A Prose With No Direction

be my present

Hugh invites me to go grocery shopping with him after seeing my empty fridge and chip-stuffed cabinets. It's been a week since Ben's death, and Hugh's been over at my house every day since laying all my cards out on the table. Most cards. He's becoming more and more like a penny, and sometimes I feel like I don't deserve him. 

He takes me to an Asian supermarket, and he pushes the cart for me. He leads me to the vegetable section first, and I cringe, tugging on his shirt and pointing towards the instant ramen aisle that seems more appealing.

"I'm fine with noodles," I tell him. 

He shakes his head, his wavy, chestnut brown hair swaying. "Instant noodles is not good for you," he says, stopping the cart to pick up an orange bell pepper. His ocean eyes glance at me. "You need something healthy."

"Healthy, my ass." I frown.

He smiles. "Could you get a plastic, please?" 

I frown at him but end up getting the plastic anyway. "I don't like bell peppers," I tell him. 

"Well, then you'll learn how to eat them," he says, inserting three neon peppers inside and placing them in the cart. "There's a really good recipe where you put egg and bacon inside the—" He pauses. "Oh, right. You don't like bacon. We could probably add some beef or chicken to it instead. It makes for a great breakfast."

"I don't eat breakfast," I say.

He glances at me. "Well, then you'll learn how to."

You promised to learn.

I really don't deserve this penny.

.

.

.

.

.

"A hundred and sixty dollars," the cashier says, eyes as brown as dirt, drooping like a dog's ears, and hollow like an Easter bunny chocolate. 

I sigh.

A hundred sixty fucking dollars for veggies.

Fingers open a wallet untouched for six months. But Hugh gently grabs my wrist. I flinch, looking up at his pretty-boy smile. 

"What?" I ask him.

"I'll pay," he says.

I shake my head. "No," I reply, knitting my brows. "Why would you?"

"Because I'm nice," he answers, handing the cashier a card. 

I take the card from the cashier. "I have money," I say. "I'll pay for my own." Fingers search for green bills, but another set of fingers wrap themselves around the wallet before snatching them away from my grasp. 

"Hugh!" I say. He easily takes his card back from me as well, handing it to the depressing cashier who just sighs and inserts it in the machine. 

Hugh smiles his pretty-boy smile, although majority of it is hidden underneath his mask. He hands me back my wallet, patting my head, before packing up the groceries into bags. 

Once we exit out the grocery, Hugh pushing the cart again, I stop him.

I honestly don't deserve this penny.

"Why did you pay for me?" I say, hitting him. "Why the hell would you do that to a stranger?"

"Ow, Clara," he laughs. "We aren't complete strangers anymore, are we?"

"Don't waste your money on me," I tell him.

"Why not?"

"Because we're just each other's pennies," I explain. "Pennies don't pay for other pennies."

"But that's what pennies do, Clara," he says. "Pennies pay for things."

I look at him, the sun glinting against his mesmerizing ocean-colored eyes. He's so perfect, such a perfect, shiny, bronze penny, that I can't seem to differentiate whether this is a dream or if this is a reality.

"I don't deserve you," I say, walking towards the car. I hear the rolling of wheels behind me, his long legs easily catching up to me. 

"Don't say that, Clara," he says. "I'm as much less deserving of you as you feel about me. So, please don't say that."

We stop at the back of the red truck. Eyes meet eyes as blue as the ocean, contrasting with eyes as black as night. I observe his features that shine against the sun, his tan skin as warm as the day and wavy, chestnut-colored hair that's a bit longer than usual accentuating his most beautiful asset: his eyes. 

His lips look soft, though a bit chapped at the moment, underneath the covering of his mask. And when widened into a smile, it makes any heart flutter into a pitter-patter or ba-dump. His shoulders are broad as well, something I didn't notice before, making his back fit and wide. He's incredibly tall, too, towering over me with intimidation. However, an aura of kindness and softness radiates more than the intimidation that comes from his height.

He seems to be a boy from a Wattpad story or some Korean drama, too perfect and fictitious to be called a boy from reality.

I purse my lips, wanting to capture such perfection, so if he does leave me, I have a memento of the time where I was blessed to see such a beautiful being in such an ugly world. 

Unknowingly, hand grazes skin soft to the touch yet masterfully chiseled. "You're so pretty," I say, eyes staring into eyes as deep as the ocean it's colored like. 

His pupils enlarge and eyes widen. "W-What?" He chuckles awkwardly. 

I purse my lips again, hand falling down to my side as legs walk themselves towards the front seat of the truck.

As Hugh puts the groceries in, I look out the window.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I should live in the moment more.

But it also makes me wonder.

How quick the present comes and goes.

In a way, dreams are like the present.

Like a dream that drifts away when eyes awaken to dawn, the present drifts away from you as fast as the blink of an eye, only to become a thing of the past.

I want to live in the moment more.

So how do we live in the present?

When we know that the present can easily become the past in a blink of an eye.

How do I live in the present?

Hugh comes in, his ears a bright red. I guess the hot sun burned his ears.

"Ready to go?" He asks me, his eyes shyly glancing.

I nod.

I want to live in this moment.

If this is the present, with Hugh and his beautiful eyes at my side, then there's only one present I'd ask from Santa Claus this year.

And that is for Hugh to be my present.

I've never had a penny as shiny and as valuable as this before.