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Teacher

27 September, 2012

CC’s recent classroom story got me thinking back to when I took Spanish classes a few years back. Some of this story is true, some is fiction. See if you can guess where the joins are…

 

The class was filled with the near-silence of strangers. At the rear, two friends chatted in whispers while the rest of the room waited for seven o’clock to arrive. I fiddled with my pens, straightened my Spanish dictionary on the desk, checked again that my phone was on silent. I looked around the room, half-smiled to those whose eye I met, read the posters on the wall.

The door opened with a squeak, and each of the twenty students turned to see a pretty, no a beautiful, stunning young woman enter the room, struggling with a large bag. She looked around the room with dark eyes. The desk next to mine was empty, and I prayed that she would somehow choose to sit there, that we could be study partners, friends. Lovers? Soul mates? Spouses? Life partners?

Her deep, vivacious lips smiled vaguely to the room as she walked to the front, and I felt a disappointment that we would be seated three rows apart. But that disappointment vanished when she placed her bag on the front desk and wrote her name, her wonderfully exotic Spanish name, on the board. So this gorgeous girl was to be our teacher. Monday nights were going to be fun.

After a few introductions, our new teacher asked each pupil in turn if they knew any phrases of Spanish already. “Hola”, “adios”, “gracias”, “dos cervezas por favor” were well known. She asked what I knew. A few phrases, I said with a modest shrug. Such as? Umm, well there’s “te amo” for example, and “chica guapa” and “que bonita eres” and “besar” and “joder”… She giggled, brought a hand to her blushing face, her eyes flashing excitedly to me. She recovered herself, moved on to the next student.

 

When the class finished, after I had packed my books away, I approached her desk, offered to help her with her bag. She accepted with a smile, and we walked to her car.
“I was impressed with your knowledge,” she said, pronouncing the W in the last word in that sexy, Mediterranean accent that made my breath stop, my throat dry, my heart quicken, “and I think maybe you should swap classes.”
“That would be a shame,” I said, placing her bag on the back seat, “I was looking forward to you being my teacher.” That same giggle again, her hand to her face.
“You think I should be in a higher class?” I asked her.
“Maybe,” she replied, “but mainly it’s because I never get involved with students. So if you were in my class, then I couldn’t do this…”

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4 Comments
  1. TheOthers1 permalink

    Now why did you cut me off like that?

  2. You are silly…I could tell it was ALL true!

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