Love, Emma

Chapter Ten:

Outside, the air is light and a tad chilly with the impending winter that is yet to start. The setting sunlight bounces off the towering buildings, reflecting down on streetcars and taxis bellow. We weave in and out of the bustling crowds with ease after having lived in the city almost all our lives, our feet finding the familiar path throw the throngs of people unconsciously, almost as a natural instinct. Like a sixth sense. We laugh and talk along the way, the start of a story interrupting the end of another, laughter cutting through serious conversations while our bodies push and pulse against each other's as we ascend the streets of a lively Toronto on a Tuesday afternoon.

The sun has just dipped below the uneven skyline of towering buildings as we reach the front steps to my house, where we pool through the door, crowding into the compact living room like a can of sardines.

I can hear Beau's angry, screeching music from upstairs, along with AJ petering around in the kitchen, probably fixing us dinner. For later on in the evening, once everyone's gone and the house grows semi-quiet again.

We settle down wherever we fit; the futon, the floor, the recliner, on each other's laps, against someone's knees, a head on one's shoulder. I find myself settled between Brett's legs on the floor, my back against the recliner, with Janice arguing with Quinton on one side and parker leaning on the other. Brady's feet touch mine from where he sits on the couch, his long legs stretched out before him. Brandon's squished between his brother and Luke on the couch, arguing with them over some sports team.

And I can't help but think that if I had a camera, this would be the moment to take a picture-because this is us- the us that no one else really knows, the us that we can only be together, and one day when life gets busy and school, work and everything else gets in the way, I want to be able to find that photo and just stare at it- because that's the true us, the us we are when we all come together. It's the us that I want to be remembered as, and when I'm dead and my great grandkids flip to that one page in the photo album and see this yellowing photo of a bunch of misfit teenagers, I want them to know that was the real us. and it always will be.

.  .  .  .  .

Classes seemed to drag on all morning- even my usual chipper attitude couldn't brighten things up, and I'm thankful to say the days is half over now that lunch has hit.

Entering the cafeteria, I longed to sit with my friends at our usual table- especially after all the fun we had last night.

While my feet stayed cemented in place, rooting me to the floor, my eyes cast around the room, until they settle on his usual figure.

Nathan stands out like a sore thumb- towering over us all with his six foot ten stature, slim shoulders, daunting blue eyes and of course, the scar. It singled him out and to be honest, I'm not sure why. The scar barely even registered to me anymore, when I looked at him, it looked like all of him- it's like a beauty mark, a part of him.

My legs move on their own accord, taking me to the far wall where his table rests, empty and barren from lack of use. Nobody ever sat here but him, and me too, although that's just been for the past few weeks.

I settle down next to him, sending a warm smile his way in the hopes of getting one back. I get a small one, a fraction of the smile I know, but it's better than before, so I gladly take it as progress.

I open the brown-paper bag containing my lunch, dumping its contents on the table.

I reach for the juice box, stabbing my straw through the little foil hole, and taking a greedy sip of the sweet liquid. Going through my usual routine, I talk as I eat- giving Nathan half of my sandwich- adamantly describing our plans for Friday, and the movie night I had with Beau, Luke and AJ the other night. I discuss my classes, going over how dull my morning was and how excited I am for the café tonight.