Today I received the saddest message from my Spanish teacher Natalia. I suppose I should be happy for her, for returning home to Madrid for the first time in say a billion years. And it’s not like I wasn’t forewarned. She’d only been planning the return for nearly a year. But after the ticket snafu that preempted her flight a year ago, I took it for granted that she’d really be staying in San Francisco forever, despite all the subtle clues, like shopping for a ticket, stuff like that.
So I sent her an e-mail to reschedule our bi-weekly conversation hour from Tuesday to Wednesday for blah blah reasons. And she responded to tell me that last Saturday, she bought her ticket, and she’s going home on Monday. That means today. Who knows, she could be in the air right now as I type.