I lost you that day when you boarded a ship for Germany, never to be seen by me again. You didn't have a first class ticket, like all the ladies and gentlemen aboard. You snuck on the ship, stowed away among the Christmas trees from Oregon. For weeks you hid there, smoking your tobacco stash through a small hole in the ship's belly. But one day, as you were slinking around the ship's bowels, looking for a way to entertain the isolation and boredom, you stumbled upon the crew's dressing room, For another week you hid in your hole with that stolen uniform, contemplating the consequences should you be discovered impersonating a crew member. The next night, well into the wee hours as you lay away on the floor, you finally got the courage to put on the uniform and ascend the stairs.
The deck was deserted, or so you thought. Suddenly a glass shattered on the ground. Startled, you wheeled around and laid eyed on the most beautiful damsel-in-distress you had ever seen. She had just dropped her night-cap and needed help finding her room. From that moment on you were in paradise. Impersonating a crew member, living on the fringe benefits of that posh position by day, and having passionate encounters with your new mistress in her quarters late at night.
But you never reached Germany. I only received one letter from you, at first because you were unable to write and then because you tired of waiting for your return, so that we could be united again. As you were dying you wrote me. You had been infected by a parasite from the trees and had passed it onto your new lover. You knew that neither of you would make it. I imagined that your bodies were thrown overboard for fear of infecting the shores of Germany. Serves you right. Karma is a bitch.
