THE COLOR PURPLE

The more I’ve matured the harder I’ve found it to get much further then a one-night stand. There are a million possible deal-breakers in any given relationship and I just keep getting better and better at spotting them. In high school I was perfectly happy to have a steady girlfriend. The occasional squabble seemed like a small price to pay for consistent kissing and the inevitably clumsy consummation.

But now? My current personal record is six hours, five minutes. And I’m not talking about a fling. I’m talking about a “relationship” - from the first kiss to the tearful farewell – only in time lapse. A year if every minute was a day.

*******

Number 756.

When I walked through the door, in blue jeans and a too-tight He-Man T-shirt, the very first thing that struck me was the fact that I didn’t know anyone. The second thing that hit me was the elbow of Barney the dinosaur sandwiched in a hump train between a plum-colored fairy godmother and a girl in a purple poodle skirt.

It seemed that my best friend not only forgot to show up for the party, he also failed to mention that I should wear a costume. I was disappointed that the outfit I’d spent hours putting together was going to go to waste.

“SORRY,” yelled Barney.

“WHAT?” I yelled back, rubbing my cheek.

“SORRY,” he yelled even louder.

Prince was playing at full volume so it was hard to hear.

“IT’S ALL GOOD!”

“WHAT?!”

“IT’S ALL GOOD!!!”

“OH…SO…ARE WE…ALL GOOD?!”

I yelled at the top of my lungs, “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I’M SAYING!”

Barney smiled, gave me a manly head nod, and returned to the hump train.

*******

Three beers, two shots, and one failed conversation later I had to go to the bathroom. After standing in line and using the plunger I rested my head against the bathroom wall and wondered where my friends were.

*******

The bathroom doorknob rattled for the umpteenth time.

“How long have I been in here?” I wondered rubbing my face, which was still numb from the alcohol.

After washing my hands I realized there weren’t any towels. I considered using my new jeans but I figured that that could be misinterpreted. I also thought about leaving them wet, but what if I met my soul mate and she wanted to shake hands? Or give me a high-five?

After a quick search I found a pile of multi-colored beach towels under the sink. I rummaged through the stack until I found an especially fluffy one with rainbow stripes.

As I was enjoying the towel’s sweet detergenty smell something moved in front of me. I froze. Had somebody snuck in while I was out? If so was my fly open? I peeked around the towel and discovered the invader. It was me - in the mirror. On closer inspection I noticed something else; I look good!

Another knock at the door. Damn. If only I had a costume I’d easily be the coolest guy at the party.

I looked from the towel to the mirror and back again. Hmmm….

*******

“ARE YOU A LUCKY CHARM TOO?” she asked. She pointed at my new costume and made a question mark with her eyebrows.

“I’M A RAINBOW,” I replied.

“A WHAT?”

“I-AM-A-RAIN-BOW,” I said, stressing every syllable.

The stereo was still too loud to talk so I gestured with my beer to clarify:

“MY JEANS AND T-SHIRT ARE THE BLUE SKY BACKGROUND! AND I THINK THE TOWEL MAKES A PRETTY NIFTY RAINBOW. DON’T YOU?!”

“ME?!”

“YEAH!”

“I’M A LUCKY CHARM!”

I nodded knowingly. Then shook my head.

“WHAT?!”

“THEY’RE MAGICALLY DELICIOUS?” she sang while bobbing her head from side to side.

Even though I had no idea what she was talking about I found her irresistible. I decided to spend the rest of the night trying to get her phone number, while convincing her that I didn’t really want it.

She looked like a purple horseshoe.

*******

The music was finished. We didn’t have to yell. I could finally ask all of the important questions I’d been saving up all night. I contemplated what I wanted to know first as I stared at her business card: Maree, with two ee’s.

“Two ee’s?” I asked.

“It’s French,” she replied.

“I took Spanish.”

She laughed at my dumb joke.

Then, all of a sudden, Maree was all seriousness. She looked me in the eye.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

“Purple,” I said, trying to imagine what she was wearing underneath her plush costume. Maybe she was naked.

Her smile returned at once. I wanted to kiss her. Unfortunately, before I could ask Maree my next question - for permission - her fairy godmother/ride home swooped in and carried her away.

*******

As I sat in my front seat sobering up I kept recycling our conversation in my mind, looking for telling details that might reveal if she liked me more then I liked her. Unfortunately we were only able to ask each other those two non-yelling questions throughout the entire evening. “Maree with two ee’s?” and “What’s your favorite color?” It wasn’t much to work with.

Of course I wouldn’t have had even that much except for the fact that, just as we were exchanging numbers in resigned and awkward silence, Barney ended the party by knocking over the stereo with his tail.

Suddenly somebody began pounding on my car window.

“What the hell are you doing here!” he yelled.

“Sleeping it off,” I slurred.

Smiling, my best friend opened the driver’s side door and shoved me into the passenger seat.

“What’s with the towel?” he asked.

“I’m a rainbow.”

He nodded knowingly as he took my keys and started the car.

“Where were you all night?” he asked as we pulled away from the curb.

Out the window I noticed several of my friends (the ones that were supposed to be at the party) smoking outside of a house across the street. Number 756. What the hell? I quickly looked back over my shoulder at the party that I had just left. It was on the odd side of the road.

“I don’t know,” I replied shaking my head as I realized that the nine was upside down.

*******

It took all of my will power to wait the textbook two days before calling.

We had bad phone chemistry.

*******

Number 818.

Standing on tiptoe I tested all of the wooden numbers of her address to see if any were loose. I was ten minutes early and I needed to waste time. I didn’t want to appear overeager.

It had been a week since our first meeting and I only remembered adjectives of what she looked like. Short. Brown. Smiley. I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize her. What if she had a similar looking roommate? Or worse, what if she was less attractive then I remembered?

Finally I walked to her front door and just stood there, debating whether it would make a better impression if I knocked or rang. Knocking seemed more down to earth but ringing would ensure that I wouldn’t have to play the I-wonder-if-she-heard-me waiting game. I stood frozen with indecision.

Suddenly the door burst open and Maree jumped out.

“Surprise,” she yelled. “I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize you. What were you doing with my apartment numbers?”

Without waiting for an answer she lept into my arms and gave me a huge hug. She lingered, looking me up and down, suggesting more than friendship.

“You’re cuter then I remembered.”

Did I mention that I’m a big fan of the hug? I also really, really, REALLY like girls who make the first move. A lot.

*******

We started up the dusty path. I knew I was dressed too nicely for hiking but after she’d called me cute (or actually “cuter”) I felt that dirtying my best pair of jeans was well worth it. And besides, they’d wash.

She was wearing hiking boots, shorts, and a stained and faded T-shirt. She looked incredible.

“This is very pretty,” she said. “You’re earning lots of brownie points.”

I have to admit that I really don’t like the point system, it always seems like everyone assumes that they’re the one who’s winning. But Maree’s appreciation of the nature date easily compensated. It was something I’d put a lot of thought into. It’s intimate, interesting, and provides lots of time to talk and plenty of excuses for physical contact.

“Do you need help getting up these rocks?” I asked and offered Maree my hand.

*******

After doing a couple dozen switchbacks we stopped to pant and recover. My shirt was wet with sweat and I couldn’t remember if I was wearing any deodorant.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked. “It’s not too late to turn back.”

Breathing hard Maree rolled her eyes at the suggestion. She grabbed the water bottle out of my hands, tilted her face to the sky and dumped the water bottle over her head. It dribbled down her neck and made her T-shirt sticky. She took a big swig and I was acutely aware that she was choosing to drink from my canteen rather than her own. We were sharing spit. Maree noticed me staring.

“I’m hot,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed soberly.

There was a long pause. Then we both began to giggle. I grabbed the water bottle back and emptied it over my head.

*******

After an hour more of steady climbing we reached the top of the hill. I couldn’t remember who initiated the handholding but it felt like we’d been doing it forever. Floating on a mixture of endorphins and the amazing view, we walked along the ridge towards the lookout point.

“Almost there,” I said pointing out the obvious.

Maree just squeezed my hand and smiled.

Another couple approached from the opposite direction.

“Hello,” we said in perfect unison.

“Hey/hey,” the couple responded without any real conviction.

As they passed I noticed that his hands were in his pockets and she was looking anywhere that he wasn’t.

*******

The only thing left of our picnic was a zip-loc full of greasy chip salt and a peanut butter and jelly crust left from Maree’s sandwich.

“Food always tastes better after some exercise,” I proclaimed.

Maree wiggled her purple painted toes in agreement. Our boots and socks were drying in the last pools of setting sunlight.

“Are you going to eat that?” I asked, indicating the crust.

Maree shook her head, rolled on her side, and put her ear on my thigh. I felt as if I might explode from happiness. I also felt the beginnings of an erection. Trying not to think about the proximity of her head to mine I lifted the last bite of sandwich to my mouth like I was conducting my own personal orchestra.

“Try not to get too excited,” I sang in my head as I prepared to take a bite.

On the final swing of my imaginary baton a large dollop of grape jelly slipped from the bread and landed on my knee, just missing Maree’s face. She stared at the purple blob intently. Without thinking I grabbed a napkin and wiped it up. Maree rolled over in my lap and suddenly we were face to face.

“Is purple really your favorite color?” she asked. She was all seriousness.

“I like purple.”

“But is it your favorite color?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

A long time passed as I weighed my options.

When I finally felt like I had to respond I said, “I don’t have a favorite color. I like all the colors.” It was the truth. And that couldn’t be too bad, could it?

Maree wiggled her toes some more. Her nail polish sparkled a deep shade of violet. I felt my stomach drop. The peanut butter didn’t taste very good anymore.

*******

I kept my hands in my pockets as we hiked back across the ridge. Maree wouldn’t look me in the eye.

*******

“But you told me it was!” she said again.

“It was…at the time.” I replied. “Why is it so important to you anyway?”

“I just told you. A lot of reasons.”

“But I don’t understand them.”

“I know.” Maree was trying not to cry. “That’s the problem,” she whispered.

I swore as I banged my knee on a rock and worked my way further down the hill. Our sentences were getting shorter and more redundant as we tried to figure out whose fault it was.

“But what about the party?” she asked, “you must have known.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“Are you color blind?”

Of course in hindsight it seemed obvious - Barney, plum-colored fairy godmothers, purple horseshoes, Prince on the radio – but at the time I was drunk, smitten, and thought I was somewhere else. Plus my favorite color has never been something I really thought about. But that was the “problem,” wasn’t it?

“Well what about my costume?” I asked, swinging the blame squarely back on her.

“What about it?”

“A rainbow?” Now I was on the verge, “or did you not notice?”

She just shook her head in frustration and walked even faster.

*******

It was dark by the time we got back to the car. We were worn out. Using the dome light to see I let Maree take a last sip of water and then emptied the canteen on our bare feet. I handed Maree a small hand towel.

“I have stinky feet,” I explained, “and I’m too self conscious to share a car without washing.”

She squeezed my hand and smiled….but even in the dim light I knew the smile was sad.

“What if we hang out as friends,” she asked. “In groups?”

It was my turn to smile. I looked her in the eye and shook my head. I slowly leaned in and kissed her for the first (and last) time. Her lips felt squishy and were bigger and than my last girlfriend’s. Her tongue did things I wasn’t expecting. But, in the hierarchy of first kisses, it was good. The potential for perfection was obvious.

We pulled apart with a faint plopping sound.

“This sucks!” she said.

I agreed.

*******

I pulled away from her house sure that I’d done the wrong thing but knowing that I hadn’t. All the good “goodbyes” had been inappropriate: see you later…it’s been fun…peace out. And all the true “goodbyes” sounded melodramatic: I guess I’ll never see you again but I want you to know that you are an amazing person and call me if you ever change your mind. So instead I choked up over the singular. Goodbye, straight up, on the rocks, without any twist at all.

I like to think that she burst into tears the second I turned to leave, but I never found out because I was too embarrassed by my own sniffling to look back.

*******

So my best friend and I went to another party. And this time it was the same one. There was a girl there that I’d never seen before. She was wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed “Care Bear Stare” and had a group of bears driving a cloud car over a rainbow bridge.

We talked awhile, and danced awhile, and ultimately I got her number while pretending it didn’t really matter.

As I watched her drive away I noticed something and my heart began to beat faster even though I told it not to. She had a rainbow bumper sticker on her back window.

My best friend stepped off of the porch and walked over to where I was standing. He offered me a cigarette even thought he knows I don’t smoke.

He looked at the sticker and than looked at me. “I bet she’s gay,” he said.

I nodded knowingly, than shrugged.

“There’s always going to be something.”