My Argentine friend introduced me to another student in the business school. M. was two years younger and he had classic good looks with dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and thick, arching eyebrows. We studied together in the student union. We were just friends at first, but by the next semester he became my boyfriend. He brought me a red rose before we went to a fancy restaurant near campus. He told me about his family in Argentina. His grandfather had emigrated from Spain to become a sheep farmer in Argentina. His family now owned an estancia with milk cows in the pampas outside Buenos Aires. His father was an economics professor who worked in the Ministry of Economics during the military dictatorship. A secretary in the ministry was hanged because she knew too much about the dirty war.
M. was an outstanding student who routinely stayed in the library until early morning. I wasn’t nearly as dedicated to my studies. One night, he walked me home, gave me a peck on the cheek, and went back to the library. I broke up with him but we remained good friends. When he found out that I was staying in school for an extra semester to finish my international relations thesis, he offered me a room in his off campus house full of Argentines. When I told him that I’d interviewed with the CIA, he was shocked because of the agency’s history of backing coups. “How could you?” he said.