A/N: I always intended this chapter to be shorter and to feature their letters to each other, but now I feel guilty about both since it's been so long between updates. I'm distracted by other South Park projects, but after October (when I plan to post a ghost story/historical AU that I'm really excited about!) this story will have my full attention, and now that I've gotten this chapter done I'm closer to the parts that I'm most looking forward to writing. Thanks for reading, guys, and sorry for the wait.

September 14

Dear Stan,

Not until I picked up a pen to write this did I realize that I haven't written in a letter in like five years. Everyone who I wanted to talk to was always just - around. With the exception of my mother. Who would call on the phone.

So, this is awkward already. I guess I'll just tell you what's been going on here.

First of all, Wendy is doing fine and has not been responsive to Gregory's advances, which aren't advances so much as douchey overtures. All three of us have been volunteering pretty much every day, I guess because there is nothing else to do. I always feel like the soldiers who are recovering must hate me, because of my mom or because I'm not sacrificing like they have. I asked Gregory if he ever feels this way and he laughed. He says he feels pity for the human race for not being able to let go of our primal warrior urges or some crap like that. I stopped listening like halfway through.

Writing this is making me miss you worse. Could we talk on the phone, maybe? Wendy has probably already told you, but we had this idea about driving up to FoCo and visiting you, if that would be allowed. So, let me know, or her. Maybe me and her could come at different times so it wouldn't be awkward having me there when you wanted to be alone with Wendy etc.

I'm still paying Karen McCormick to clean our house. Really hoping she doesn't find that pizza. The pizza has been kind of indiscreet lately, and less responsive to authority. Of course, the only person trying to assert authority over the pizza these days is me, because my father is pretty much comatose with grief. He keeps listening to old records from when he and my mom were dating. Do you have any grieving parent advice?

Please tell me everything you can about life on the base. I'm constantly trying to picture your day to day activities and having trouble with it.

I'm sorry it took me a week to write back, but I was really upset to find out you won't be coming home. I hope you can have visitors. You can't just leave, dude. Right?

I keep catching myself thinking you're already up north. I can't believe you're only two hours away.

Ugh I think that's enough for now. Write back really really quickly. Please.

Love,

Kyle

September 17

Kyle! I got your letter today. It's so funny how I could hear your voice in it, like a recording was playing. Do I sound like me in my letters? I feel kind of stupid writing them, too, but reading them is great.

Thanks for the Wendy report. She's only written me twice so far, and neither letter mentioned Gregory, which isn't necessarily a good sign because I know she sees him all day every day. And now he's hanging out with you all the time, too, so I hate him that much more. Speaking of people we hate, is Cartman bothering you? Tell Wendy if he is. She'll waste him.

Okay, to address your questions:

1) Grieving parents - Well, I was grieving pretty hardcore at the time, too. Are you letting yourself grieve? You've been kinda closed up since it happened. I mean, not to me, but to everyone else. You know? I can totally picture your face as you read this, and you're scowling hatefully, aren't you? I actually hope you are, because I like being able to anticipate when you'll scowl hatefully.

Mostly you can't really do anything except be there and make sure they eat. Just let him listen to the records and mope around and hopefully someday he'll feel like he can function again. You're really capable and stuff so I think he feels okay letting you handle things on your own. With me, I was pretty psycho with rage after my dad died, so my mom had to take care of me and I think that distracted her from what she was going through herself, in a good way.

As for your pizza, don't let it push you around. A pizza of that age is prone to displays of aggression and independence. Especially since your dad is not really interested in pizza right now. Remind the pizza that you love and support it, even if it lashes out at you in response. Then tell it to get over itself. Everybody's got problems.

2) My day to day life at camp - It's not as exciting as you may think. Our whole day is planned out for us, every minute accounted for, and we just do what we're told. When it's getting me down I try to think about how my dad went through this, too, though I guess things were a little different back then.

Basically it's like: get up, run laps until you feel like you're gonna vomit, devour breakfast while sweaty, drills (like target practice, combat), scarf lunch (the food is not that good but you're always so hungry and also just glad to be sitting down for a whole ten minutes, so every meal seems like the best one you've ever eaten), more drills, chores, dinner, more chores, showers and bed. Showering with others is not my favorite activity. Especially because Butters gets picked on so I have to kind of watch out for him (so then they pick on me and call me his boyfriend, hur hur), but he can't just shower quick and get out like a normal person, he stands there chatting about all this stuff and dragging it out. Having to be near Butters' wang while he talks about the dream he had about riding a dragon is torture, Kyle.

Well, I hope you laughed, because now here's the bad news. We're not allowed to have visitors or make non-emergency phone calls. They said they'd make an exception if I was going to propose marriage to someone, so what do you think? Will you marry me?

No, but seriously, I'm thinking about asking Wendy. That way I could see her one more time before I leave (in only two weeks, now they're saying. It keeps getting shorter), and also she'd know that I'm serious about her and to not let Gregory get to her while I'm gone. Let me know your thoughts on this ASAP, because it's a pretty major decision.

I

wish

you

were

here

so much.

Every day, Kyle. Just writing your name makes me sad.

WRITE BACK IMMEDIATELY, don't wait a week just because you're pissed at me for not being able to come home. Please please please.

Your loving pal,

Stanley

September 19

Stanley,

Just read your letter and am immediately composing a response, per your request.

Well, okay. This Wendy idea. Here are my thoughts: (1) Wendy is very sensitive to bullcrap, so you'd better really mean this proposal if you're going to do it, and not just use it as an excuse to have sex with her one more time before you leave for the front; (2) although it makes me sick to admit this, going to war will probably change you. At least a little. How can you be sure that you'll still want to get married right away when you return? Is it fair to Wendy to assume that your feelings about settling down won't have changed at all?; (3) you might want to suggest this to Wendy as a ruse that you're both complicit in. Tell the army you're proposing, get down on one knee, do the whole thing, but have an understanding with Wendy that, while you will probably want to marry her eventually, this is just a practice proposal for the sake of a conjugal visit; and (4) you've never had any experience with another woman (have you?). Are you sure that Wendy is The One? You're under no obligation to marry your high school sweetheart. You described this decision as "pretty major. It is extremely major, Stan.

Alright, now I've gotten that out of the way. Writing it all out was a useful distraction from the rage that is growing in me over the knowledge you can't have phone calls or visitors unless future matrimony is involved. If Wendy doesn't like the idea of a fake proposal, you could offer one to me for the sake of a real goodbye. Ha ha.

You didn't really ask me how things are going with me or anything, so I don't really know what to say next. I guess it would be boring if I described my day. Cleaned bed pans, restocked gauze, played cards with my favorite soldier, lunch with Wendy and Gregory on the lawn (Gregory bought a triangle of brie from the black market, it was amazing), arranged the afternoon movie for the patients, cleaned more bed pans, gave someone who's lost his hands a sponge bath, awkward moment with Craig Tucker, then I walked home and found your letter.

Sorry to hear about Butters' wang. I'm surprised he has one, actually. Seems like he'd have one of those action figure smooth plastic crotches.

Mail man is coming in like five minutes so I guess I'll just end this here.

I think about you constantly. And yes, you sound like 'you' in your letters.

Love,

Kyle

September 21

Are you mad at me? Stop being mad at me, Kyle. It's no fair, when I'm not there to defend myself.

LIKE:

I'm sorry I forgot to ask you to tell me about your day! I thought you just understood that I want to hear everything. Like, who is this 'favorite soldier' person? I thought I was your favorite soldier. Does he have hands? Is the guy without hands nice? Did Gregory make you chip in for the brie (I had to ask Bebe what brie is)? What happened with Craig that was awkward? These are just a few of the questions I had while reading what you wrote. KYLE, TELL ME EVERYTHING. There, now you have it in writing.

I think Wendy would be insulted by a fake proposal. I don't want to marry someone who I haven't known forever, and she's the only person who I've known forever who I'd ever want to marry (other than you, but you're a boy). Do you know what I mean? It's like, who am I going to meet who's better than Wendy? No one, probably. Do you even think she'd say yes? I've always kinda worried that she wouldn't, but since I'm leaving for war maybe I'll get some sympathy credit.

Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle. This time around writing your name is more enjoyable. Not sure why. I think about you constantly, too. Every situation I'm in, I'm going, in my head, 'well here's what Kyle would do/think/say.' And I'm exactly right in every case, just so you know.

Don't even try to act like you don't know that I have a million questions I want to ask you. How is that pizza? How is Karen McCormick at cleaning? She wrote to Kenny and described you as "nice." I don't know if I agree with that assessment. Do you see yourself as "nice?" I like that you're not that nice. You're more like, honest and fair.

Nobody here is nice. It's a big joke that me and Butters are "in love" and I'm sick of it. Like I even care if these idiots think I'm gay. Just not for Butters, please. It's so insulting. Butters is not thriving. He broke down crying and confessed to me that he's gay for Cartman. I was like, "duh." But I said it nicely. I think I'm nice, Kyle, don't you?

If I do the marriage proposal thing with Wendy, you should drive her. By my calculations I would be able to see you from the guest parking lot and we could wave at each other through the fence.

I would really like to see you. Send pictures.

Putting this in the mail now, because it's effing urgent.

I LOVE YOU, KYLE BROFLOVSKI. Be nicer to me.

-Your adoring Stan

September 25

I don't know whether to be amused or alarmed by the fact that, based on your last correspondence, you seem to be going slightly insane. I guess I should say I'm not surprised. Your letter made me sort of insane with happiness, but it was brief, because after I finished reading what you'd written I was smiling at someone who was not actually present.

I've learned through Wendy that she's been granted a visitation permit next week. I take it this means you will be proposing to her at that time, against my advice. I just want that on record: against my advice. She suspects nothing; your story about a loophole in the visitation requirements flew with her. Surprisingly? Hmm. I think she's just out of her mind with excitement at the chance to see you. Anyway, I will drive her. Perhaps me and you could shout loudly enough to actually say hello to each other from the opposite sides of this fence.

Sorry I was so petulant about not being asked about my day or whatever. I'm in a weird place right now, Stanley. On to your questions:

My favorite soldier at the center is a 32 year old woman named Stephanie. I think she reminds me of my mother. She has a neck injury and has trouble controlling the volume of her voice (seeing the resemblance yet?) I've told her about you. She seems to think you'll be okay as long as you're not sent to the Wyoming/Montana border or upstate New York. So don't get sent to those places. And yes, she has hands.

The guy who does not have hands is not particularly nice, nor would I expect him to be. He's young, like 25. There's so little money available for prosthetics for injured soldiers. I never realized this was a problem until I started volunteering here. I guess we were really pretty sheltered from the realities of the war while we were in school.

Gregory did not make me chip in for the brie, but he made some passive aggressive comments about how much it cost. I ignored them and ate slightly more than my share.

Craig, oh Lord. What about Craig isn't awkward. He comes to the center on a regular basis to refill his prescriptions, then sells the pills for exorbitant prices on the black market. He's actually making quite a lot of money, I've heard, and he's opened his own booth where he employs Tweek to sell coffee that is laced with amphetamines. It's very popular stuff. I have not tried it yet myself. Anyway, the awkward moment in question took place as he was leaving with his latest bounty of pills and I was coming in with an arm load of freshly laundered blankets (I'm trying to paint a vivid picture here, don't laugh). As you know, Craig walks with a cane, and, barely being able to see over the pile of blankets, I nearly crashed into him, causing him to swerve, falter, and almost fall over. It was terrible, actually more heartbreaking than awkward, and, me being an idiot, I did not set the blankets down to help him because all I could think about was not wanting to get them dirty. Anyway, he steadied himself and toddled off, muttering about clumsy effers.

Of course I know what you mean about wanting to marry someone you've known forever. It's our small town mentality. We don't trust outsiders. I don't, anyway. Gregory is still suspect, as far as I'm concerned. Are you seriously asking me if Wendy will accept your proposal? She will. She loves you. She's a wreck without you. It's actually making me angry, the idea that you could wonder about this. But you asked me not to be mad at you, so I won't be.

Now, the most important part of the letter. Am I nice. I am nice to Karen McCormick, yes. She doesn't do a great job cleaning - forgets to wipe down the cabinet fronts in the kitchen, does not dust thoroughly, and has broken our vacuum. I'm nice about all of these things because she's a trembling little mouse whose mother will most likely end up working with Cartman's before the war is over. Am I nice to other people: no, for the most part. I'm not even nice to you, my favorite person.

You, however, are nice. You're saintly. If you've ever hurt anyone I'm sure it was unintentional. You're the kind of person who rescues insects from windowsills and releases them into the wild. Even the gross ones (like me).

That seems like a good place to stop. I think I've read your last letter 200 times. I love it when you're exasperated in print.

Looking forward to seeing you through (over?) a fence. In the meantime, I'm enclosing several old pictures of the two of us. These are incredibly precious to me, so please don't let them get singed in battle or anything. Don't let anything on your person become singed.

I could try to be nicer to you, but would you really want that? You said so yourself: you like it when I scowl hatefully on cue.

Love,

Your number one fan (yes, of course you're my favorite soldier),

Kyle

September 27

Hey dude, I am starting to feel kind of nervous about this whole proposal thing. Do you think the army will get mad at me if I chicken out at the last minute? I'm glad you'll be there, anyway, even if you can't stand next to me while it happens.

Thanks for answering my questions. There is one big question that you still haven't answered, though: is Cartman bothering you? Don't be afraid to tell me if he is. I will sick Wendy on him so hard. I still have bad dreams about that night at the party. Do you? I hate him so much. As soon as I get home I'm going to pick up where I left off, punching-wise. Surprised he's not doing some black market shadiness like Craig is.

Man, good for Craig, though, really. He got a raw deal. Bebe has been going to church services here to pray for Clyde, and I've been going with her. Butters comes, too, to pray for Cartman's wiener, I guess. How could anyone be into that? I hope Cartman never finds out. He'd just use it to get Butters to do more of his dirty work.

I'm glad your other favorite soldier is a lady. Is she pretty? Wait, you said she reminds you of your mom, so I guess it's not a love connection. Sad about the guy with no hands. I bet you've seen a lot of sad stuff. But don't worry about me, I'm fine.

You're nice to me, Kyle, you are. Or maybe that's the wrong word. You treat me right. Hahaha.

I'm having a not great day today. Just tired and bored and I feel really lonely, though there are people everywhere and you can't even get a moment alone to sit on the toilet. Also it's getting really cold early this year, did you notice?

I miss you. I'm looking at the pictures you sent. I'm totally not crying or anything.

Write back soon.

Love,

Stan

September 30

It makes no sense that it should take your letters three days to get here! Not that I'm blaming you. I know they have to comb through everything and make sure there's nothing top secret being said. None of yours have been censored yet, by the way.

Well, in two days we'll be there for this proposal, unless you've called it off in a letter to Wendy. I keep catching myself thinking that they'll actually marry you then and there. They won't, will they? I hope not. That would be a depressing setting for a wedding.

I hate it when you cry, don't cry. It's hard to hear that you're feeling bad and not being able to do anything about. Maybe second thoughts about this proposal have something to do with it? You really don't have to go through with it, Stan. Don't allow yourself to feel trapped.

I ignored your concerns about Cartman because you suggested sicking Wendy on him, which is just a little insulting, Stan. I can handle that idiot myself. What happened was a drunken mistake by me, because I should have bitten or screamed or done anything other than lie there like a stunned turtle. I'm sorry you're having bad dreams, but please don't worry. Cartman is busy with black market schemes (he has his own booth now, too, and I bet you can guess what he's selling) and he's of no concern to me.

Now for my big news: Karen has discovered the pizza. I suspect the pizza itself had something to do with this. She's promised not to slice the pizza up and spread it around town, but I'm more worried about how well she's getting along with the pizza, despite the pizza being basically non-human in its communication skills. I guess it's just a case of a lonely girl meeting a lonely pizza, but I'm really alarmed by this.

I think I'm probably also jealous. It wouldn't be so bad if someone appeared and lifted the lid off my pizza box. So to speak.

I cannot wait to see you from across a parking lot, through a fence. I'm also bringing you a care package that Wendy will deliver.

But if you want to call the whole thing off, you should!

Love,

Kyle

October 3

Dear Kyle,

I just reread your last letter to make sure I remembered everything you talked about, and the last thing you said was that I should call off the proposal. Well, I went through with it. As you know. What did you and Wendy talk about on the drive back?

I'm glad I got to see you, even though you were kinda quiet and I was on the verge of puking from nerves. Had you seriously forgotten about the buzz cut? Your eyes were so wide when you first saw me. It's not even as short as it was when they first did it! I wish you could have seen Bebe. She's kinda working it. Butters is not, he looks like an overlarge baby.

So, I'm engaged. I don't feel different. I guess cause there's a lot of other things going on. Like I got my deployment. It's to the Wyoming border. Butters and Bebe will be on my squadron, and Kenny, too. He's all raring to go. He's gotten kind of weird. I think they might make him a sniper after his first tour, because he's really good with a gun.

Don't say that stuff about it being your fault. That wasn't your fault. He's evil, Kyle, and you shouldn't underestimate him. Don't even tell me what he's selling at the black market, it'll just piss me off.

I still can't believe it about pizza, but I'm kind of happy for it. Just make sure pizza wraps its pepperoni before it does anything crazy. I can tell you where the pepperoni wrappers vendor is at the market if you'd like.

It was so weird and good to see you. It all went by too fast. So much for a conjugal visit.

I don't know what else to say, sorry, I'm a little effed up about shipping out in a week. I feel like I just got here.

Write back and tell me everything you've done since you last saw me.

Love,

Stan

October 7

Stan,

First of all, a big part of your last letter got redacted, so there's a whole paragraph that just reads "So, I got engaged. I don't feel different." And then a huge black chunk of secrecy. I'm really intrigued about what's under there, and why the army would be censoring your feelings about your engagement. There was also a part toward the end about you being "effed up" about something, and that remains a mystery, too.

I'm sorry I was quiet. It wasn't just the hair; you looked older. I guess just because of the increased muscle mass. How did that happen so fast? I'm jealous. It was really good to see you, and I'm sorry I was weird and touched your fingers. I don't know, whatever. I was overwhelmed by the whole thing, that effing fence, the idea of you as someone's husband.

On the way back, Wendy and I were silent for the most part. We've become pretty good friends, maybe she's told you, but that day we just wanted to be alone with our thoughts.

I didn't realize you were doing business with a pepperoni wrapper vendor at the market, though I guess I'm not surprised. It's sad that you couldn't have a conjugal visit, but you'll have some leave time after your first tour, right? God, why am I talking about the next time you'll stick your (wrapped, I would think) pepperoni into your fiancee, okay, moving on.

Everything I've done since you saw me: drove back to South Park, dropped Wendy off, returned to the house to find Karen McCormick giggling conspiratorially with pizza (please do tell me where to purchase pepperoni wrappers), cooked dinner - oh, Stan, this is boring already. Aren't you leaving for the front soon? Have they told you where you're going yet?

Jimbo has been asking about you. I think it would be a nice gesture if you wrote to him.

Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. I think I forgot to say that in person. Frankly I don't even know what came out of my mouth aside from comments about your buzz cut. Yes, I had really forgotten. I pictured you as you were, not as some theoretical soldier.

What else, Jesus. It feels strange all over again, writing to you, now that I've seen you again in person. Oh, I had another run in with Craig the other day. He asked about you, actually, but he really wanted information on Bebe. It was a very odd conversation. I feel badly, because I don't think he has any friends, and surely he wants someone he can talk to about what happened to him. Should I reach out to him, or is that asking for derisive laughter in my face?

Stay safe and write again soon. Sorry again about how I was in person. It's always been hard for me to acknowledge our differences. I tend to think I'm so like you, that we have so much in common, and then I get these reminders that we're miles apart in terms of like, everything.

I hope you're feeling better. I wish I could just sit with you and talk for a few hours. I'd do anything for that right now.

Love,

Kyle

October 10

Hey dude, don't say we don't have anything in common. We have lots in common. It's just hard to define. We see the world the same way, you know?

Sorry stuff got blacked out. It wasn't about my engagement, anyway, and I was stupid to think that what it was about would get through. I forgot to ask you how Gregory reacted to finding out me and Wendy are engaged. Tell me!

You might not hear from me for a while, but don't worry. Keep sending the letters to the same address and they'll get passed on to me eventually, wherever I am.

Don't be sorry that you were quiet or about the finger touching. I liked the finger touching. You know I'm pretty touchy in general, so don't ever feel bad about grabbing me. I wanted to grab you that day. I guess I was overwhelmed, too. I didn't even think about the fact that I'll be a "husband." Huh. And yeah, I'll be wrapping my pepperoni for at least another five years. I guess by then I'll have some army pay banked and I might actually be able to afford a kid. I don't want to have one until the war ends, though, you know?

About Craig, man, I wouldn't bother. I don't like the idea of you becoming friends with him, even if it's the right thing to do. I don't trust him. But back to pepperoni: the condom/birth control vendor sets up near the back left exit, usually, and it's a total rip off but you gotta do what you gotta do. I guess we never did talk about me and Wendy going all the way or whatever. I'll tell you about it if you want? Probably not in a letter, though.

I wrote to Jimbo. It's always been hard for me to talk to him, though I guess we're close in a way? Since my dad died, anyway. Give him a hug for me, if you're cool with hugging him. I told him to give you one for me.

I wish we could sit together and talk, too. Especially now, I really need it. I want to write out everything I'm feeling but I hate the way it looks on paper, you know?

I'm carrying the pictures you sent me in my front pocket all the time. I think they'll be good luck.

Take care of yourself, and don't worry too much.

Love,

Stan

October 13

Stan,

Today is Friday the 13th and I have the worst feeling. I can't put my finger on it, but of course I assume it has something to do with you being in danger. You can't tell me not to worry, that's cruel.

I guess we have things in common, but it's more history than personality, you know? It's a good thing, really, because I could never get along with someone who shares a personality with me.

Gregory: he's been very congratulatory toward Wendy re: the engagement, but I can tell he's hurting. Maybe not because he feels like he could make Wendy happier himself, but just because he's lost some part of himself to her, and she's giving that part of him, unknowingly, to someone else. I have an eye for that kind of hurt. It's actually making me like him, and we went to see that 'Hummingbird' movie together. Wendy's always said that he's gay. I suppose you know by now that I am.

I should crumble this up or burn it, but there it is. I have a horrible feeling that it will be a very long time before I see you again, and I don't want you to think I don't trust you with what I'm sure you already know.

Now I'm shaking like crazy, check out this bad penmanship. I think I will send this, though.

Don't tell me about you and Wendy, anyway. I got some condoms for Ike and he laughed, then turned pink in a way that makes me fear it's too late. They're only children, it's insane, but the war has made us all grow up fast.

I have to stop this here or I'll never have the balls to put it in the mail.

Love,

Kyle

November 1

Kyle, I'm sorry it's been so long, things here are not how I thought they would be. There's no stuff for writing or mailing. It took me forever to get this pen and I don't know how long it will take this letter to get to you or if you've written me anything since I left. Butters and Bebe are here with me, and we try to keep each other warm. Kenny was killed three days ago, maybe Karen will have told you by the time you read this. I want to see you again someday so I can try to describe what's happened. I can't write it here.

I think my mother is still out of town on Red Cross business, but if you see her please tell her I'm okay. Are you okay? I still have our pictures, no burns on them. Love, Stan

December 24

Dear Stan,

I don't know if this will ever reach you, or if my last letter has. I've been in turmoil for months over your lack of response, and now I hate myself for how petty and self-pitying I've been. I've just received your letter dated November 1 and this gritty scrap you wrote it on terrifies me. I'm terrified for you.

We've had air raids here; the movie theater and that whole strip of shut-down stores was bombed. I'm still volunteering, and we had a new influx of patients around Thanksgiving. It's so overcrowded and sometimes I don't go home until eleven o'clock.

The pizza is gone. Karen, too. They left a note telling us not to worry. My father is inconsolable. I try not to think about it. There's so much work to be done, and I've been very determined to lose myself in it in the weeks and months without word from you.

I actually took heart in Wendy telling me she hadn't heard from you either, though I thought she might be lying to save my feelings. I'm such a coward, an idiot, and I should die a thousand times before you suffer a moment's discomfort. Wendy has always been braver than me, and she's certain that we'll hear from you soon. I find her crying sometimes, but she always pushes me away and pretends I'm imagining it.

Kenny's remains have not been returned, so far as I know. I could have sworn I saw him in town just two weeks ago, filling up an unfamiliar truck at a gas station, but I suppose I've just gone a little crazy.

Stan, what will happen? I wish someone could tell me. I wish I could even know that you'll read this.

I want you back here where you belong. This is madness and I'm done with it.

Love,

Kyle

February 2

Stan, I know I'm spitting into the wind, but I had to write something. Clyde Donovan appeared in the field hospital today, battered but intact. Alive all this time, surviving just outside of enemy territory, finally able to make it as far south as the last outpost in California. I took it as a miracle, and I was only briefly glad for it, because how many miracles can one town hope to have? I wanted that one reserved for you, just in case.

I spoke to your mother on the phone (she's serving in Virginia) and she said she'd had no news of you. How can they leave us with nothing for months? This is hell.

Come back.

Love,

Kyle