I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 6.3 - Brandon

The only words we spoke for the last half of the trip was after we stepped off the boat, when Emma told me the experience was fun, and I bow-tied our conversation by replying that I was glad she enjoyed it. Together, we said less than ten words, but it wasn't that type of awkward silence that creeps up and falls upon two acquaintances with little resemblance in personality; it was the type of understanding silence that occurs between two friends that know each other, and understand that they need some reticence.

And so finally, when our ears were filled with only the synchronized thuds of our feet as they collided with the red cobblestone sidewalk on the road back home, mixed with the roaring of motorcycle engines and topped with the small chatter of passing tourists, I broke that silence.

"Do you still want me to show you around for the week?" I asked Emma.

She turned to me. "Of course," she answered. "That is, if you don't mind."

"I don't," I replied. But I'm not sure if my parents will.

All of a sudden, I felt as if I'm missing something.

"Have you already planned where we're going next?" Emma continued the conversation, but I was already tuned out.

And then it hit me. I need to buy school items. "Shoot," I cursed under my breath, stopping in my tracks.

Emma heard and looked at me concerningly. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I-," I started before stopping myself. She can't know I'm lying to my parents for her.

"Brandon?" she urged.

"I need to go buy some items. For school. Do you mind coming with me?" I pleaded. Inside I was beating myself up for forgetting what I told my parents to justify leaving the house.

"No, of course not," she said leisurely. "When does school start for you?"

"In a week."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Really? That's soon. And you're sure you're okay with showing me around?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And your parents too?"

I paused.

"Are your parents okay with showing me around?" she repeated.

I didn't answer.

"You said they were overprotective and strict. Are they okay with you doing this?" Emma asked. "'Cause if they're not..."

"You said your parents are overprotective and strict. But you got out too right?" I snapped defensively.

Emma took a step back. "Well.." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes wore a shade of hurt. "Okay then. Point seen."

As I led Emma to the school supply store nearby, I could feel the awkward kind of silence envelope us, surrounding us, blanketing us. Even for the first few seconds I could barely stand it. I already missed Emma's pure, sweet smile, but there seemed to be a trench that I felt I accidentally dug between us. Emma followed close to me, but I could feel her distance. All I heard were the rhythm of our feet scratching against the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry I lashed out," I apologized.

"No," she said. "It's my fault." She finally looked up at me after minutes of staring at her black Nike shoes.

"I just. . . how do you deal with your parents? When they're so protective?" I asked her. Somehow, Emma never seems controlled, or even phased. She acts so free even though her parents may be holding her down.

She looked back down at her shoes, and I was worried I had already hurt her again before she spoke. "I just don't care. My parents are not me, so why should I care? I go where the wind takes me, not them." Her eyes stared down the street with ferocity, with satisfaction, with determination. It only made me believe her more, but I still felt a hint of her holding something back from me.

"How about we forget this happened?" proposed Emma.

I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I would love that."

A few moments later, and we were laughing and smiling again.