A Man Called Patrick

by Ellen Pepper

 My mind was on a thousand thoughts cascading through my synapses as I passed a poorly lit alleyway in the city. A clump of white hair caught my attention. It was on the head of an elderly man lying on the pavement with a booze bottle loosely held in his hand. Something about him looked familiar and I fought with myself about going over to check him out. I knew that I should investigate whether he needed medical attention but with the thought that he was probably a homeless drunk who might want to remain undisturbed, I hesitated to approach him.

 Minutes went by as I considered the possible ramifications of interfering in this man's life. And then, he shifted and groaned - a groan that came from the depths of pain. I felt then that I had no choice but to intervene.

 "Hello." I said as I approached. "I'm not from the government and I'm here to help you."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Patrick PotatoMan.  Patrick...the guy who likes potatoes in a liquid form. Now get the fuck away from me - I don't need no do-gooders. I'm perfectly fine as I am. Be off with ya!"

"Ha ha - NO. I'm not leaving until I'm sure that you aren't in need of medical attention. Understood?"

And Patrick said, "Is this the part of the story when I break down and tell you the pitiful tale of my pathetic life and ultimate descent into mad, chaotic drunkenness to ease my existential pain? I'm not that ruined. Just go away. I'm not interested in chatting."

"Patrick? You remind me of a man."

"What man?"

"A man with the power."

"What power?"

"The power of hoodoo."

"Hoo doo?"

"You do. You remind me of a man."

Patrick laughingly said, "I remember that schtick. It's from the 1947 film The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer with Cary Grant, Myrna Loy and Shirley Temple. Great flick. Saaaayyyy...you look far too young to be familiar with that. How old are you, anyway?

"Younger than springtime and older than the sea and that's all the info you'll get from me."  

Patrick sat up, leaned against a graffiti-strewn wall. "Well, since you don't appear to be vamoosing, tell me your name." 

"None of your business. I don't give my name out to just any Tom, Dick or Harry." 

Patrick chuckles, deep and low, " Tell me your name or I'll think this is a game and I'll disappear."

"My name is Sekrè."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sekrè. Do you want to hear the story of my miserable existence now? It'll cost you, though. I need more vodka."

"No, I'm not interested in your version of your life. I already know you from the theatre scene, Patrick Madison. I watched you have it all and then throw it all away when you got involved with a woman who devoured you from the inside out. I witnessed you gradually giving yourself over to her toxic machinations and losing your creative edge while she taunted and then shunned you. I saw her break your spirit - so, yeah, I'm quite familiar with your tale of woe. I'll get you more booze after we have some food and get you cleaned up. If you don't mind, of course. You don't seem to have lost your cognitive abilities along the way so you aren't exactly a lost cause. When was the last time you wrote anything?"

"Fuck if I know.  Or care. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Look, Patrick, if you were a feral cat I found injured on the road, I'd take you to a vet for a checkup. Since you appear to be human, I should take you to a medic. How do you feel about that?"

"I'd prefer to eat and then drink. Now, where's the grub?"

And thus began my friendship with the man I had admired for years - wishing and hoping to some day meet and charm him. I had hoped to become his collaborator in theatre works. I broke a little inside when I observed him being abused by a fata morgana - a femme fatale, such as she was...

After he was properly fed, and seen by medics and given drink, he was provided with a decent home in the subsidized residence for senior entertainers. That's when he began creating again.  When that happened, he no longer drank to excess. 

Last week, he asked me, "Are you my Guardian Angel, Sekrè?"

In reply I smirked and said, "My job here is done. Tonight I venture back to Alpha Centauri from whence I came."

Patrick chortled, " Say, that's a great idea for a play. Hand me my laptop and let's write it right now."

Patrick is back in the saddle. Halleluia.

 

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025