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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Wearing Purple - 1. warning

A banner, proudly proclaiming "I Shall Wear Purple" on a floppy red hat, caught James Hunt's eye. Sally, his wife, browsed the college bookstore's collection of branded clothing with their daughter Hannah. His son, Luke, was gathering the textbooks he needed for the semester. A funny cartoon old woman appeared to be lecturing the viewers from her perch beneath the title. Underneath the banner lay a pile of books, a tower of mugs, and a rack of shirts that tempted shoppers to browse the collection

James picked up a mug to examine the cartoon old woman. She had a raincoat, an umbrella, and was wearing purple house slippers. The caption proclaimed: “When I am old I shall ...go out in my slippers in the rain”1. James chuckled.

“It's about the attitude, you know, from the poem.” the effeminate voice of the young man behind the counter offered, as he handed James a framed poem. A poem titled “Warning”1 was enhanced by a photo of an unknown woman in a red hat and purple coat walking away.

“The mugs and shirts all show what we want to do, but society says we must not. The poem is about having the courage to be who you really are.” The salesman added in a lilting voice. On one tee-shirt the old woman danced in a public fountain. Another the old woman had pens and pencils everywhere, in her hair, in the pockets of her robe, in boxes and cups all around her.

“Oh, this is that poem Mom mentioned hearing about on one of her talk shows. She wants to get a copy of it. Her birthday is next week Dad, so let’s buy it for her. Get the bracelet too.” Hannah chattered on non-stop as usual.

“If you buy these too, you can hide Mom's gift inside” Hannah suggested. She piled the shirts and sweatshirts she had been carrying on her father's arms, and added the bracelet. Hannah wandered off to another part of the bookstore as quickly as she had arrived.

The young salesman gathered the merchandise from James arms. He leaned closer than was necessary, close enough for James to smell his cologne. As the clerk put the merchandise in a shopping basket, James wondered if the salesman was flirting with him.

“Customer service can wrap your gifts for you.” The salesman offered. He a winked and then turned to help another customer. Now James was sure the clerk was flirting with him.

As James watched the man walk away, a familiar and forbidden longing rose up. With a sigh for what society says should not be James headed towards customer service to check out.

James gave the poem and bracelet to his wife when he took her out to dinner for her birthday. As Hannah had predicted, she loved the gift. She wore the bracelet constantly, and the poem graced her nightstand. Occasionally when his wife was out, James would read the poem and wonder if he had the courage to break free.

Years passed. Luke graduated college and went on to medical school. Eventually, Luke brought home his partner David to meet the family. Hannah finished high school, and went off to college in another country. James was happy for his children, but envied the freedom they had to be themselves.

James went to work, and came home to his wife each night, feeling emptier with each passing day. Sally found things to occupy her time now that the children were grown. James felt they were growing apart, and wondered what they would do when he retired.

James helped a new neighbor, Franz, move in and learned the man owned a men's clothing store. To thank James, Franz gave him a purple silk shirt. James thanked him politely, but hung the shirt in the back of his closet.

One evening after returning home from work, James spotted Franz outside speaking to another man. Just as he was about to go into the house, James saw Franz kiss the other man. James was dumbfounded and envious. Franz had summoned the courage to love the person he chose, not the one society would have chosen for him. James suddenly found himself consumed with jealousy as he watched the other man's car drive away. He couldn't stop thinking about it that night.

The next day he came home to find his wife sitting on the couch crying. James sighed and sat down next to her. He patted her knee gently, but Sally spoke before he could ask what was wrong.

“I haven't been feeling well lately. I've been to the doctor. He found a tumor, and wants to remove it next week.” Sally spoke quietly.

James sat there in shocked silence. Fear of cancer had been a constant companion since her mother had died. James thoughts ran in circles, unable to find anything comforting to say.

“I haven't told the children yet. I want to wait until after the surgery next week. I don't want them rushing home to be with me when we don't know how bad it is yet.” Sally continued.

“If that is what you want,” James agreed. He thought the children should know, but it wasn't his decision.

“Thank you,” Sally answered. “I think I'll go to bed early.”

The tumor was removed successfully, but it was found to be cancerous. Life changed quickly for James. Before, he had the monotony of work and home, then home and work. Now, life revolved around the cancer, endless doctor visits, surgery and rounds of chemotherapy. The treatments were not working. Sally grew weaker, unable to care for herself or the house. One night she picked up the poem and read it again.

“I never got old enough to wear purple. You must do it for me. Find the courage to be yourself and be happy again.” Sally made James promise.

After Sally passed on, James was dressing for the funeral when he saw the floppy red hat of the poem on Sally's nightstand. He suddenly stalked over to the closet and replaced his staid white dress shirt with the purple silk shirt that had long been hidden in the back. He picked up the poem and carried it with him to the living room. Luke and David sat on the couch holding hands. Hannah, dressed impeccably in funeral black, paced by the window.

Luke and David shared a glance, but said nothing.

“Dad, what are you wearing?” Hannah exclaimed, shocked.

The doorbell rang just then. James opened it to the limo driver from the funeral home. He handed the poem on to Hannah.

“I promised your mother to wear purple.” James replied. “It's time to say goodbye.”

James walked out, determined to no longer hide who he was.

(1) Jenny Joseph (1974), Warning, Rose In the Afternoon and Other Poems, J M Dent & Sons, London

Copyright © 2014 DynoReads; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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On 05/23/2014 04:00 AM, said:
Just found your story. Enjoyed it, and the way it flowed so naturally. Felt like a folk tale in places, and I knew there was a life lesson within it. Goodness, I've known so many people who've put off wearing that purple. Maybe most of us!
Thank you for reviewing my story. I think most of us hide something from ourselves, for whatever reason we justify it.
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I loved the story, though it made me sad that he didn't have the courage t obe himslef until after his wife died.

 

Is this in any way related to The Red Hat Society? My late aunt who died last year at around 80, had been a member of that for years--she was involved in many community events and charities, was a keen gardener, and had an independent streak a mile wide! She was herself at all times and never took crap from anyone. When in her early 70s she even roofed part of her two-story house!

 

Seeing this story brought back so many nice memories of her--one of the best cooks I've ever known.

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On 10/14/2014 05:30 PM, ColumbusGuy said:
I loved the story, though it made me sad that he didn't have the courage t obe himslef until after his wife died.

 

Is this in any way related to The Red Hat Society? My late aunt who died last year at around 80, had been a member of that for years--she was involved in many community events and charities, was a keen gardener, and had an independent streak a mile wide! She was herself at all times and never took crap from anyone. When in her early 70s she even roofed part of her two-story house!

 

Seeing this story brought back so many nice memories of her--one of the best cooks I've ever known.

The Red Hat Society does use the same poem, but they seem to have a different understanding of the poem than I do.

 

I'm glad my story brought back good memories.

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I have a lot of fond memories of this poem "Warning" and it all started in high school, when I found it and I did a presentation for it in English class. It always gets to me.

How funny that there's a purple shirt for James. Why does it matter what we wear, people will know who we are? It's a very touching story and a great tribute to the poem! Thank you for sharing!

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I wanted to cry, and I think I will after I write this. It's so sad that socity scares people in behaving the way it wants them to, and not letting them live the why they should.
I raised my children to embrace anyone different. Because I, was always the different one. Growing up I couldn't find anyone to share that with until I got older.
That's why I express my feelings and hopes in my stories. I tell them to be who ever they want to be and live their lives to the fullest. My daughter is living one of my dreams, to travel, and one day I'll be able to pick that up again.
Great story you have a real voice.

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