Friday, October 18th, 1974

I am starting to get really sick of James ignoring Christopher and me. 

Not only does it feel like he never cared about our little friend group, but it's especially annoying during our classes! In history, he only acknowledges me because we’re doing a mini-project on our new World War I unit. In engineering, he pretends I don’t exist and sits on the opposite side of our class. During P. E., he only slightly nods in my direction when we’re paired up for baseball practice, and for the rest of our days, he just turns the other way and talks to nobody! He doesn’t even talk to the sweet, goody-goodies like Peter Taylor or Klaudius Schmidt!

Fed up with this muggy Friday afternoon, I directly pressed James about why he won’t even talk to us. Of course, that moody buzzkill kept silent, crossed his arms and leered at me. Huffing at the silence, I then asked why he wouldn't even speak to the French students, since he’s from Quebec. I guessed maybe they at least understood each other on a surface level. James instantly sneered at the idea and grumpily replied: “The French I speak is traditional and theirs is simplified!” 

Then the Québécois stomped away from me in the main red hallway, as some students leered at both of us like they were annoyed. To which they were, but at the time I assumed they were only curious about what happened. I awkwardly scratched the back of my head, wondering if what I really said was that bad. I turned around and saw Martin, the moody student from France, shake his head at me.

“We do not speak the same kind of French, you idiot.” He then purposely bumped shoulders with me and walked off with the French and Swiss-French students.

Well, that’s my ignorance worsening our friendship.

…

The 6 PM sun once again had gradually sunk from the sky, and nightfall approached. This evening, Sergio and I were seriously into our music listening session, comfortably sitting on the room’s main grey couch, hearing recent radio songs in our amused silence. Sergio gently sipped from a glass of lemonade he had in his left hand, as the radio station disc jockey, who spoke in a calm Welsh accent, spoke up.

“What a lovely tune, could start crying just at the mere mention of the song’s title… and now, here we have another lovely tune by the legendary Sir Paul McCartney and his band, Wings. Band on the Run, playing right now.”

As the melodic guitar riffs played and the melodramatic vocals flowed, Sergio let out a sigh and shook his head. Something in his glassy eyes had screamed deep emotions I'd never seen before, and I slowly sat up straight. “Ah, talk about relating to the lyrics. We’re trapped in these walls and aren’t leaving until we graduate and work for our home countries' militaries.” 

Lifting my head, I tilted it in confusion. I wasn’t expecting a pessimistic sentence from someone who was mellowed like my friend: “Woah, what’s with the downer vibes, Sergi? Everything alright on your end?” 

The freshman from Mexico shook his head as he let down his glass of lemonade, “... It’s nothing.”

Out of pity, I gave a strong pat on the back to Sergio. Though instead of laughing at my antics, he could only sigh and slightly push himself away. “Please don’t do that, Basil.”

“Snaps, my bad.” I awkwardly thumbs-upped as I turned off the radio. “... You wanna talk about it? No one ever comes to the first-floor music room, and you know that I’m not a snitch like Vincenzo.”

Pressing the tip of his hand against the bridge of his nose, Sergio leaned forward and whispered a pretty important secret; he was incredibly homesick. “Todos los días, me despierto preguntándome si mis hermanas están bien. La salud de mi abuela no es la mejor, y odio esta academia por no dejarnos hablar por teléfono con nuestras familias.”

Though I didn’t quite understand a few words he said, I did know something was wrong with his grandmother, and he wished he could call home. To be fully honest, with the way my Mother and I last spoke to each other before I left, I was a little relieved I couldn’t talk to her until Winter Break. Though I desperately missed my little peppy sisters, so within my heart, I understood where my friend was coming from. 

“Hey man, I get that you miss your family... Times like these make me really wish the adult losers would let the little guys like us at least call home once a month like the rest of the students.” A sudden homesickness lurked in my heart, but I wasn’t going to let bad vibes get in the way of our day. Taking a deep breath, I sharply turned to my saddened friend and grinned. “Hey, I wonder if your sisters are like mine?” 

“Hm? Ah, all my sisters are older than me, and one of them is going to be married next year.” Sergio nodded his head in approval. 

“Really? All of mine are younger than me; the smallest, Tamara, is only four years old.” 

“Only four?” Sergio squinted his eyes and then jolted in his seat. “Wow, I guess our sisters are nothing alike, huh? Mine are thinking about marriage and having jobs, while yours are still playing with dolls.”

“... Actually, my sisters like to bite each other's ankles and play in the mud.”

“Hah! Really?!” 

“You bet, and they all learned from yours truly!" I smugly pointed to myself with an exaggerated New Yorker accent. "I’m willing to bet when we go back home this Christmas, they’ll be jumping on my back like always.” 

“Wow, your little sisters are something else!” Seeing Sergi's face brighten as he snickered was a treat, and we both ended up laughing so loud that the music keeper at the front hushed us. But we continued to chat in near-silence.  “... Gracias por hacerme reír, realmente necesita un poco de buen rollo.” 

“Everyone needs a little cheering up, so I’m glad I could help, bud.” We fist-bumped and decided to go our separate ways. After all, it was nearly 7 PM, and by this point, going back to the Canadian dorm to chillax with Chris seemed like a pretty swell idea. Catching the scent of strong vanilla cologne, I turned towards the left and realized Vincenzo was running down the main red hallway in my direction. I wasn’t too happy seeing this bitch, but like always I played the game and casually grinned. “What’s up, Vincent?” 

“Are you still calling me that ridiculous name?” The Italian rich kid stopped in his tracks and folded his arms, like he always did whenever he was being whiny. I silently nodded with a shit-eating grin; Vincenzo replied with a long, annoyed sigh. “Whatever. Basil, you and I will study together for our upcoming history test.” 

This was the first time this brat actually wanted to study with me, even though he had emphasized a while back that he preferred being tutored by the "smarter", older students. I guess today was my very unlucky day; I don’t think he’ll learn from me, nor will I be willing to learn anything from him. 

Vincenzo, ever so kindly, grabbed my hand like a Mother about to lecture her child and led me to the Italian dorm on the opposite side of our white dorm hall. The younger Italian twin swung his door open, only to find Amadeo standing on his bed in his light pink pyjamas, singing as if he were on stage. It looked like he used a small, white blanket like a shawl, as he struck a sassy pose as he looked toward the window, away from Vincent and me.

Unlike most dorms in this school, the Italians had a mini-radio on their shared desks, which played a song I’d never heard before:

Pazza idea di far l'amore con lui,

Pensando di stare ancora insieme a te,

Folle, folle, folle idea di averti qui,

Mentre chiudo gli occhi e sono sua.

I won’t lie, Amadeo sounded really off-key, but the experience of Vincenzo looking scared for his life and his twin being a closet-disco queen was hilarious! A small chuckle escaped my mouth at the silliness of it all, as the older twin brother quickly turned around, emitted a high-pitched scream, and threw pillows at Vincent. “Vattene! Idiota fratello!!!” 

Before the soft, green pillows could reach our faces, Vincent slammed the door shut and glanced at me, red-faced from embarrassment. “... You know what? How about we study in the library?”

“Or, I have a crazy idea-” 

Vincenzo instantly clicked his teeth at the pun referring to the song.

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah, let’s go to the library.” I replied, desperately holding my laughter.

… 

Our hour-long study session was a lame one, nothing but reading our textbooks. But I did find something amusing; a lot of boys, for some reason, were humming songs I recognized. 

In the middle of our boring study session, Peter Taylor was humming ‘Eleanor Rigby’ by The Beatles as he was browsing around the epicentre of the library. I even caught him twirling around as he found the book he was looking for; it was really amusing. Not ‘cause I have a problem with the ballerina-like moves, but seeing Peter always being himself unapologetically was something I was a little jealous of. 

Though I wasn’t envious of the name-calling he endured after class.

As Vincenzo and I went our separate ways, by the cozy, candle-lit front of our beautiful library, I spotted Leandro. But unlike most days, he was by himself, reading a book. Goddamn, I didn’t know he could read! Walking behind him, I realized he was ever-so-silently humming ‘Te quiero, te quiero’ by Nino Bravo, a song Sergio introduced to me earlier today! Talk about a funny coincidence; two dudes who infamously loathe each other were talking about and humming the same song on the same day. 

As much as I wanted to parade that fact, Leandro would probably kick my ass if I talked to him. That dude’s bad news because he’s somewhat close with Vincenzo and has a nasty temper. 

Exiting the library with a pep in my step, I decided to pass by the music room down to my left one more time, just because I needed another stress reliever. Turns out, at the back of the music room where Sergio and I usually sat, several students from Scandinavia were all having a little ‘karaoke’ night. 

When I curiously poked my head around the corner, on the record player, Leiv Vollen, a snobby brat from my Block, was about to sing a song called ‘Barn au regnbuen’ by Lillebjorn Nilsen. The entire time, the older students were laughing at Leiv’s embarrassment. They were speaking in their native tongues, but from what I could tell, it was clear that they were teasing the Norwegian boy.

One of the older students from Norway, with a glass of milk in one hand, exclaimed. “Du taper veddemålet, så må du synge denne teite barnsangen!” 

Beats me what that means, but it couldn’t have been good. 

Not wanting to be a part of whatever they were doing, I exited the music room with the new idea of just going back to my dorm. Down the main red hallway where our classes were, I ran into Klaudius. We both said hello to each other, had a very short conversation about our upcoming history test, and went our separate ways. But just as we headed away, I overheard him humming the beginning of the song ‘Kristallo’ by the band Kraftwerk, a melody I heard last week with Sergio by complete chance.

“Hey, Klaudius!” 

“Hm? Something wrong?” He shyly asked, his back still turned. 

“That’s that one song from Kraftwerk, right?” 

In an instant, as I’ve never seen before, his hazel irises lit up like magic, and he gasped in surprise. “You know of Kraftwerk???” 

“Not much, but I listened to their album from last year with Sergio. I wasn’t a fan of the music, but I remember this song.” I gave a thumbs up as Klaudius nodded in understanding and went back to walking to wherever he needed to be. 

Once I arrived at my dorm, I quietly opened the door and found James alone. He was in the bathroom, shaving his stubble, loudly singing ‘American Woman’ by The Guess Who.

American woman, gonna mess your mind! 

Mmm, American woman, gonna mess your mind! 

American woman, gonna mess your mind!

Though the feelings of anger and confusion stirred in the pit of my stomach, why ruin a good day? With a big grin on my dumb face, I knocked on the door to let that crabby Québécois know I was here. Without saying a word, I began singing along in a low pitch, “American woman! Stay away from me!” 

“... American woman! Mama, let it be!” He comically sang in a low tone. 

Both of us broke into laughter: “So, James, you’re finally starting to come around, huh?”

In an instant, the Québécois deeply frowned, turned back to our silver bathroom mirror, and continued shaving the peach fuzz he called a 'beard'. “Oh, shaddap, will ya?” 

“Thanks for no longer ignoring me, Commander Caribou.” 

“Fuck outta here, Basil!” 

And with that, he shut the door on me. To be honest, while the door slam was definitely a mood killer, I was at least satisfied knowing I got him and me to sing together. Shame that Christopher wasn’t here to witness this legendary moment, but I’ll tell him about this when the time's right.