ODD FRIENDS AND A GOOD FILM

One thing about feeling out of sorts and not really being able to fully shake this viral thing is that I do not feel guilty about rewatching some old videos. One of them was "My First Mister". It's actually a gem of a film about an odd friendship and stars LeeLee Sobieski. I had picked it up in a delete bin and it really struck a cord.

It's difficult enough to try to convince people that men and women can be just friends. Try to do it if there is a really big generational gap. That's the subject of this film. These two people also happen to have, on the surface, very different personalities. The film brought tears to my eyes as it reminded me so much of my relationship with Pat.

When I was 23 I started to work with Pat. Like the girl in the film, I was the proverbial goth girl with a penchant for Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath. I did not have the piercings, but on my own time I had the haircut and the thrift-shop clothes. We all had to wear the same item at work, so that wasn't an issue. We were on the same schedule and had a lot of time to talk. He was 30 years older than me. In addition to liking a lot of alternative bands, however, I also had an interest in Shirley Bassey, who he loved. And Big Band, Nat King Cole. Who would have thought?

Pat was the only other person I knew who had watched the film "Three Men in A Boat" and loved it. Like me, he had read the book. We both appreciated the dry humour and wit of British comedies. We also agreed that James Woods, by far, was one of the finest actors going. Roger Moore was the better Bond. We could debate a topic and the time would fly at work.

Sadly, I learned from Pat that it is not only women who can be hit in a relationship. This lovely man, with the Liverpool lilt and sparkling eyes would never fight back in his defence. Yet, he never became a cynic about romance. He was forever trying to set me up with a really nice guy whom he insisted was interested.

We both had a real interest in World War Two and various battles. We had more to talk about than just work.

Then....yes, there is always a then. I had to pick him up for work one day. The night before I'd had him and somebody else over after shift. We'd worked evenings and I'd made some cheese enchiladas, for which I'm quite well received. I'd lamented my migraines and he'd told me "Touch wood, I've never had a headache in my life."

Pat did not show. I had an odd feeling and I went to his door. I knocked, walked away and went back. My odd feelings so often mean something. I thought I heard something so I bent over and looked through the mail-slot. He was on the floor.

My friend only lived a month after that although he was never the same. He had a brain tumour. I would stop and visit and he would seem happy to see me, but I don't believe he knew who I was. I remember one visit in particular; I was on my way to the ballet and he was in a room full of old men with various degrees of dementia. I must have reminded them of their youth as my night on the town regalia consisted of a very exquisite outfit probably last sported when Kennedy was in the White House. I was the hit of the ward that night in my thrift store find. I was touched to find that, although the sign on the door said "Family Only", when I had turned to leave the nurse stopped me. She indicated to me that Pat's daughter and son-in-law had said that I was included. It meant so much.

I think of him often. He should have grown old and retired and travelled back to visit England. We could have watched "Three Men in a Boat". I'm sure by now they'd have released it on DVD.

I learned from Pat that friendship crosses time, as it needs to cross our bias towards appearance and race.