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For the longest time, I didn’t like the color purple- hell, i hated it. I saw it every day on my hair and my scales and my clothes. My tongue, my blood, even my scars. The ugly scrapes and indents from cold metal across my arms. They were all purple. It was such an obvious parta me. It was obnoxious. It was an unwilling trademark of my existence, even. I hated myself. So I hated that I was purple.
That is until one night shooting the shit with old sport in some random ass bar- can’t remember which one. Doesn’t matter now, not like we can go back there even if I knew, we’ve been thrown outta almost every one we’ve been to. That’s besides the point though. We were talkin’ about this n’ that, bouncing between topics rapidly like a cracked up chihuahua with a shot attention span. Somehow, it went from how we’d like to die if we could chose, to what marketable corporate mascots we would either fuck, marry, or kill, to a 40 minute rant on why Matt Virginia is the root of all evil in this planet and was there even before Satan, to what our favorite colors were.
When it was my turn, I didn’t really know what to say. I just sat there for a second scratchin’ my ass in thought, before old sport piped up next t’ me. He was hammered out of his mind, his words were slurring as he spoke. “Waitwait- lemmme guess!” He exclaimed.
I turned my attention to ‘im, tilting my head. A curious grin spread across my face, an’ I chuckled at the sudden vigor in his words. “Alright. Shoot.” I replied, evenly. I wasn’t as drunk as him- I’ve always had a bit of a higher tolerance than most… Old sport on the other hand, evidently couldn’t hold his liquor for long.
For a solid minute, he sat there in contemplation. Completely still, silent as a damn mouse. He looked real concentrated, like he was asked the final question in a gameshow t’ get the million dollar prize. Suddenly, he sprang up from his seat, slamming his hands on the bar in fronta him. It startled me, honestly. He swung his arm straight in the direction of my head- almost hitting me before i dodged it- and pointed at me resolutely, proudly proclaimin’ with his whole chest; “I GOT IT! It’s purple, isnnit??”
I busted out in laughter. Had t’ grab the bar in front of me to keep myself from fallin’ offa my stool. I think that was the first time he made me laugh that hard. I almost started tearin’ up and everythin’. Maybe it wouldna been as funny if we were both sober, but god, that delivery was hilarious to me in that moment. On top of that, the way he so proudly and so excitedly proclaimed it, like he just figured out somethin’ real difficult- it was honestly real cute. I couldn’t fight away my smile after my laughter had died down at all.
Sighing, I rested my chin on my fist as I looked over at ‘im. For once, I didn’t find myself feeling disgust at the thought of that color- not once it left his lips. Not when he’d looked at me like that. “Yeah, you sure got it old sport.” I confirmed, my voice comin’ out softer than I expected it to. Everything about this interaction- fuck, it was weird. But… it didn’t particularly feel bad.
I didn’t suddenly love it, but, maybe from that day on I could say… I started to hate purple a little less.