To Perceive an Image

Thirteen: Images of An Ambivalent Morning

Anyway, back to the love of my life. "Flynn..." I call, receiving no response. "Flynn Rider," I try again, louder this time. For someone who has constant anger outbursts, my voice doesn't follow the role. That's a good thing, raised voices annoy me. Trying my luck for the last time, I should, "Flynn Rider, Prince of Baghdad, or some other place." His head turns to me at that. He raises his eyebrow in a way so full of sass before replying. "Mosul, actually, but I appreciate the thought, Queen Azail."

If I made a list of the nicknames he has come up with for me, I'd have a list longer than the number of atoms in a cell, and that's a large number.

"Alright, Flynn Rider, Prince of Mosul, can you pay attention to the task at hand now? You best believe I'm making you carry my bags. I'm all for independence, but your one arm can swallow both of my own with that muscle, so I'm using that as an advantage until my arms get that strong. Okay? Okay, no questions."

"Yes ma'am, your wish is my command," he says while making a terrible curtsey. Throw away any hope I had of him being an elegant friend, we're both fucked in that department.

"Alright, let's go. But I don't know how to pick out the good stuff, so can you help me with that, too?"

I hope he bought that. What better way to pick out what they need than trick him into doing it himself? Oh, how much I love my genius mind.

"Yeah, of course. I run all the errands for my mom because her legs hurt after walking for a while. So I've assigned myself the official shopper of the home." He says, grabbing a cart left behind in the middle of the sidewalk.

Well, that sounds familiar.

Almost by a wordless election, Flynn became the one leading us in every which direction of the grocery store. I know this store like the back of my hand, but this trip is showing me places I didn't spare a glance at. Do they sell clothes here? Since when? Also, candles? What? I make a mental note to spend a little more time here every week, I've found my version of a museum.

The look on Flynn's face as he did what everyone else surrounding us looked nothing short of wholesome. No one here had a smile on their face as they picked out a few cucumbers apart from him. That pitiful feeling returns, any thoughts I have about being in their shoes send an uncomfortable feeling to my chest. Abracadabra, I wish for this feeling to disappear until further notice-a. That did not rhyme, but I wish to have the same effect.

"Okay, vegetables and fruits are done onto dairy and meat. I'm assuming this will cover your family's meals for a week, so I got enough. What type of meat do you guys eat the most?" Flynn asks, organizing each plastic bag holding a variety of produce in neat order.

With the determined and stern look on his face, you'd think this is a life-or-death mission. Any funny comeback I had to say got washed down by the soft "this feels odd" that he muttered under his breath while looking at the cart. Shit, my heart broke. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the underlying meaning of his words. He's not used to getting this much food for his family, and the amount he buys doesn't compare to the one in front of us. Well, add watering my eye sockets at the top of my to-do before bed list.

"Uh, we eat everything, to be honest," I blurted without considerable thought. Girl, you're lying right through your teeth. I resist the urge to gag at the thought of any meat that isn't chicken breast. Sell the meat-loving persona for their sake, Azail.

Taking my words into utmost consideration, Flynn chooses every cow, chicken, pig, and fish meat variety in existence. Restaurants should be jealous of our supply.

When I make the regrettable decision of looking at the shopping cart almost filled to the brim, questions of how I'm going to pay for this cause me to halt my footsteps for a second. Staring at nothing in particular as I allow complete panic to take over me, I regain consciousness when my wallet falls out of the pocket of my cargo pants. Checking my wallet for cash, I take a relieved breath when I see multiple hundred-dollar bills from payday. My parents will be more than glad to give me an earful for not giving them last month's paycheck, but sacrifices are necessary sometimes. Damn, for me to risk a fight between my parents and me for people I've known for days makes me question how much of a liking my heart has grown for them. It's fine, I'm doing this deed in the name of kindness, not for other reasons.