I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 7.3 - Emma

"So what are we doing today?" I asked Brandon. It was 8:30 in the morning, and we were making our way down the street, not too far from the Schneiders' house.

"You'll see," he replied, trying to hide his smile. "You brought your sketchbook, right?"

"Yeah," I answered, adjusting my sack pack's strap hanging taut on my shoulder. "Why?"

He tried to hide his smile once again. "No reason." He combed his hands through his hair before sticking them into the pockets of his ocean blue jeans.

I followed Brandon blindly on a 15 minute walk that eventually led us to a dark green field, lush with visitors and children frolicking under a formation of cirrocumulus clouds. A vast crowd gathered to my right, but wasn't big enough to block my view of the attraction they came to see: the "I Amsterdam" sign, in big red and white letters.

Brandon gestured for me to follow him to the left, across the field to a nearby building. I stopped to glance at its name.

My eyebrows narrowed and I looked at Brandon, doubting what I just read. He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling like untouched blown glass under warm light for the first time. "Welcome to the Van Gogh Museum!"

I stuttered. "Wha-. H-How did you do this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't tickets pretty costly?"

"Actually, for us, we're free," he replied.

My eyebrows narrowed. "What?"

"I bought membership a few months ago. And with it, I can always come here for free, and bring along a guest for free too." His hands went to his pockets. "I was just thinking that since you love to sketch and do art and all that, that it seemed reasonable to bring you here."

I let out a dubious laugh. "Thank you so much, Brandon."

Van Gogh has always been a painter I looked up to. Visiting the Van Gogh Museum was probably one of the very first things I added to my bucket list, but when I arrived in Amsterdam, I realized that I didn't have enough to pay for a ticket. I just hoped Brandon knew how much this means to me, and how grateful I am to him.

We entered the museum, and I stopped in the doorway to take in the scene. Everything about the building called to me. Paintings of all colors lined the walls, cherished and idolized by passing visitors. "What do you want to see first?" Brandon asked me.

"Everything," I answered without hesitation.

He replied with a smile, and all of a sudden the scars amongst his eyes fading into the background. All that remained was blue pigment that somehow had the ability to turn a cleanly shaved pale ice to a deep sea blue, a furious color that reminded me of the raging waves of the Scottish sea while I stood precariously on the edge of the cliffs above, watching the water rock back and forth, unable to reach me. Right now, his eyes seemed a mix of those two colors, which was ironic because it was as if Van Gogh had decided to mix those colors in his palette, and swept his paintbrush across Brandon's eyes.

"I need to find something to give you in return for all of this," I said, as we moved to view the first piece of artwork.

"No need," he responded.

"Are you sure?" I pressed.

His nod was confident. "Definitely."

Like I'm going to allow it. "We'll see," I simply replied.

Brandon turned to me suspiciously, but said nothing.

We walked silently for a couple more minutes, before Brandon spoke, "Do you and your parents ever fight?"