Brandon walks out of the house quickly in excitement and enters the car that he hasn’t driven in three months. The trusty Toyota Camry was shared between each of the siblings, which led to a lot of arguments when they were still in high school. Usually, Brandon got first dibs to driving because he was the oldest, albeit only by two minutes.
He drove over to the local Starbucks café and waited for Amy to arrive. Even though he was worried about the status of their relationship, he still missed her a lot more than he would ever admit to his brothers. After all, there were basically no secrets between the three of them.
While he waited, he saw that the café was bustling with familiar faces that probably had the same thought of meeting friends last minute while they were in town. But, after what seemed like the twentieth familiar face to greet him, he did not see Amy anywhere. He looked through his phone as he idly waits for her to arrive, as well as a couple of text messages asking her when she’ll arrive. Finally after thirty minutes of waiting, Brandon finally called her to see where she possibly was, but his call immediately went to voice mail. Could she have been in an accident? Is she okay? A thousand possible scenarios, most of them life-threatening, go through his head as he tries to think of what possibly could make her late.
Just as he was about to get up and drive to her house, he finally gets a text from her.
Hey, I’m sorry for doing this. You can hate me for the rest of your life, but we should break up.
His heart falls down to his stomach. Everything around him becomes white noise as he stares at the text. It takes him a good minute to process the text. He reads it over again before his brain finally starts functioning. Brandon quickly unlocks his phone and calls her, desperate to hear her voice, but he gets her voicemail again.
After the second failed attempt to call her, he texts her furiously.
Pick up. Send.
We need to talk. Send.
Ellipses form on his phone to show that she is typing, and it feels like she’s taking forever to type.
“Damn it. Type faster!” he thinks.
Brandon. There’s nothing else to talk about. I can’t do this anymore. Please let me go.
Brandon didn’t understand what she meant by, Please let me go. Did she feel like she was forced into this relationship?
Now wanting to communicate anymore with her through text he quickly walks out of Starbucks and drives quickly to Amy’s house to seek for answers. Once he parks in front of the familiar looking small ranch house, he dashes over to her front door.
Memories of their relationship flood his head. He remembers how he would drive Amy back from dates, and they would just sit in front of the porch just to talk about random things even the future. He remembers how they talked about living together after graduation. Did that mean nothing to her?
He knocks harshly and rapidly on her door. Amy answers the door.
“Brandon,” Amy gasps, surprised to see him. For a second, he didn’t recognize the girl in front of him who was supposed to be girlfriend… or ex-girlfriend. Her long crimson hair was now a short turquoise blue pixie bob. The preppy clothes that used to adorn her body in high school are nowhere to be seen other than this all-black outfit.
What happened to his girlfriend who said, “Black is only for funerals?”
After seeing her for the first time in a very long time, Brandon didn’t even know where to begin the conversation. Should he begin the conversation with her sudden breakup or her sudden makeover?
“How… how have you been?” he asks her first.
Amy looks at her strangely. “What do you want, Brandon?” Amy asks him coldly. Brandon knew that voice very well. She usually only reserved that tone for people who she wanted nothing to do with, and he couldn’t believe he would finally be on the receiving end of it.
“You’re breaking up with me?” he asks.
“I thought it was pretty obvious,” she says, gripping on the door tightly.
“What’s going on?” Brandon asks, feeling as if their breakup was part of a bigger issue. If there was one thing he learned while living with his siblings, it’s that fights always happen because of a bigger problem. He reaches over for her arm to just touch her but she avoids his reach.
“Bran,” she calls him by the nickname she’s made for him ever since they started going out. Straight-laced Brandon McGregor has always been called by his full name, but Amy always shortened his name to Bran “just like Raisin Bran cause you’re just too good for me.”
“Amy,” Brandon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, a habit he’s developed whenever he’s frustrated. “You look different,” Brandon says as he changes his approach.
“Yeah,” Amy runs her hair through her much shorter hair.
“If it’s the distance, then we can work it out. We can call each other, use Skype, Facebook chat, Facetime -”
“Stop!” Amy interrupts him. “Bran, just stop,” she looks down to the floor, not able to look him in the eye.
Brandon closes the gap between them and holds both of her shoulders supportively. “What’s wrong?” he asks her, trying to look for a gap in her walls.
“Bran, I’ve changed,” Amy shrugs his hands off of her shoulders as she gains back her composure. He could feel the walls building up again, refusing to let him in.
“I could see that,” Brandon chuckles in order to lighten the mood, but when he sees her swift change of expression he immediately regrets his attempt at a joke.
“This is why I want to end this. Goddamn it Brandon. We’re not the golden couple in high school that we used to be! You’re still the up and coming star freshman, while I’m… I’m not the same girl I was in high school.”
“Of course. You’re Amy,” Brandon tries to comfort her.
“You’re right. I am me, and I know what I want. Brandon. We’re over. Don’t come here again,” Amy slams the door on his face.
“Amy. Amy!” Brandon shouts after her as he bangs on the door to get her attention. “Amy!”