La escuela

You lose a lot of a language when you go two years hardly ever speaking it. So much so that they put me in class level that, for the most part, was subjects I had already learnt (and one important verb tense that I never had). This time I'll be sure to find a way to practice back home (cue the quick cuts of every time I said I'd keep up on something or keep in touch with someone).

My teacher is of the opinion that they put me in a level that was too low. "From your test scores it was the right level," she says, "but speaking to you it's obvious that you should have been placed higher." Certainly, the level they placed me at was more revision than learning. And, I didn't struggle, but picked everything up quickly.

The most difficult aspect was letting go of Argentina. Letting go of vos. Letting go of the L L. Learning tú. Learning the more common L L.

The most interesting part was our conversations. Which took up more time than the lesson plans. We spoke of our recently ended relationships, me with Audray, and her, her marriage. My health. Her son. Our complicated relationship with alcohol. Her hometown. My hometown. Her parents.

The most amusing topic was probably when we spoke about what we couldn't do in our home cities. Legally. And realistically. The most disturbing would be when she asked me who I admired and the only person I could think of was Audray. My teacher was of the opinion that I was still in love with her.

At the end of the week's classes, they sprung a test on me. Our conversations were not on it. I finished it quickly. Scored near perfect.