Ten hours later
We stand on the sidewalk with our backpacks on the cement. Christopher glances at his watch. “Where is he? The cab is going to be here soon.”
“He’ll come.”
I look up the street. To be honest, I’m getting a little worried he won’t. Eddie is meant to be here to say goodbye to us, but he hasn’t shown.
It’s so unlike him.
Our flight to Germany leaves in a few hours, and we can’t wait much longer. “Call him again.”
Christopher calls his number, and it rings out. He stares up the street in search of his little friend. “If I knew his address, I would go there.” He begins to pace. “Damn it, why didn’t I get his address?”
He calls him again. “What if something’s happened to him?” He’s beginning to get frantic.
“Don’t worry . . . he’ll come.”
EDDIE
I stand in the alleyway, and from my spying spot I watch as Mr. Christo and Miss Hazen wait for me across the road in front of the hostel.
They’re here to say goodbye . . . and I want to go over.
But . . . I can’t.
I watch as Christo dials a number on his phone, and my phone vibrates again, the name lighting up on my screen.
Christo
My heart sinks, and I put it back into my pocket.
I watch as Christo paces and rants and raves as Hazen talks calmly to him.
With every moment that they wait, it gets worse. I want to run across the road and beg them not to leave.
But I know they will anyway . . . so what’s the point?
A cab pulls up, and Christo stares up the street to where I usually come from, and I get a lump in my throat. Through tears I watch him put their backpacks into the trunk.
Don’t go.
With one last look up the road, he finally gets into the cab, and it pulls out and drives away.
I drop my head . . . they’re gone.
One month later
Amsterdam
HAYDEN
Sightseeing by day, partying at work by night.
I’d always heard about Amsterdam. Everyone said it is the one place that you have to experience at least once in your lifetime. I imagined drug cafés and sex workers, high-as-a-kite people walking around being idiots in the streets.
What I didn’t expect was that it would be a culturally diverse, beautiful city.
Long canals that have these beautiful little bridges over them, twinkle lights that line the streets at night, beautiful restaurants, and the eclectic sound of laughter in the distance.
Christopher and I do love a chocolate brownie with magical ingredients and many a night get the giggles on our way home. This is such a fun place, and not one bit frightening like I imagined.
And the bicycles . . . I never expected to see so many.
People don’t drive in Amsterdam; they ride their bikes everywhere. So in front of every restaurant and club and shopping district are rows and rows of beautiful old-fashioned bikes, chained up in stands, the ones with little cane baskets attached to the front.
It’s so cool, and when you walk down the street, you don’t hear cars; you hear bicycle bells as people warn you they are coming fast.
It’s the little things about traveling, the idiosyncrasies that make each place different.
Never in a million years did I imagine that I would associate cute old-fashioned bikes with Amsterdam, but I know that I always will.