Dear Stu

Dear Stu
My ship was called the USS Strong, DD-758. Every time we went out to sea, they served spaghetti. After two years stationed in Italy, I had my share of spaghetti. I ate toast with peanut butter and jam. Only half the crew could eat at one time, because the other half of the crew had to hold the trays down so they wouldn’t roll off the table every time a wave hit us. About an hour later, everyone was walking around with a black garbage bag in their back pocket. I called it the Black Plague. Two hours later, I was the only radio man still on his feet. I had to man the radios, send out messages, and receive and send “dear john” letters.
It was Stu’s last sea duty. He was scheduled for discharge as soon as we pulled into port. I was concerned that Maria hadn’t replied to Stu’s telegram. I thought she would be excited that he was getting out. This was Stu’s third message I was sending out and I convinced Stu that Maria wasn’t worth the aggravation and stress he was going through. He grudgingly agreed and wrote a scathing third letter that read: “this is my third and final attempt to reach you. Why are you doing this to me? Don’t you know what is running through my head-knowing you can do anything you want-see anyone you want-We have been through this before, and I won’t stand for it any longer. If you don’t reply immediately, we are through”. I read it three times, thinking this will show her who’s boss. Stu will thank me later. And I sent it.
Shortly before we pulled into port, Stu ask if I heard from her. I said no and he said, “That bitch”. And that was the last time I saw Stu until I rang his doorbell in Columbia, South Carolina nearly 13 months later.
After a short stop over, in Charleston, South Carolina, we set sail again. I was desperate to start classes at Charleston College, but we were somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea. I received a wire from a Pennsylvania congressman that told me they granted me an early out from the service: a lot of good that did me watching the endless waves and no land in sight. Just then I heard the sky rumble with the blades of a helicopter.
I looked up and I realized the pilot was making a supply drop. My CO said to me if I wanted to leave, this was my chance. I radioed the helicopter and said I could be ready in ten minutes. My bag was already packed and I just threw in a few things that I had lying around. When I got back to the deck, there was a rope ladder hanging down from the helicopter. I realized he couldn’t land on a destroyer, so I took a deep breath and climbed gingerly up the ladder. The sea winds were blowing and I swayed back and forth, the duffel bag weighing me down. I thought I saw Davey Jones locker and decided not to look down again. I was panting and huffing when they dragged me onto the copter. I gave the peace sign to the guys laughing at my antics on the ladder and we were off to freedom.
The pilot dropped me off on a strange island, and he never told me its name. I saw the office building and went in to arrange a flight back to the states. The duty officer asked me my name and pulled out my papers. He looked down with a concerned look and said, “You haven’t had your shots yet. Have you?” I didn’t have any idea what he was referring to and I gave him a blank stare. He told me there is no record of tetra, malaria, or any booster shots. I told him about my hasty exit. “Well, you can’t leave the island until you have the required shots”. I rolled my sleeve up and hoped he didn’t have another place he had to shoot me up. After the shots, I asked when the next flight was. “You can’t leave until we get the results of the shots. That should take a least a week” he said.
Wow. I thought, I am technically out of the Navy and I have a week in paradise. A little angelic boy showed me to my room. I hurriedly changed into a t-shirt and shorts and ran excitedly toward the beach. There were no uniforms, no sign of any military life; just smiling men, women and children all with brilliant white enameled teeth. I couldn’t avoid their eyes as they seemed like magnified rays of various hues boring into mine. I was suddenly inundated with a surreal peaceful understanding. Was I dreaming? Am I in another dimension like that moment in the Bermuda Triangle when the ship lost all communication with the outside world? The clear azure water lapped the shore like a swing casting a growing, then receding shadow. The waters stretched forever meeting only the endless billowy blue horizon sky. The beach was soft brilliant white sand, fine as sugar poured into coffee. I later learned the island was called Siganella.
A strange girl came toward me, her auburn eyes glued to mine. She seemed to know me, but that was impossible. She grabbed my arm and put a carefully folded note into my hand. She said, “Tell him I was wrong. I never wanted to hurt him. “Who, I asked, but she floated by me and I watched her disappear behind an outcropping of jagged rocks. I put the note in my wallet without reading it and soon I imagined that she was just another stranger in paradise.
Little cherub boys came to my room and polished my shoes every day. The week flew by and soon I was sitting on the floor of a C-5 cargo plane with propellers on each side heading toward the States. When I returned to Charleston to begin my new major in Business Administration, I couldn’t get Stu and his weepy sea blue eyes out of head. His apartment was in nearby Columbia, and one day I traveled down there to unravel the mystery of Maria.
He opened the door and I could sense something off kilter.”Ski, come in” he said. It was foggy and steamy. He was in his bathrobe-his hair still wet. He offered me a drag and a beer. I accepted both. The last chord from his guitar hung in the fog like the sound of a whale braying for his lost mate. He played an Elvis tune “Can’t help falling in love,” and then he said. “I want you to have this”. “Why.” I asked. “I’m done playing” he replied. The guitar was maroon and had his initials engraved on the neck. He told me that after we pulled into port, the CO called him down to the deck and told him Maria was killed in a car accident. The CO couldn’t tell him earlier because there was no way of getting him off the ship. His parents were there to take him home. Incredibly, they filmed her funeral in case he wanted to see it. I didn’t know what to say, the guilt rose up from my feet and I know its color was red. Wasn’t it me that convinced him to give her that last ultimatum? She was dead when I sent the last message out.
He pointed to a calendar on the wall. It was hers. There were dates circled in red. Meet J. at park. Meet J. at beach.
Who was J.? His parents denied any knowledge of J. On the day she died she circled the date, and she was to pick up J. Stu told me he went to the library and tried to find any newspaper entry about the crash but there was only Maria’s obituary.
I remembered the note I had placed in my wallet. I pulled it out and saw it was addressed to Stu. I handed it to him and he looked at me strangely and asked, “Where did you get this? This is her handwriting!”
I described the girl I had met in Siganella. “That’s Maria,” he said. But she’s dead”. He opened the note and it read:
Stu:
Can you ever forgive me? I was lonely and you were at sea it seemed forever. I didn’t know it would lead to something more than friendship. But I still loved you and I was going to break it off. Jeff was angry and my tears blinded my vision. The tree came out of nowhere. I know I’m not in heaven, but it is so peaceful and lovely here. I knew your friend was just passing through, and I could feel you through him. I love you, Stu….always.

I drove back to Charleston that night. I never heard from Stu again. I still play “Can’t help falling in love.” And I will never forget that vision of the girl with auburn hair disappearing behind those gray jagged rocks.