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It was nothing unusual for tension to occasionally arise between Patrick and me. He was an eccentric man with deeply ingrained habits and fixed patterns of reaction; he disliked change and had an intense aversion to feeling that he lacked control over a situation,in fact, I am certain he would have been perfectly happy if there were no one else working in the building, sparing him the need to interact with others, even me.
As dusk began to fall, I was packing up to leave; while going through some unimportant documents, I noticed that Patrick hadn't left yet. I found this rather odd, as he usually leaves early before his shift actually ends.
I gathered my things, packed them into my bag, and walked toward the office door; curiosity got the better of me, and I knocked a few times. Through the closed blinds, I could faintly make out a dim light—perhaps he had already left, simply forgetting to say goodbye or turn off the lights. That seemed the most likely scenario (after all, it was hard to imagine Patrick actually staying to finish a full shift), so I turned the handle, pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit office.
The room was empty; the only sign that someone had been there was the lit desk lamp. I approached the desk, and just as I reached out to turn off the light, I spotted a figure lying on the floor beside it.
Patrick was sitting on the floor, looking utterly disheveled: his suit jacket was gone, his tie hung loose, his back against the desk with knees pulled tight against his chest, hands covering most of his face.
As I said, it’s not unusual for us to have the occasional bit of tension, though the reasons vary. This time, it stemmed from a minor disagreement we’d had earlier; usually, I try not to pry into his personal affairs , but he kept getting calls from Evelyn—and with each one, she sounded increasingly annoyed with me because I couldn't get Patrick to answer the phone.
I asked him if he could answer, but he said—and I quote—"I can't right now; I have to return some videotapes, I'm sure you can handle a phone call." feels like I’ve heard that excuse at least a hundred times, and I have to admit—at least to myself—that it made me feel frustrated to have him tell me such an old lie when I was trying my best to help him (and Evelyn).
My reaction at the time was perhaps somewhat inappropriate and filled with spite—stemming from the frustration he provoked in me.
"For God's sake, Patrick! Can't you stop being such an asshole for once? I’m genuinely trying to help you, but all you do is give the same excuse you give everyone to get out of situations you put yourself in. I know you don't want to talk to Ms. Williams, but I need at least a halfway decent reason to give her so she'll stop calling!"
"I don't use the same excuse every time! It’s just that I happen to like renting videotapes but forget to return them on time, which is perfectly normal."
"You might think others will believe you when you lie, but having heard you use the same excuse so many times before, there is no way you could believe I would buy it."
"You’re not working here to question what I say, you're here to handle the people who call me so I don't have to deal with those matters myself."
"You are talking about your fiancee, not some "matter" that's interrupting your work, can't you at least try to behave like a real person? Like someone with real feelings?"
He fell silent at my words, fixing his gaze intently upon me; he seemed on the verge of replying, yet realized that saying anything would only make matters worse—or perhaps it wasn't that consideration that held him back, maybe he simply realized I was right—at least about this.
He gave me one last glance before turning and heading to the office; I sat back down in the chair behind the desk—I had risen from it earlier, agitated by the argument.
For the rest of the day, I kind of ignored my boss; I told Evelyn a casual excuse, telling her that "Mr. Bateman has gone to lunch with an important client" and suggesting she call his apartment later. The afternoon dragged on interminably, yet I was determined that if Patrick had something to say, he would have to tell me himself—and in the end, he never did, which brings me to the current situation.
"My God, Patrick, what happened to you? Are you okay?" I knelt on the floor beside him, deeply worried as I looked at the state he was in.
He moved both hands on his face and asked me through the gaps between his palms "Can others really tell what I'm missing?"
"What? What do you mean Patrick? You're worrying me"
"You said I need to act more like a real person, and even hinted that not everyone believes me when I lie."
"I did say that, but I don't think there's something missing in you"
"Do you think that when people look at me, they can tell there’s something different about me?that I lack the quality that makes them normal "human"?"
"Patrick, I don’t know why what I said had such a effect on you, but I certainly didn’t mean to hurt you or make you question your own humanity. I am convinced that no one would ever think you lack humanity—not even someone who has merely caught a fleeting glimpse of you."
"I only said that because you wanted a way out of the situation; combined with the attitude Ms. Williams displayed during the calls, it made me feel powerless and angry. I apologize for what I said."
"Do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do!"
"Scout's honor?"
"Oh shut up Patrick, were you really going to return videotapes?"
"...no. But it is a really normal thing to do, no one would question it."
"Sure thing."