Kent, Ohio
Miles sighed, his chin resting on his hand while he watched out the front window of the small apartment. He had been waiting at least an hour already, and he was running out of patience and energy.
His eyes snapped open when he heard the doorbell ring, and he rushed to the door to scoop up the square envelope the mailman had pushed through the slot. He smiled. It was another thank-you card.
July 15, 1971
Miles,
Thank you so much for all your letters, you're part of my only sanity. I've been in contact with the paper, making sure I'm keeping my article and research on track. I've sent letters back and forth with Elle. But you're my favorite.
The paper usually only contacts to make sure I'm far enough out from a combat zone. You're the only one I'll tell that I've been much closer than I should have been. Should I tell you I felt a bullet whiz by my head? It buried itself in the vines barely a few inches off its mark. I most likely shouldn't have told you, you'll worry more now. But what a story! Maybe it will inspire you. I'll be including it in the article. At this rate, I'll be writing hundreds!
It's exciting being here. Even though I feel I shouldn't be so excited. Do you think it's wrong? Even though we're over here for a good cause, it feels strange. There's a lot of division between the soldiers, some of them think we shouldn't be here in the first place. And I have a horrible feeling about some of the others
Still, I'm glad for the opportunity it's given me. Can you believe I'm here? Can you believe I'm a true reporter, writing articles and sharing truths from the front lines? I never would have thought.
What's life like, back in the states? I've been gone a month and I already feel like I've forgotten everything. Are you still protesting? I imagine so. I'm sure I haven't changed your opinion on the war. I couldn't do it before, can't imagine my letters are doing it now! That's alright though, I liked you then and I like you now.
Thank you so much for writing back. I haven't had a penpal in forever. It makes me feel like I'm young again. Not too young, after this trip I won't be able to feel too young ever again. But thank you, for letting me feel at least a little more my age.
Love,
Della"
Vietnam, 50 miles west of Saigon
Della nearly hugged the mail man when he approached her while she was sitting just outside the tent. He didn't respond, just handed her the square thank-you card she was always waiting for. He knew by this time not to bother trying to make conversation when he knew she got something from whoever was sending her thank-you cards, of all things.
He walked away, glancing over his shoulder and shaking his head at Della's grin while she opened up the card.
July 23, 1971
My dear Della,
Thank you for your letters. Thank you for being my spark and my laughter, even from so far away. How many times can we say thank you during this separation? It seems like we've already said it too much. But I remain ever grateful for you, and I'll gladly continue to express it.
Sending thank-you cards instead of letters was genius on your part. It feels much more charming than writing war letters to my girlfriend in Vietnam. That feels too real, don't you think so?
I suppose it doesn't matter if you're going to use your "thank-you cards" to tell me about your narrow escapes from enemy fire. You'll be the death of me.
