The stranger stood for sometime off. He made sidelong glances at times. They were obvious in the setting sun - the light made harsh shadows on everything across the ship. All was stark relief at the moment. The resting of the sun into the sea opposite the shore of the Alaskan wilderness seem to take much longer than I could ever remember in my life. (I can almost recall a time, one of those weird summer days, that seem to have stretched into 10 o'clock one night.) It was 7:30 pm now. It was bright as it was at one.
I stared at his attentions in exhaustion. I did not want to abandon my spot here on the starboard common deck. I was enjoying the time alone. He smiled in a weak attempt to elicit something ("WHAT!?") but it was dashed as it met my discourteous frown. He sulked off to port. I would never see him again the entire trip.
In three days' time, as I was to go ashore for Barrow (my recent head cold subsiding), I found a note. It was enveloped by crisp, heavy-gauge brown. There was a single card. The stranger had flowing cursive, made the more interesting since no one our age wrote like this anymore:
"Overboard"
here you are, and am I, only winning your tepid glare
I followed the sun from the recesses of the workman's prow
and found something far greater standing there
and what was this? that could shame the vaulted throne of all?
that would it could part itself in twain it's light to disavow
and allow it's lesser cloak, the very slip of night, let fall
I know I am the epitome of the plain my features are but weak
but look on me not in derision but rather with an eye oblique
(but if tepid glare is all I get then better then naught at all)
I put the card back in its slip and went to Barrow hoping to score some molly. I'll ignore the guy if I see him again and he'll get the hint. They always do.
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