Opposites attract, they say. Although no one knows how when they collide, they might just end up combusting in a thousand flames.
[full summary inside]
Copyright 2021 | bookishbronte
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WE ALL HAVE THAT ONE PERSON in our lives who's a walking paradox to us– insignificantly important. There presence isn't out of ordinary, and yet their absence for a long time inevitably tugs at your heart strings. That's Amsterdam for me.
I'd been here when I was eighteen, for a university exchange program, and it was a change I welcomed whole heartedly. Primarily, because I ended sharing a dorm with Marco Diaz, a Latin major and part time swim gear model. We instantly hit it off on the fact that I could swear I'd seen him in a playboy edition, when he'd apparently heard it's name for the first time. To put it short, I was stubborn, he was frivolous, and we just happened to work.
Our situationship lasted for six months, and while we didn't end on a positive note particularly, something good did come out of it.
Janine Wallace. Marco's ex girlfriend and a brief tenant in his apartment building, who'd become my good friend over the time. Our thing, of course, coming to be how we both weren't fans of him; two years for her and some twenty seven days for me. We've been in touch ever since, and I knew I could rely on her to get through the hours until my flight, at her humble abode.
"It's a right from here," I direct the taxi driver, following the red awry line on Google maps until the pasty white building comes into my purview. The elevator inside greets me with a 'work in progress' sign, so I burn off the extra cheese on that pepperoni while lugging my bags to the third storey. There's four flats here, but somehow I figure the one with the jade plants and a swastika on the checkered tiles is my destination. Janine's always been big on superstitions and spiritual stuff– the Buffalo tarot reading a gift from her early in the morning yesterday.
I barely knock once and the door flings open to reveal her standing in a robe, blonde hair barely clutched together and a bowl of frosted flakes in her hands. "I could sense your aura," she proudly claims.
"You've always had that gift," I suppress a cackle, pulling her into a side hug. "Why does your hair smell like Hawaii?" I envy the entrancing fragrance, especially when I'm aware I smell like a pack of Marlboro.
"It's apparently an all coconut and honey conditioner, something my company's been playing with. We're the Guinea pigs to their new product lines, of course, so don't be surprised if my perfume reminds you of clementines."
"I'd love samples if there's something in rose," I walk into the hall with her, nostalgia striking me as I take in the mess. Although behind the piles of clothes and eBay cardboard boxes, the house looks exquisite with wooden amber tiles, huge Victorian windows opening up to a garden estate, and an L shaped aqua blue kitchen island on my left, accompanied by sliding cabinets on top.
"Make yourself home," she says, chomping on her cereal and simultaneously adding a coffee milk concoction to it. "This tastes better than it looks." A chuckle erupts out of the both of us, and I feel a sense of comfort envelop me after a very long time.
