Quaid's Letters

Dear Betsy,
I know we already talked about this before I was reassigned to the West Coast, and just yesterday on the telephone, but I figured I'd write you anyway. A handwritten letter, not a telegraph. By the time you get this, I'll be on a big boat somewhere in the Pacific. Maybe this'll connect us, like that time you made fools out of the both of us by getting your fishing line tangled every which way that time on the pier. God, I miss you so much.
Anyway, I don't really know what I want to say in this letter that we didn't already talk about on the telephone. I suppose I wanted to ask you again to wait for me. I know we already talked about this. Maybe I just wanted to give you something to remember me by, something tangible rather than just some memory something to look at until my return.
Know that I will love you always, and that I'm going to give those Japs hell if it means I can see home, and you, sooner.


August 1942

Dear Mom and Dad,
Not sure when you'll get this letter, but here's hoping the Corps can get it to you in a timely fashion.
The boat ride over was pretty uneventful. Crammed into the ship like sardines. The food they gave us wasn't half bad, better than the canned stuff they're issuing us now. Managed to make a few pals I could talk to, play cards (no, I didn't gamble), and trade magazines to ward off boredom.
We're at an island called Guadalcanal. The weather's been nice so far. There's a breeze here, warm sand, lots of sun. No need to worry about me, Mom, they've got me unloading the supply ship. I haven't had to do any fighting or go on any patrols. All the boys are fighting hard to keep your baby boy safe and sound.
I'm not sure how long it takes to receive mail. I'd appreciate a letter, but hold off on any packages. We could be marching through Tokyo in a few months for all I know.


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