Pursuing Prudence: Part I: The Meeting

Jeremiah spit his dirty chai tea latte onto the wooden table. “I am not a Hipster,” he argued, wiping his beard with a light brown, recycled napkin.

“Spoken like a true conformist,” his friend, Jeff, rebutted. “Let me check my Hipster checklist.” Jeff feigned glancing down at a clip board. “Man bun... Check. Beard... Check. Skinny jeans... Check, check. Face it, dude; you are a typical Millennial. Just another sheep in the flock.” He motioned to the rest of the crowd inside of the coffee shop.

Jeremiah observed the room full of people, most of whom were mentally checked out from society: headphones in their ears, faces stared at the blinking lights of a computer screens, and those without laptops had submerged themselves into their smart phones. Maybe Jeff was right. Maybe he had gone mainstream and adopted the Hipster motif; maybe Jeremiah had become ordinary.

A week after the coffee debacle, Jeremiah trimmed his beard down to a well-shaped goatee, keeping the man bun and skinny jeans. The beard had irritated him, anyway. Food lodged itself into the tangled hair, and regardless of how often he combed it, The Beard, as he had dubbed it, had a mind of its own: both dirty and unkempt. These thoughts bantered against his brain as he stood in line at a farmer’s market, waiting for a bag of homegrown, California avocados. Hood River, Oregon was about a day’s drive to Southern California, but on Jeremiah’s vintage blue Vespa, it took more like three days to travel there. That was a long drive for avocados, regardless of how delectable they were. 

A woman spoke in a soft voice behind him, interrupting his thoughts on all things related to good fat. “Excuse me,” she said, her tone ethereal and enchanting.

Jeremiah turned around, catching a whiff of the forest floor and the earth… the unmistakable fragrance of patchouli oil. Her hair was long, curled slightly at the ends, and silver like the moon, but it was her eyes that ensnared him. The dark brown, almost black, color invaded his soul, seeing through him, or into him. 

“Hello,” he managed to murmur.

Her lips puckered up into a coy smile. “Are those avocados worth the wait?” The question danced in the air, like a leaf caught in the wind.

“Yes, they’re amazing.” Jeremiah found himself staring into her eyes for far too long, uncomfortable for most folks, on the verge of creepy for him. The woman didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, her smile deepened.

“At that price, they better be.” She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

Jeremiah hadn't paid much attention to what she’d said. He had been far too busy watching her perfect lips form the words. Yet, instead of asking her to repeat herself, Jeremiah shook his head—a meager attempt to return to his senses. “I'm Jeremiah,” he managed to say, holding out his hand.

“Prudence,” she answered in that same breathless tone. She placed the tips of her fingers into his open hand. Dainty. Refined.

A tingle shot through Jeremiah at the touch of her cool, soft skin. Electricity soared through his veins, something he'd never felt when touching a complete stranger. Normally, he would never shake a stranger’s hand—too many germs—but for some reason unbeknownst to him, Jeremiah yearned to hold Prudence’s hand, even if it was only by the tips of her fingers.

Prudence stared at her hand. “I think I might need that back.” She laughed.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Jeremiah said, his face reddening.

“You never told me your name.” Prudence stared through him, again.

He paused, thinking he had just told her his name. “Jeremiah,” he repeated. 

“Well, Jeremiah,” Prudence said, one of her eyebrows arching higher than the other. “Maybe I'll see you around sometime.” Her hair blew in the wind, framing her face like a Michelangelo painting—a true masterpiece.

“Wait a minute,” he called after her. Why was she leaving?

Prudence turned back to face him, her eyes reflecting rays from the sun, like glitter under a spotlight. “Yes,” she answered with a stunning, Hollywood star quality.

“Can I…” Jeremiah’s words fumbled around in his mouth, tripping over each other. “Can I call you sometime?”

Her eyebrow rose, again, and her lips curled up into another coy smile. “Sure.”

Prudence reached into the multicolored patchwork bag draped across her body and pulled out a business card. She placed the simple white card into his hand, and her thumb brushed against his wrist, lingering for a moment.

“You're a chef?” Jeremiah stammered, recovering from her touch, once again.

Prudence nodded. “Maybe I'll cook you a meal sometime.” She turned to walk away and then faced him one last time. “Call and tell me how the avocados are.”

“They're fantastic. I promise,” he said with a grin.

She gave a little wave before turning back toward the crowd. Jeremiah watched as her flowing skirt fluttered in the breeze. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something magnetic about Prudence. Something altogether magical. Something that called to the very marrow in his bones. Whatever that something was, one thing was certain, Jeremiah was smitten.