to Matthew Paris

I don't recall if I sent this letter, but I thought it was important enough to make a photocopy and keep it in a box for 11 years. I never spoke again to the young man who is the object of this affection. I did make edits because it was really long. Crazy long. No wonder this kid never talked to me again.

July 27, 1998

I listened to you talk for six hours. It doesn't seem that long; a short work shift, a day at school, the drive to Mexico or Oklahoma. In six hours a lot or absolutely nothing can happen. I know I've watched TV for six hours straight or talked on a computer, staring and trying to make sense of a screen.

I don't think I said much. At some point you invited my thoughts but they weren't at the ready. The scene was set for listening. Me who does all the talking, all the demanding, was speechless or perhaps more aptly, without thought. For the most part, I felt stupid. Speaking a risk, especially about yourself. Something that view of language does not take into account is what is revealed by listening. Words, phrases, movements add depth to the content of the dialogue. That's why it sucks to talk when I don't have complete control. Well maybe not complete, that can get quite tedious.

What I learned wasn't anything about anthropology. The subject/object line I have heard before. Besides if you don't have that, you don't have anything unless you have a simple alternative. "Just is" is a catchy phrase, but it falls short in explication because of the limits of our language. It stands to reason that syntax and semantics is based on such Western ideals, but our language -based on the Indo-European root- precedes Descartes and perhaps even Aristotle. (Who as you say is the source of all such problems)

Anyway, the point is I had seen it before. Ideas from books are applicable only to the individual. I think you made that point yourself. What one person takes away and uses makes up the meaning. A kernel is kept inside the brain to stumble over and wonder why does that keep coming up? An idea is so small in comparison to the world, it's value lies not in itself but in the patterns it helps to make.

I've been noticing some patterns, thanks to you. A few things fell together in that magic Joyce created, epiphany. (If can only hope my achievement in life was to define a human emotion. He wrote a long pretentious book too boot, the man must have been a god.) The most striking thing I noticed is that I don't actually know any one who is interesting. I read interesting things in books; things and people and stories, but in real life the people I com across are good for a few laughs, a shoulder to pout on, ventilation, etc. Now I guess hardly anyone actually knows someone who is interesting. Interesting being based on the breadth and width of personality that spans across five minutes, but six hours?

If you said everything there is interesting about you in six hours or in five days, it doesn't matter much. If I tried the same thing, I'd talk about my interests; maybe mention a few bands, some academics, it would last five minutes before I'd apologize and say, "I don't know, I guess there isn't much." Truth is there is more, everyone has more. Most people can't talk about it. They are hardly willing to embrace themselves much less ready to systematically present it for critique.

Is that what it means to be an interesting person? The ability to hold some one's attention to silence them with interest?

Listening to you was like getting sucked into a great biography on A&E. You realize you are not actively participating but you want to know what happens next. Not how the story ends but what happens along the way.

Why don't I know anyone like this? Where do you all hang out? Denton? Athens, GA? It's a part of my life missing in College Station. I keep thinking about leaving this place and looking for something novel and inspiring out there. I'm looking for flashpoint of innovation. Someone interesting, I suppose?

There is so much about those six hours to think about. I'd like to write a short story about it, but when I try I leave out all the most important parts. It's a story about the South, of lineage and matriarchy, lost causes, brilliant youth and an honorable trade. The making of a story in the tradition of a new south. Sadly, you are the one with the great story and I'm just the appreciative listener.

Well it's late, I'm tired, and Pinkerton is over. For the most part, this is what I would have said if I had two days to mull it over and then call and tell you. Have fun in Athens and all your chosen adventures. Take care.

Stephanie