Please Mister Postman, 2:34
"Espera," shouts the teen, running down the hill, asking the man to wait.
"Lo siento, Derek," the postmaster apologizes. He'd gotten to know the Canadian teen well during his nine week stay in Segovia, Spain.
"Gracias," he says, shrugging. "Hasta mañana."
"Derek," the older man catches his arm. "Ella te escribirá. Te prometo."
She'll write to you. I promise.
"No conoces a Casey," Derek Venturi laughs.
You don't know Casey.
"Pero, tu novia..."
But, your girlfriend...
"Ay, no!" He looks around, and leans towards him. "She's my stepsister."
Smiling at the boy's stealth—study-abroad students were supposed to speak Spanish their entire stay—the postman answers, "Ah. Pues, ¿es importante, no?"
"Yeah," Derek smiles, "she's important. Just, no le diga a ella."
Don't tell her that.
Grinning, the postmaster nods. "Adíos, Derek. Buena suerte."
Good luck.
"Gracias. Lo necesito."
Thanks, I need it.
"Y, ¿Derek?"
"¿Sí?"
"Díle que le quieres."
Tell her you love her.
"Ya he dicho. Antes de que salí."
I already have. Before I left.
"¿Y?"
And?
He smirks, "Ella me quiere. Dijo que por siempre"
She loves me. Forever, she said.
"Entonces, ¿porqué has esperado para una carta?"
Then, why have you been waiting for a letter?
"Ella me prometó que escribiera todos los días."
She promised to write every day.
"Tienes una buena cosa con ella."
You have a good thing with her.
"Sí, yo sé."
Yeah, I know.