This is the twenty-first of 87 letters exchanged during World War II between Nicholas Salvatore and Elizabeth Galloway.
For more see Nicholas and Elizabeth.
Arizona, February 15, 1944
Please disregard and accept my apologies for the last letter. Story behind that has to do with this crazy girl who had much too much wine, listened to Billie Holiday, and started writing nonsense. Why it got mailed is still a mystery.
I hate it here. I’m afraid of getting stuck here forever and slowly dying, of fading out into nothingness like my father. But I’m afraid to leave. I tell people I’m staying for my mother, (and I am), but beyond that I’m afraid to try again. I don’t know where to go, I just know I don’t want to be here. I used most of the money I saved to get back here. I dream of getting lost in a place that is alive with creation, where things are always happening and always going forward – a place like Chicago. I’ll hold you to your promise of showing it to me when you get back. I find myself often these days doing my routines with my eyes closed (literally) in order to see how well I will do. I hope it’s not foreshadowing.
Next letter – February 24, 1944