I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 3.2 - Emma

Finished with my shower, I walked over to the mirror and applied some lotion and sunscreen. I don't have space in my traveling pack to waste on makeup, and I never cared for it anyway, so I never use any. Makeup should be used as a form of expression, like fashion, but when travelling around the world, there are much more important things, the world being one, that require my time, and one's only got so much of that.

Once done, I paused for a moment to gaze at my reflection in the mirror. As always, what I noticed first were my green eyes, green as emeralds freshly polished and shined. I had skin in between pale white and tan, and dark brown hair the color of an oak tree, naturally curled a bit, mimicking waves. Should I put it up? I wondered. My hair grew to the middle of my back, and usually gets in the way, but I refuse to cut it because I look horrible in short hair.

No, it'll be fine, I said to myself.

I made my way back to my room, almost tripping over my traveling pack which I lazily dumped on the floor last night. It was this blue hiking pack that typical backpackers would wear, loaded with bottles of water, bags of chips, a toothbrush, a sleeping bag, and more necessities for when I'm on the road or don't have a place to stay. I didn't bother to unpack much, since it'll be only a week before I leave for Belgium. Lots of things to do, lots of things to see.

I got dressed, choosing my silky mint green shirt to compliment my eyes, and a pair of long blue jeans. They were badly ripped by years of wear, but thankfully, ripped jeans seem to be the new fashion, granting me a reasonable excuse to not buy a new pair.

I grabbed my black and white Adidas sackpack and walked over to my nightstand, taking my sketchbook and gently placing it in the pack. I laid it on the bed while I grabbed my wallet from my traveling pack. When I turned back around, I spotted a corner of my sketchbook poking out of the sackpack.

"No," I whispered to myself in exasperation, examining the rip in my only sackpack. I can carry my wallet in my pocket, as well as the keys to the house, but the sketchbook is way too burdensome to haul around the city, searching for a bag store. And my bulky traveling pack is not an option for its transportation.

I sighed. I'm going to have to leave it here for today while I get myself a new sackpack. I tried to calm my irritation. I still have six more days here to sketch.

I threw my sackpack in the trashcan, and climbed upstairs. The stairs were narrow, and the spiral form created less space for a foot to be placed on its triangular steps. I fell down them last night in my drowsiness, but my stuffed traveling pack luckily broke my fall, resulting in only a minor bruise on my left elbow.

Now upstairs, I saw the owner of the house, Mr. Schneider, hunched over his computer, engulfed by his work. He saw me enter the room out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, good morning, Emma."

I smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Schneider. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I was just leaving."

"No, no. It's all fine. I probably am in need of a break anyway." He sat backwards to the back of his chair and stretched, and then got up to refill his empty coffee mug. "Did you have a nice sleep?" he asked me.

"Yes, thanks. You're house is very charming."

He chuckled. "Thank you."

"Where's Jaime and Mrs. Schneider?" I asked. Jaime was the Schneiders' child; he was seven years old.

"Jaime is asleep upstairs, finally, and Mrs. Schneider went off to work."

"Oh," I said, mostly to myself. Jaime was in a fit when I arrived yesterday, due to some nightmare, but despite his loud crying, I went to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I was about to say I'll be off when I stopped myself, contemplating. When I finally spoke, my words came out stammered and hesitant. "A-Are you sure you don't want any money for my stay? I got a wonderful job in Germany a few months ago, and was paid really well. I can assure you I can pay you and still be well off."

Mr. Schneider stopped what he was doing, and looked at me, his blue eyes glistening like the ocean. Matched with his black, curly hair, he looked exotic. "And I can assure you, if you don't pay us, we'll still be well off."

I tried to be as reasonable as I could. "But I don't think it's fair. You're giving me a place to stay for a week, and ask for nothing in return."

"But no, that's where you're wrong," Mr. Schneider politely said, making his way back to his computer, his mug refilled with steaming hot coffee. "We're not getting nothing. We get you. I remember back at university your father and I would spend every evening with our future wives together, chatting about our classes and our dreams over dinner. We were inseparable, the four of us. Being away from them is torture. But just talking to you reminds us of them. Even now-."

"I'm going to go now," I quickly broke in, stepping towards the front door. "Thank you."

I turned and raced for the front door as calmly as I could, snatching the keys on a little table by my side. My hand grabbed the doorknob, and to my surprise, it was as cold as ice. I paused there, as if the ice on the doorknob had frozen me, sprouting to stretch to my hand, to my body, and hardening all my bones in place.

"Please..." My voice faded away. I cleared my throat and tried to blank my mind of unwanted thoughts. "Please don't speak of my parents to me. I would be grateful if you respect that they are my past, not my present."

I didn't turn to look at Mr. Schneider; I only used my ears. After a moment of no reply, my hand twisted the doorknob and opened the door, shattering the imaginary ice.

"Emma?" called Mr. Schneider.

I stopped in place, motionless. "Yeah?"

"I know it's your decision, and know that I won't do anything to interfere with it, but you can still go back to him."

I heard the empathy in Mr. Schneider's voice, as clear to my ears as the tender flowing of a stream is to a quenched rabbit's. I heard the way he tried his hardest to make what he's saying as softly, as lightly, as thoughtfully as possible. I know he doesn't want to hurt me; he only wishes me the best. He always did. He always understood me and always will, but this is not arguable.

I closed the door behind me wordlessly.