Purple Aki Complex

I decided to book an appointment with my GP because I felt like Purple Aki.

                “What do you mean,” she asked, “when you say you ‘feel’ like him?”

                “It’s hard to explain. I just feel like him. In every way.”

                “You feel like taking him out to dinner? I don’t understand.”

                “No, no, you’re getting it wrong. I feel like I am him. As if we’re the same person.”

                “An identity crisis?”

                “You tell me, doc. That’s why I’m here.”

                The doctor shifted in her seat. She looked at her computer screen, as if it might help her. “Can you elaborate upon these feelings?”

                “I don’t know. I just feel his pain.”

                “What pain would that be?”

                “He’s big, he’s black, he’s an outcast…you know the one.”

                “Do you consider yourself an outcast?”

                “Erm…well…”

                “Just refresh me for a moment, before we go on. Who exactly is this Purple Aki fellow?”

                I took a deep breath. “Purple Aki is notorious. He’s a man who approaches young men on the street and feels their muscles. He questions them on what they lift and he has them doing squats and press-ups in the park. His fame has gone viral through word of mouth. He operates all over the Northwest. The man is a myth, a legend. We were all scared of him as kids. He was a real-life Bogeyman. They said that he would bum you if you couldn’t squat him, and if he couldn’t fit up you then he would carve a bigger opening with his knife. Some said he offered you the option of Pop or Slash. If you choose pop then that meant a good bumming, or if you chose slash then he would write P.A, his intials, on your butt cheeks…with his knife, of course.”

                “And this is a real human being we are talking about? Not some internet gossip?”

                “He’s real. This is way before the days of the internet. And he’s still at large, after all this time! He carries a bag for life with him wherever he goes. It’s rumoured that there are only three things in it: his knife, a tape measure – for measuring muscles – and a notepad full of the details of everyone he’s ever stopped.”

                “Have you ever seen him?”

                “Yes! He got me! Well, I mean, he never got me, got me, he just stopped me and my mates for a chat.”

                The doctor kneeled forward in her chair. “And what did he say?”

                “I can’t remember. It was a long time ago. Something about how macho boys in cars think they are together. I was a little offended he didn’t want to feel my muscles.”

                “Really?”

                “No, that’s a joke.”

                “Oh.” The doctor looked lost for words. “Have you tried writing to him? Let him know how you feel?”

                “I don’t know his address. He got banned from Widnes.”

                “Has he got a fan club?”

                “A fan club?” I burst out laughing. “No – but he should have! Like I say, the man is a legend. Just imagine how many muscles I’d have to touch before every kid in the Northwest feared me. It’s hard to comprehend the level of notoriety he’s achieved.”

                “Is that something you yourself feel predisposed to – touching young men’s muscles?”

                “No, but I don’t see the harm in it. Do you think he’s gay?”

                “Do I think he’s gay? I have no idea. I don’t know him personally.”

                “That’s the thing – nobody knows him. They know of him, but they don’t really know him. That’s where I come in. I want to hear his side of the story. I want to sit down and listen to what he’s got to say.”

                “Maybe you should try and distract yourself from this gentleman, Purple Aki. Have you tried relaxation, or meditation, or yoga?”

                “Nothing works. I still feel like him. Do you think I might have a split personality disorder? Do you think that one soul can live in separate bodies?”

                “I’m sorry, I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m not a shamanist either. But I do have a question for you.”

                “Go ahead.”

                “Where does the name Purple come from?”

                “It’s because he’s so black he looks purple. He told the judge one time that he thinks that’s a racial slur. I think it’s harmless.”

                “Okay. Well, I see what you’re telling me, but I really think that I’m quite limited as to how I can help you.”

                “It’s fine, doc. I just thought I would try and see someone about it. Get it off my chest like, you know.”

                “You’ve done the right thing. Talking therapy is useful.”

                “Is there anything you can do to help me stop feeling like him? It comes in waves. One minute I’m fine, the next I can’t get him off my mind. Do you think we could have a psychic link? He might be communicating with me, using his mind.”

                “Do you exercise? That might help.”

                “I find myself walking from town to town, retracing his footsteps. I don’t know what I expect to find. It’s like hunting a ghost. But it makes my connection stronger with him.”

                “How long has this been going on?”

                “About two years, off and on. I can’t control it.”

                “That’s a shame.” The doctor settled back in her seat. “But I might just have something for you…”

                My eyebrows raised expectantly. “Anything doctor, please…”

                “The Samaritans. I can’t believe I didn’t think of them earlier. Here’s their number.”

                I took it. A minute later I was stood outside the surgery just staring at their card on the pavement. What would be the point though, just to recant everything I’d said all over again? I rang them anyway. And guess who answered? Yes, Purple Aki. He’d gotten a job with them! He introduced himself, I introduced myself, and we had a nice long chat.