“Why is it,” Eddie says, while slicing an apple, “that when you sneeze it always comes out in purple?”
“You’re crazy, Eddie.” I say. I look at the sleeve of my shirt, no purple in sight.
“Sure it does. Not literally, obviously. You’d have to be a fool to mess with that thought. But it’s always unexpectedly expected, just like purple.”
“Purple is a non-color. Somewhere between blue and black. Those two colors have meaning. Purple just sits inbetween. But with enough of the two that you can see them.”
Eddie once broke a record for holding his pee for a radio station. These are the things that you learn when you’re 22, unemployed, and have friends that work as ambulance technicians.
“Me, I always thought purple was a shit color.” Eddie takes a bite of the apple. “It’s never really made its mark on me. Would rather forget about it.”
Eddie and I drive to the retirement facility every Tuesday night. Not in the ambulance, but in my sedan. Eddie goes there every day of the week, on retainer. Like a lawyer for the elderly. But with death.
We sit in my car listening to the radio and trying to stay awake. I work 8 hours before our field trip. Eddie goes to the bar the night before. Sometimes he’s so hungover that he asks where the fuck he had to wake up so early to go to. But I never respond and he always knows.