Purplishgreen
Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there lived a young boy named Will. He was raised by a single mother, but she did not raise him alone; they lived among generous and kind people, people who happened to have purple skin. These people were not only neighbors to Will and his mother, they were an extended, loving family to them.
One day, when Will was about eight years old, he felt a strange, uneasy feeling in his chest, right under the surface of his rib cage. Without notice, Will rushed home and found it eerily empty — like a dark, abandoned basement. A note from his mother was sitting on the kitchen counter, next to the spot where the coffee maker used to sit. In it, she explained how much she loved him and how proud she was of him; she also told him how wonderful the purple people were and how he should never leave them as she was doing. She revealed to him that, since she was a person of green skin color and customs, she could never fit in there. She would never feel at home. She repeated her love for him and entrusted him to the care of his new, only family: the purple people.
As Will grew up, he became a purple person in every way except the biological pigmentation of his epidermis. More importantly, among his friends Will was purple. When he turned eighteen he went to college, funded by a generous group of purple families, his family. When he arrived on campus what he had only heard about became a reality: “College” was populated by purple and green people, all together.
College created dissonance in his self: “Who am I?”, he asked. This was not a philosophical question. Will didn’t know where to sit at lunchtime; who to talk to in class; who to belong to. “Why not everyone, equally”, Will thought. But this didn’t work: most of the time sitting, talking, and belonging happens one thing at a time. Plus, people — green and purple alike — wanted to know. They, too, had questions.”What are you?”, they would ask. Green; purple; both; how so? He carried these questions in the same way that he never recovered from that strange, uneasy feeling the day his mother left him. He was infected.
As a grown man, Will would give cheap, meaningless answers depending on what seemed to suit him or for no reason at all. He learned that most people didn’t really care anyway. One day he met a woman who did care. And she had answers: science. Her name was Sue.
Sue was a plastic surgeon and a tattoo artist. She developed a mixed procedure — half surgery, half art — where the skin could be safely lifted, tinted, and replaced in its new shade. Unlike a tattoo, this procedure was permanent; it could only happen one time in a person’s life because of the physical risks involved. Also, unlike a tattoo, the ink used was made from melanin extracted from organ donors. (After all, the skin is the largest organ of the human body.) Because of this, there were only two colors available: green or purple.
The implications seemed clear to Will: this was a perfect solution. No more questions and ambiguities. No more rejection. He signed quickly and emptied his savings account to pay for it. The day came and passed and his recovery was ahead of schedule. The day finally came to unveil himself to himself: the bandaging was removed and, for the first time, he saw himself as he truly was: purple.
Despite this great victory, Will still missed his mother. The feeling just below his rib cage never went away. In fact it got worse. Soon, Will could think of nothing but his mother. With those thoughts came the realization that he had become the very thing that his mother could never fit in with: purple. He was purple now. In every way. Or was he? The questions came again. He was again infected and, this time, there was nothing to cure him — Sue was nowhere to be found.
For the rest of his life he said many of the same things he said in college, but people either didn’t believe him, or they were appalled at his story. When he went back to the home of his youth, no one recognized him. “Will wasn’t purple”, they said. “But he wasn’t green either.” “He was purplishgreen, or something like that. Whatever he was, you’re not it.” Will knew he could just explain what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell them.
“You’re right”, he said. “I’m not Will. I’m Peter.”
Comments are closed.
Good to see you posting again.