. He was ready to go.

The sky was rumbling, and he just wanted to leave. Storms were so great, and he was going to drive straight through one. He felt Patrick's hand move on top of his own, and clench a little tighter. Since he'd met Patrick, he'd been hell bent on heaven sent. Patrick, who was probably remembering everything they'd shared here, was getting a little teary.

Pete might miss his family. He didn't really talk a lot to them, but he would miss them. He hoped that they'd miss him too, remember him in the summer breeze when they had no idea where he'd be. He was still living with his parents, and now he was free. The town was too small for Pete, and Patrick too. They just needed somewhere that could accept them, and enjoy the music they made. And they would find it, their own little piece of heaven.

Patrick sighed, and Pete let his eyes shut for a few seconds, the road not changing a bit. They were going to wake up to a brand new day, the auburns and reds and pinks of the sky tinting the day with their changes. The grey of the clouds would grace their new canvases, clean with escapism. Running away just felt so good.

They got their piece of heaven in a runaway, a teenage vow in a parking lot they'd sworn on years ago.