Setaú úta (setauuta) wrote,
Setaú úta

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Word from Mateo

I got this email from Matthew (aka Mateo) in response to a long, rambling email I'd written to him. He's one of the people I didn't realize I had such a close relationship with until I was gone.

Ah-ha! What miracle be this? Stephie, my confident-beyond-compare has
reversed the roles and confided a few of her thoughts in me! How wonderful and
how rarely precedented! *ahem*

Your state yields mixed musings, fair Shtephie. I am naturally pleased at your
transformation to Shtephie, Shakespearean scholar extraordinare and even more
selfishly delighted at your imminent return. As I've said time and time again,
you are missed here, and I am not alone in this opinion. Many have been the
comrades who have charged up to me excitedly and cried, "Do you realize
it's only another (various time period) until Stephie comes home?" I myself
have experienced a number of "false Stephie sightings" where-in I spy some
raven-hared lady off in the distance, delude myself into thinking you've come
home early, and rush up to the bewildered passer-by only to meet bitter
disapointment. These things I tell you are all too true, I have been known to
jest, but I've always known when sincerity is called for.

However, I'm sorry to hear that the future has become that much more ambiguous
and even more so to learn that the whole experience--socially at least--has
seemed like a return to . . .High School. For what its worth, I sympathize
with your specific woes. This Thanksgiving I'll have to defend my choice of
major against the matriarchs three (my mother and two grandmothers all of whom
have decided that math is the proper course for me) and even at Reed I've felt
alone and universely uncared of from time to time. Where it not for Eric's
familiarity and Julia's unbound kindness I would be in far worse straits, BUT,
these are not matters I wish particularly to dwell upon. What must be said is
this--regardless of your situation in London, it goes without saying that it
shall speedily be corrected upon your return, many hands have seen to this.

Ah, one more thing must be spoken of before I succomb to the sweet, siren spell
of sleep. Last Saturday one more glorious misadventure of Mateo unfolded.
First off, that day was Carrie's birthday, and a collosal salsa party was
prepared a mere wall away. I tried my best not to attend. Although Jessica
continually hounded me and assured me I was welcome, I knew better. There is a
curious friction between Carrie and I, and I know somehow that I am responsible
for it, but have yet to piece together how. Nevertheless, I avoided the awkard
event with all my substantial stealthy power, but was in the end caught as they
lowered the pinata. I was blinded, disoreintated, and dispatched to slay the
paper-mache monster. The result is blurred in my memory, and it would serve me
to keep it so. Allow me to say, simply, that my performance was not up to par,
and that I remember only falling down aproximently 7 steps in my stupor and
recall all too vivedly being pelted with candy to the tune of Carrie's giggles.
I left shortly thereafter.

I had other, far more pleasing plans for that evening. The Leonid meteor
shower was scheduled to start about 1 pm and Eric and I resolved to make the
most of it. Together with his self-constructed automaton girlfriend (don't
ask) we prepared a trip to Mt. Hood for the occasion. The night couldn't have
gone more perfectly. We made our preparations, navigated with astonishing
competence, and finally arrived in the shadow of Mt. Hood, at about 3,500 ft.
The weather itself--cloudy all the week before, but perfectly clear that one
day alone--was on our side. Donning as many layers of clothing as possible, we
lay down on the hood of my still-warm car, watching the stars as they streaked
through their show.

And what a show it was, fair Stephie! Never have I seen meteors of such size,
light, and frequency! So great were the meteors, that after one winked out of
existence in its final blaze, it left a glowing trail of residue for five
seconds thereafter! I fear it truly defied proper description, and as we
stared at this wondrous specacle, a fine, melodious mixture of hot cocoa and
coffee was produced along with crackers, salami, and very fine cheese. The
company, too, proved equally up to the excellence at hand. It was a wonderful
outing, one that did my very being immeasurable good.

Ah, I fear I am weary and must retire, Stephie. The great scholastic crunch is
upon us all, and we require regeneration. Fortunately such a spirit-lifting
gift is near at hand--you will be with us soon enough.
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