A Basque in Boise

37 grados

Every time 37 grados comes on the radio, I automatically flash back to 1987, the year the song was released. I first see the lyrics written on a 4×6 notepad, with that neat handwriting of hers, so similar to mine. Actually, the whole school had the same style, come to think of it. There were no computers or smart boards when I was in elementary school, so essays, homework and anything that required being written down was done by hand. I was lucky enough to be signed up by my mom for typewriting lessons in the 6th grade. I do owe the entirety of my education to my parents, who spent their whole lives giving up on things they wanted to pay for our university bills, but if I had to pick one thing out of the bunch, it would be those two years I spent pounding away on the Olivetti (añañañ slslslsl dkdkdk fjghfjgh), which allowed me to move forward in the world as technology evolved.

Then, I see her. My classmate was thin, thin and shy, with grades that were always off the charts. I remember her with her loose-fitting T-shirts, all gangly-looking, shooing the boys away.  She had glasses that were perpetually being pushed up from the top of her aquiline nose to that place between the eyes, a movement perfected, from what I’ve observed, by anybody who wears them. She was your typical classroom geek. She was also nice, helpful, and funny. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize until it was too late and then we parted ways after the 8th grade. The boys would pick on her and look down her boat neckline T-shirt to check out her boobs, and she’d yell at them to leave her alone, but it didn’t ever work, as they’d come back the next day and do the same thing to her.

Thanks for passing by: ↓

Diana Mark Bieter

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