I Lost My Friend to an American Psycho
We only really know someone when we realise we don’t know them.
“Nobody knows anyone else — ever!” said Lauren Hynde to Sean Bateman in a closing scene from the film Rules of Attraction.
Deep philosophical questions aside, I think we have a thereabouts idea of those closest to us and what makes them tick — some more so than others. Not the perversions, kinks or deep rooted insecurities from parents trying their best, but the humdrum stuff: typical John giving money to the panhandlers; Rodger did have a temper on him; Ruth always was a sucker for a hard-luck story. Sure, you have people like Dennis Rader, the duplicitous serial killer, dubbed the B.T.K. (bound, tortured, killed), who had all and sundry believe he was a god-fearing man and a cornerstone of the community, but we can chalk him up to a statistical anomaly.
I can predict, with some degree of accuracy, how my friends and family will react and behave in certain situations, things they will and won’t do. That is, however, as long as that friend is not a twenty-seven-year-old virgin who has never been in a relationship — let alone kissed a girl. And that friend then meets an attractive, thirty-something lady, hailing from St Albany, who has been flown over to England to work in his department. Now all bets are off!
