I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 6.2 - Brandon

We first bought some food to satisfy our grumbling stomachs. After, I led us to the small port where the boat was parked. It rocked gently back and forth over the miniature waves, small but still ferocious. The thing about water is that one little drop can do very little, but together, it can destroy an entire city. It the meaning for life here on Earth, but can also be the equivalent of destruction.

I paid for the two of us, and we attentively made our way on board, taking step by step in an effort to maintain our balance on the swaying surface. Being one of the first ones on, we chose a seat near the middle. Waxed tables paired with leather-cushioned booths outlined the boat's inner perimeter, and water-stained windows allowed every seat to get a decent view of the river and the city.

"You didn't want to go on a smaller boat?" Emma asked me.

"No," I replied. "I was thinking a cruise is better. And besides, there are steady tables for you to sketch on if you wanted."

"Oh, smart," she smiled. "And kind." Her green eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

"I didn't lie when I said I wanted to see your sketches. I bet they're all as good as your raven sketch."

She tensed, and my eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Well, I believe you on your first part, at least," she decided to say. "I'll get out my sketchbook when we start moving."

My heart was thrashing in my chest, about to explode, and I wasn't sure whether it was because of fear, or of excitement. But what could I be fearful or excited about when I don't even know what is going to happen? Emma literally has me on the edge of my seat with her mystery.

The boat was still loading, but was almost full; only one or two seats weren't taken.

"What are you watching?" I asked Emma, who was staring out the window next to us.

She looked to me, and then back out the window, thinking about her answer. "Everything, I guess. The bustling of the city, the swaying of the leaves, the imposing yet intricate buildings, the gentle river..."

"Is that how artists like you see?"

"Well, that's how I see. But it doesn't take an artist to see the beauty of your city. It should be easily seen by anyone. Even the blind can smell the healthy trees and fresh rain, and hear the chirping of the free birds in the morning light."

I chuckled. "From the way you put it, it sounds very beautiful. But honestly, I can't wait to get out of here. I'm too used to it. The bustling of the city is cruel pushing and shoving, the leaves are all of the same tree, the buildings are towering, and the river is gray more than blue."

"Then maybe you should look deeper."

In a smooth motion, the boat was pushed off into the middle of the river, so faintly that we didn't notice we were moving until we saw the others on the boat glancing out the windows and pointing, enthusiastic words bouncing among the cabin as the buildings of Amsterdam drifted past.

I looked to Emma expectantly. "Maybe I can see your sketches now?"

She smiled, and took out her sketchbook, handing it to me. "Here."

I carefully took it from her, and was taken aback by its unusual unwieldy weight. The binding was brown leather, and flowers were sewn onto the cover. I flipped open the first page and on the cover's opposite side was Emma's name written in cursive. "Emerald Hayes," I read.

I flipped the next page over and the first sketch was of a small cottage on a long-grassed field. The grass grew to the side as if it was moving along with the wind, swaying in the same motion as the boat swayed with the water beneath us. Roses and vines climbed up the walls of the cottage, giving it a vintage look, and smoke rose from the chimney in a dark swirly mess into the atmosphere. Trees dotted the horizon, and the setting sun on the horizon gave the sketch dark but vibrant tone.