Written by: Katherine Sanders
We walked to brunch in Alicante at 10 am. The streets were starting to fill with people again, awakening late after a night of dinner and dancing. Turning down a side street with garage doors and trash cans, I saw someone who sort of looked like me. It was the girl whose name some people accidentally called me in middle school. It was my chem lab partner from high school.
I stopped and said her name. “Katherine,” I said.
“From high school?” she replied.
She’s studying abroad in Alicante this semester. She was walking back to her apartment, where her mom waited for her.
The rest of the day, I repeated to myself, “I saw someone from high school.”
My high school held about 1,800 students with almost 400 in my grade all four years. I cannot fathom the chance of seeing someone from high school in a somewhat obscure Spanish city, let alone someone I was friends with and felt comfortable talking to.
Maddie’s best friend from high school, Maeve, studies in Dublin. We visited her during St. Patrick’s Day where she was kind enough to let us stay in her flat. Our visit was spent hanging out with her and her friends rather than site-seeing–a greatly needed break.
Maddie always told me that Maeve to her was like me to Maddie. Maeve to Maddie was like Maddie to me. I could see it that weekend. We all sat at their dinner table, talking about Maeve’s friends in the flat. “Maya is my Katherine,” Maeve said as she described her relationship to one of her flatmates. That made it easier to understand their relationship. Maeve to Maya is Maddie to me… Maya to Maeve is me to Maddie…
“My friend Meredith is in Boston right now… I’ll probably visit her in the fall this year…”
“Meredith is your Maeve.” Everyone nodded in understanding.
My friend from high school studied abroad in Barcelona the entire school year and will return to Montana in two days. He helped me pick out my first-day-of-high-school outfit and sat next to me in AP World History. We took French 1 together, but he majors in Spanish and I saw him in Barcelona this past weekend.
Saturday night, I directed Maddie and I toward the location he sent me. I looked up and on the balcony, he waved while looking down. “Come in the door with all the colorful paint on it.”
For two and a half hours, we sat and talked about our college lives. Although he has spent so much time away from home, he still carries conversations effortlessly. He tells stories with great impressions and large gestures, making me laugh since we were fourteen.
During the fall semester, I woke up every morning forgetting that I was in Georgia. The white light from the sun looked like the light reflecting off of snow. Nostalgia took over my life as every scene looked like something I had seen before when I was 17. My brain didn’t let me be 19. This spring, I was reminded of my past with a completely new backdrop, and my case of nostalgia is cured.
