Spanish Short Stories

Walking into the warm, brick classroom, I was greeted once again by the single, depressingly orange wall. The Spanish teacher had tried to cover it with an excessively large calendar to no avail; the wall that was supposed to liven up the room was forever the antithesis of its purpose. Since the school year began, I stared at that wall, sitting between my best friend at the time and the only other freshman in the class. That day, however, the teacher had finally come up with a seating chart, putting my back to the wall and me just one seat down from him. I hadn’t noticed him before, with his nearly straight bangs covering his bushy eyebrows and crooked, peg-toothed smile. I almost got away with not noticing him at all as I sat down and opened my bag, only to jump as he yelled at the teacher, who was five …show more content…
I’m unafraid to say that I love him deeply. But I would also be lying if said that I haven’t felt fear of “I’ve been wasting my time because he’s going to leave me eventually.” But at the same time, I’m also going to die eventually so does it really matter? Maybe ESP doesn’t exist and that hot September day when I first met him was some sort of fluke. My brain created false memories once I thought back on it months later. And maybe it was. At that moment, I didn’t gather that he was the eleventh out of thirteen children, or that he would eventually get accepted into Michigan State University only nine days after sending in his application, or anything about his sister Ana, who practically raised him. Nothing told me about how he would nervously make up an excuse to hold my hand on our first date or about our first kiss in a mall food court a few months later. I didn’t know how much he loves the saxophone, or even that his name was Sam! I learned nothing remotely significant about him that day. All I knew is that he would be important to me and that is good