This is the third of 87 letters exchanged during World War II between Nicholas Salvatore and Elizabeth Galloway.
For more see Nicholas and Elizabeth.
Thursday, August 12, 1943
Nights here waiting to ship out are the longest I’ve known since I was a boy. I often couldn’t sleep, I’d wake and hear my father crying and would be unable to fall back asleep. I was afraid to leave my room as he isn’t the kind to cry, at least not in front of anyone. But at night, late, when my grandmother was long asleep and no one else was around he would sometimes cry for what seemed like hours. I never knew if it was over my mom or his life or what. Whatever it was that kept him (and subsequently me) up, I feel like it has followed me here.
Please tell me about yourself. All I have to go by are the few hours we shared, and I’m beginning to think I may have made them up. I don’t sound like much of a medic do I? I assume that everyone is scared but they just seem to be doing a better job of hiding it I guess. I don’t know. Sorry, it’s late and I just… This is so strange you know? But please, do tell me about yourself. Anything, really. What’s your favorite song? Do like to go dancing? What are you doing in Texas? What can there possibly be there for you? Have you ever been to Chicago? No, you told me you haven’t. I’ll take you there someday. Show you all around my neighborhood and the city. It’s beautiful, especially at night.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if I want it to happen soon or not. This waiting is intolerable, but so is the picture of what it’ll be like out there. When the air raid sirens go off and the lights go out, it’s the only time that you can see all the stars in the sky. Funny.
Stay beautiful princess, and write soon.
Next letter – August 25, 1943