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Purple, Makkari signs.
Not a chance, Druig signs back immediately.
Would you prefer any other color? she asks, smiling patiently. Druig raises a hand, before realizing he has nothing to say. He doesn’t think he’s prepared to rock green hair.
Makkari nods, satisfied, shrugging her jacket on.
Purple! she signs. Let’s go!
“Woah,” Druig says, holding his hands up and blocking Makkari’s path as she heads for the door. Now? he asks.
Now, Makkari confirms. It’s my birthday! she reminds him for the 27th time that day. He’s been counting.
And it has to be purple? Druig signs warily, before pulling his jacket on and grabbing his keys. Makkari snatches them from his hand, shoving them into her pocket.
It has to be purple, she maintains, eyes firm. Otherwise my birthday wish changes to ‘I want a new boyfriend.’
Of course, Druig signs, rolling his eyes. Why would you ask for anything else?
I’m driving. Makkari grins.
Okay, Druig agrees, because there is no point, and also it’s Makkari’s birthday. Where are we going?
The mall, Makkari signs, and holy shit, is his girlfriend evil? Because the look in her eyes is evil. It’s disturbing. She will be the death of him, he’s sure of it.
Can we not buy hair dye at Walgreens? he asks, uncertain. And terrified. Mostly terrified. Walgreens is down the street. The mall is not.
Makkari doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to. It clicks in Druig’s brain – his evil girlfriend, what the fuck – and he’s shaking his head as she bites her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
We are not going to Hot Topic, Druig signs forcefully.
We are going to Hot Topic, Makkari signs calmly.
We are not going to Hot Topic, Druig signs, even more forcefully. His hands feel tense. He needs a hand massage. And to not go to Hot Topic.
It’s my birthday, Makkari informs him for the 28th time. And then she walks out her front door.
Because she’s evil.
It had been easier when she wanted another cat.
At least then, he hadn’t needed to worry about any chemicals entering the vicinity of his face. Or going to Hot Topic.
It’s all Druig can think about as Makkari drives him to the mall on her quest to ruin his hair. Maybe he can convince her to turn the car around and spend her Birthday Wish on a trip to the animal shelter, like the infamous year she had sworn they were just looking, Druig, really, and walked out with her third ugly little creature. For whom Druig had paid the adoption fee, because he is a kind and loving boyfriend. But that isn’t the point.
The Curse Of The Birthday Wish had started years ago, before they were even dating, and it was all Druig’s fault. It was his Frankenstein. His Frankenstein’s monster. Whatever, Makkari was the literate one in this relationship. And Druig was the Dr. Frankenstein.
He loves Makkari more than anything in the world, but shopping for her birthday had become impossible over the years. In fairness, the problem wasn’t really that she was difficult to shop for. It was mostly that he liked to spoil his (evil, wretched) girlfriend year-round, and felt that by the time her birthday rolled around, nothing was special.
(Makkari allegedly did not feel that way. She had made it clear to Druig that she would love anything Druig got her for her birthday. He only mostly believed her.)
And so, he had proposed the idea of The Birthday Wish. Makkari could make one (usually ridiculous) request on her birthday, and that would be her gift. She requested the system be extended to Druig’s birthday as well, because evidently he was difficult to shop for.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, in the innocent and loving eyes of someone who adored their villainous, scheming girlfriend.
But of course, Makkari had no regard for the responsibility associated with such a great power. This year was shaping up to take the cake. The birthday cake. The Frankenstein’s monster’s birthday cake.
After he had arrived at her apartment that morning with Birthday Bagels (kind and loving boyfriend!), after he had made her Birthday Hot Chocolate (with cinnamon! Best boyfriend in the world! Or at least the state!) she had sat him down for The Official Birthday Wish Decree.
A fourth ugly little creature was looking pretty good by the time he resigned himself to asking, What color?
Black, he signs, the moment they step over the threshold of the worst store in the mall. His mortal enemy. His white fucking whale. Is that what Moby Dick was about?
What? Makkari asks.
You asked if I’d prefer any other color, he signs as they make their way to the counter. Black, he repeats.
You did black before, she signs, crouching down to get a better look at the hair dye selection. He kicks her ankle repeatedly until she looks back up at him.
When I was fifteen! he signs.
And the pictures are great, Makkari signs, smiling sweetly. I love dating a grown up emo kid. Now pick your poison. She pulls two purple hair dyes off the shelf, presenting them to Druig. He feels like he’s choosing his method of execution. How generous.
He leans forward, examining his options re: psychological torture, before the in-store music transitions into a new song and he actually feels his soul leave his body. Makkari put the hair dye down.
Why the face? she asks.
They’re playing Justin Bieber, Druig signs, pained. For a singular second, Makkari actually looks sympathetic, before returning to her normal power hungry birthday monster self and clearly looking like she’s trying not to laugh.
Damn, she signs. That is very unfortunate for you.
If someone had played Justin Bieber in here ten years ago, they would have never been seen again.
I know.
There was a time when they played good music here.
I know, Grandpa.
They killed the soul of this store, babe. It used to mean something.
You are the most entertaining person I know, Makkari signs with wide, honest eyes. Pick a purple.
There is some grumbling as Druig picks up his hair-murder-candidates. The hair dye, he thinks, is maybe one of the only things this store managed to maintain through its sick and twisted decline. That and the pins he totally didn’t shoplift as a teenager. Everything else surrounding him has sucked out a part of his soul. He’s like Captain Ahab. Stranded in Hot Topic with a monster. He wants what the whale took from him.
Druig weighs his options. There’s, like, Sexy Magic Violet Something, and Magic Sparkle Gemstone Whatever. He goes for the second one.
Good choice, Makkari signs when Druig sighs and waves the container in her face. Now let’s get you out of here before you kill someone.
Thank you, he signs.
Wait. I want to look at band shirts, Makkari amends.
You are going to be the someone I kill.
Makkari stands on her tiptoes to kiss Druig on the cheek.
Not on my birthday! she signs, before speeding off to search for maybe two good shirts in the sea of mediocrity worth wasting her money on. Except it will totally wind up being his money, he thinks, as he stands marooned in the middle of the store holding the radioactive looking dye. Because he will sacrifice his principles of not patronizing this Moby Suck Corporation Dick store for his girlfriend’s birthday.
Kind and loving boyfriend. Obviously.
He doesn’t go down without a fight, though.
They go to Druig’s apartment, Makkari explaining that she’s afraid her cats will find a way to like, eat the bleach she’s going to use on his hair. Which, fair, but it’s also the moment he realizes she intends to use bleach on his hair, bleach she’s been carrying around in her backpack all day, what the fuck. Bleach is a whole new ballgame. That’s like, serious commitment. The only thing in Druig’s life that he is seriously committed to is Makkari. And maybe the pizza place around the corner. Anthony’s Slice Shop would never do this to him.
So, there might have been a. Light scuffle. Over the backpack.
Druig doesn’t tackle his girlfriend. He would never.
Evidently, said girlfriend does not hold the same reservations.
When he tried to grab the backpack from her to calmly have a discussion about how bleaching his hair wasn’t totally necessary, she had attempted to snatch it back, which resulted in a (totally) dignified tug-of-war, that lasted all of approximately twenty seconds before Druig was on the ground flat on his back, Makkari scrambling up onto his couch, sliding the backpack straps onto her shoulders.
It’s over, she had signed. I have the high ground.
Why am I dating you? he had asked, defeated – because his girlfriend did in fact have the high ground.
I’m the love of your life, she had answered smugly. He hadn’t argued that one.
So, he didn’t go down without a fight, Captain Ahab would be proud. But in the end, he’s sitting in a chair in his living room wrapped up in several towels as Makkari bleaches his hair.
“Ow!” he whines, as his scalp starts to sting. “Ow, ow, ow!” He wiggles his hands free from the sea of towels consuming him, and smacks Makkari lightly on her cheap-plastic-gloved wrist.
Should it hurt this much? he asks.
Makkari frees her hand by putting the hair dye brush she’s been using in her mouth – Jesus, that can’t be safe – holding the handle between her teeth.
It would hurt less if you stopped moving, she signs, gloves crinkling.
Druig nods, picking his battles, mostly because he wants Makkari to take the bleach brush handle out of her mouth.
Makkari goes back to destroying his hair, and Druig does his best to keep still. For about thirty seconds.
Tony would never do this to me, he signs.
Pizza Tony? Makkari signs with one hand, still still using the bleach brush to poke at his hair with the other.
Pizza Tony, Druig confirms.
Makkari gives him a look that says he’s absolutely lost it – and maybe he has, courtesy of the bleach fumes – before she ruffles his gross bleachy hair with her crinkly plastic gloved hand.
Last chance to back out, Makkari signs.
At what point in the process did I have an opportunity to back out? My hair is white, Druig answers.
You didn’t, Makkari admits. I was just adding to the drama. Evil girlfriend. Vile, scheming, dramatic, evil girlfriend.
(Whom Druig loves, more than everything else in the world combined. Including the pizza place around the corner. Doesn’t make Makkari any less evil, though.)
Opportunity to back out or not, this does feel like a point of no return. His hair is already bleached, yeah, but if he really wanted to, he could dye it back to brown. Or black. At least that would match his nail polish.
He’s contemplating bugging Makkari about painting his nails purple to match his new Hair Destiny, when Makkari starts opening the dye.
Where are your gloves? Druig asks.
Makkari gives a half hearted sign that he’s fairly certain is garbage, her full focus on getting the dye open.
Druig huffs a laugh, taking the container from her hands and twisting the top open after a few tries. She blows him a kiss as she takes it back.
Why are your gloves in the garbage? he asks.
There was bleach on them.
Did you only get the one pair?
Druig will never cease to be amazed by the range of emotions Makkari’s facial expressions convey, this one being: if you have to ask, you know the answer.
Where’s the brush? Druig tries again.
Garbage, Makkari signs, grinning. It had bleach on it. I’ll use my hands.
Babe, Druig signs immediately. No. I have been there. The dye will not come out of your skin. Your hands will be purple for at least a week.
Your hair will be purple for much longer, she points out.
“Oh my god,” Druig sighs. So we both have to suffer? he asks.
Makkari nods. We are connected forever. But you won’t suffer. It’s gonna look good.
Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Druig asks, shooting wary eyes at the dye. Should he be wary around his girlfriend this often? Should he be more concerned about her declaration that they seemingly psychically share suffering?
I do art, Makkari signs, and that kind of answers all of the questions he was asking, in its own special way.
Did they teach you about hair dye at SVA? he asks anyway.
They taught me about everything at SVA. And that is evidently the end of Makkari offering up any information, because she shoves her hand into the tub of dye before working it through Druig’s freshly bleached hair.
This time, he manages to stay still for a whole sixty seconds, mostly because he’s trying not to think about his hair. He’s meditating. Wrapped in towels in his living room. He’s totally in his Designated Mental Happy Place. Definitely not thinking about who would win in a fight, Frankenstein’s monster or Captain Ahab. Definitely not thinking about his soon to be very purple hair.
I’m going to look like Grimace, Druig signs.
Makkari asks him to repeat himself, pausing her Hair Artwork.
Grimace? she spells the letters out once he’s said it again, her fingers absolutely demolished with purple.
The McDonald’s guy, he explains.
The McDonald’s guy is Ronald McDonald, Makkari counters, returning to her task.
The McDonald’s guy’s friend, Druig amends, his hands at an awkward angle as Makkari leans close into his face to smush more Purple Mess into his hairline. His very purple friend. Makkari looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, pulling her hands back.
You’d make a good clown, she signs eventually.
He swats at her arm right as she’s leaning back in to work on his hair, and the result is Druig whacking Makkari’s dye covered hand directly into his own temple, without a doubt leaving an impressive purple splotch. A Grimace birthmark. A birthday mark. For Grimace’s birthday. The smell of the dye is really starting to mess with his head, he’s pretty sure.
You’re an idiot, Makkari signs with those seriously bright purple fingers, smiling fondly. She leans over and kisses his forehead, pulling back immediately and rubbing furiously at her lips. Her seriously bright purple lips. With her purple fingers.
“Oh my god,” Druig chokes out, beyond astonished. Makkari makes a whiney noise, and Druig reaches out to pull her hand away from her mouth. “Oh my god,” he repeats. Remind me again who the idiot in this relationship is, he signs.
Makkari sticks her tongue out at him, and then immediately makes the whiney noise again, this time with more distress. She grabs a clean corner of one of Druig’s towels and appears to dab at her tongue.
Should I google what to do if you eat hair dye? Druig asks, only half joking.
I didn’t eat it, Makkari signs dismissively. She pauses. Mostly.
I’m googling it, Druig announces, reaching for his phone before stopping to add, And for my birthday, I will be wishing for a new girlfriend. A girlfriend who doesn’t eat hair dye.
Makkari pouts, her lips sufficiently stained purple. Druig rolls his eyes.
You can joke about it, but I can’t? he asks. That makes Makkari grin as she nods.
It’s my birthday, she explains. Druig gasps, leaning towards her.
I had no idea, he signs, almost successfully dodging the Magic-Sparkle-Gemstone covered hand that darts out to drag down the side of his face.
Admitting it does not come easy.
Druig watches their reflections in the bathroom mirror as Makkari nudges him again, giving him yet another Well? Well? face.
It looks really good, he concedes.
Makkari smacks his arm a few times, jumping with excitement.
I told you! she signs, practically vibrating.
You did, he signs begrudgingly. It seems Frankenstein’s monster has won this round.
He leans down to kiss the corner of her mouth, evading the majority of her still purple lips. Aside from the parts of my skin that look like Grimace, he adds after a moment. He’s not wrong, they both have some pretty substantial streaks and speckles of purple dotting their faces.
It’s not easy being purple, Makkari signs solemnly. Druig knocks their shoulders together.
You are so stupid, he signs.
I am a genius, Makkari corrects.
You ate hair dye an hour ago, Druig reminds her, giving his best Unimpressed face. He catches it in the mirror, and it’s not as good as Makkari’s. He can live with that.
I did not! she insists.
(She probably hadn’t, but Druig had still made her drink, like, seven glasses of water right away. Birthday water, he had asserted.)
I am a genius, Makkari repeats, running a hand through Druig’s newly blow-dried hair.
He hadn’t been lying, he thinks as he looks back into the mirror. The purple hair is a capital L Look.
You are, he agrees. Makkari doesn’t even give him one of her evil grins. She just smiles warmly. Even though you made me go to Hot Topic, he adds. He watches in the mirror as Makkari rolls her eyes and shoves him away. Eating the hair dye was your punishment for that, he continues.
I will make next year so much worse, she warns.
I can’t wait, he replies honestly. Happy birthday. He kisses the top of her head. I love you, he signs, still watching her in the mirror.
I love you too, she signs, words stained purple.