Chuck Bass

In the beginning, I did a lot of nodding and smiling, pretending to understand, laughing when other people laughed, being awkward. Now, with nearly two months under my belt, the disconnect is losing substance, and I’m starting to think in Spanish. More importantly, other people are starting to see that I understand, and I’m becoming more than just the exchange student who doesn’t get anything.

Every Friday we have a supplemental class called tutoria. It’s sort of like a homeroom, or advisory, except with 30 + people. This trimester, the students have been giving short speeches about Africa during this block. Some of them I found comical - “the animals of Africa include leopards, lions, and piranhas…” – others struck me as so general, they toed around offensive – “in Africa, the main food source is hunting.” And then there were some that I found interesting, with topics like the comparison between the treatment of women in regions with strong education systems and areas where few go to school. I began to think about what I would say in my speech.

My teacher during tutoria is Don Francisco. He’s tall, with birdlike features and thin, floppy hair that I imagine probably went through a great cowlick stage when he was a toddler. After the speeches had finished one Friday, I asked him when I would go. He looked at me, and shouted, “you mean you want to do this!?” as if I were crazy. “You? Want to do this?” A little taken aback, I replied that yes, I wanted to try because I wanted to improve my Spanish. And that’s how I ended up walking to the podium a week later, paper clenched in hand.

I had practiced reading it over and over the night before, concentrating on making all my Zs and Cs sound like “th” and rolling all my Rs. I opened my mouth and just let her loose, thankfully not having to think about looking up every few words as that came pretty naturally, thanks to practice from Model UN. My speech was about the negative effects of imperialism on various countries in Africa, focusing on the Congo Free State as an example (PS Dr. Naeher, I barely had to look anything up!).

By the time I finished, hinting at a correlation between the unrest of the Republic of Congo today and the unrest of its history, I felt my ears burning and I knew I was red as a tomato. I was surprised, though further embarrassed when everyone told me how well I had pronounced everything, and that they were shocked that I could actually speak Spanish.

In the end, I won a little laser pointer, which I have actually been enjoying tremendously. After each speech, every one voted, and mine was voted one of the top ten. Other people won things like incognito glasses (with the nose and the mustache) and little stuffed tigers.

Ever since, class has started to get a little more interesting. In classes with Don Franscisco, economics and philosophy, he’s started calling on me to answer questions. The other day we had an argument about Skinner’s stimuli/response theory of psychology. I don’t know what it’s called in English, but Skinner’s basic argument is that psychology should only consider stimuli and the responses they solicit, and that consciousness and personality are void because you can’t prove they exist.

Afterwards, the girl who sits a few seats behind me, Cristina, mentioned that she was surprised about how much I understood. I was ecstatic to hear that, not because I needed a second opinion (I knew I understood), but because it meant that other people could see that I understood. I had been getting so sick of asking questions in Spanish and listening to my classmates struggle to reply in English because they thought I just didn’t get it. But now, the dynamic is changing, and maybe the playing field is starting to level off.

The next day I saw Cristina walking home from school on my way to the library. I caught up to her and we walked together. She told me that she was going to be going on an exchange program to the US, living with a family in VT for three weeks. Wait. VERMONT?! DUDE!!! I SORT OF LIVE THERE! So I told her she had to let me know when she would be there so I could show her around. Just as she was about to turn the corner to her house, she asked me where I was eating. I told her I would pick something up at the market, or something. She looked horrified. “Ven comigo para comer!” I told her no, it’s ok, I didn’t mind eating alone, but she insisted. So, excited to have made a new friend, I accompanied her to the second floor of a gray building across the street from a small bakery.

I opened the door to the smell of tomato sauce, and to the feeling of a bird pecking at my feet. I looked down and was shocked to see a chicken – or something – on top of my shoe. “Chuck! Que haces?!” Cristina laughed. She scooped him up and explained to me as we headed to the kitchen that Chuck (named after Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl) was a partridge that a friend of her father’s had given her. She liked having a partridge better than a dog or a cat because he was a lot cleaner and didn’t smell. Ok, I thought. I’ll have to make friends with him.

In the kitchen we found her father slicing pieces of jamon, just the way Carlos had taught me. He said hello, and that he hoped I liked spaghetti.

After helping set the table, we all sat down to eat and watched some Spanish news. After we finished eating, he asked me what I wanted to eat tomorrow… surprised but pleased that I was invited again, I said that whatever they were having I’m sure I would enjoy. But he, like his daughter, insisted, so I caved and admitted that I had been dying for some vegetables. The next day when Cristina and I arrived at her house for lunch, there was a pile of roasted red peppers and a plate full of tomatoes waiting for us on the table, watched over by Chuck.

So, I’ve been making more friends, getting comfortable in school, and enjoying soccer. But there are some vital aspects of my life that are missing, namely, Phoebe Long. Ever since sixth grade when we were next-door neighbors, we had a bond. We always enjoyed spending time together, obsessing over High School Musical or Miley Cyrus. But what reminded me of her today was Cristina. Because, like Cristina, she always welcomed me into her home and treated me like part of her family, so while Cristina is no Phoebe substitute, it’s wonderful to have found someone as accepting as her while I’m so far from home.