A Letter from Long Ago

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Hazel Ann Pyper,
I hope you're doing swell. It’s got to be better than out here, I suppose. Everything here’s fairly raggedy, with loads of barbed wire and onslaughts of open fire. The higher ups are always saying everything’s Jake, and maybe it is in the grand scheme of things, but I’m not that informed on the politics and whatnot. Just blame Hitler. I hope you write back soon, maybe you have–mail moves like molasses. It’s getting a bit disheartening to listen to the lists of names on incoming letters but to never hear yours.
What I’m meaning to say, or write, is that I spend a lotta time thinking out here. Most of the time I end up thinking back on the days after work when we’d walk home, tired and laughing. It’s funny how you end up missing that kinda exhausting low-pay work once you get to the lowest of lows. Mostly I find myself missing you. You’ve been my best friend, even when I’ve been a lousy pal, and I can’t say I never wished for, maybe, something more? I suppose, if I make it back home, I’d sure like the chance to court you, if you’d want that too. I know I’m not much, but I’d love to spend the rest of my life with you going on walks, listening to you talk about whatever’s on your mind, or saving up a couple cents to get an ice cream every Saturday. If that’s not what you’re wanting outta life though, I won’t make a fuss outta it. I’d much rather be your friend than nothing at all.
Anyhow, if this whole idea twists your stomach the wrong way, just go on and pretend it got lost in the mail and I’ll never bring it up.
Your friend always,
Lonnie

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