My memories of senior year are kind of seen through a hazy cloud. Faces are blurred, voices mute, my senses numbed. I rarely did any school work, I just kind of wandered the halls in my large, round high school, clinging to my few close friends and anything else that gave me any kind of comfort. I escaped into my notebooks during every class, writing poetry and short stories and journals.
I took my fourth year of Spanish that year, and my first and only year of Latin. I will never forget Latin class, but that's for me to keep to myself for now. I want to talk about someone I knew in Spanish class.
His name was Roberto. I wish I could remember what country he was from, but I believe it was in South America. I wish I could remember what he was doing in our class that year. He must have been a student teacher or something. He was a doctor in his home country, but he was very young. I remember thinking that I wanted to marry him so he could stay in the country. We became friends, and we used to talk a lot, although I can't remember any details. I don't even remember what he looked like. I just remember that we talked a lot...he wanted to practice his English, and help me with my Spanish.
Everything came crashing down one afternoon in March. My entire life changed, and I altered the course of it, choosing the path that led me here. I left my friends, the round school and Spanish class behind and moved to the town where I now live to stay with my dad, step-mom, two younger brothers and a sister.
One evening while eating with my family, the phone rang, and it was Roberto. He had heard that I had been sick and was worried about me. We spoke, he in broken English and me in my poor Spanish. I spoke with my back to my family, who was looking on curiously, wondering who I was speaking Spanish to on the phone. I couldn't believe that he had called me. I don't remember what I told him. I just remember feeling almost moved to tears that he had been so considerate to check on me and see if I was okay. That was the last time I ever spoke to him.
I am having trouble writing this without giving the impression that he was a creepy teacher looking to take advantage of an innocent young girl. It never occurred to me until right now that it could seem that way to some people. I don't give a shit. Think what you want.
2 comments:
"I am having trouble writing this without giving the impression that he was a creepy teacher looking to take advantage of an innocent young girl."
Just wanted to say, it didn't sound that way at all to me as I was reading. It didn't even cross my mind as a possibility in the way you described him and your friendship together. I think you're a better writer than you give yourself credit for.
Thank you...I almost went back and deleted the post because it suddenly seemed like a silly thing to write about. But I remembered him and just felt like putting it down in words.
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