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Dear Bucky,
It’s official! The show is coming over there! After months of talking in circles, somebody decided it was time, and in just a few days we’ve packed up and are on our way. I hardly let myself believe it until now, and I certainly didn’t want to tell you until I was absolutely sure. But I’m writing this on the train, heading back to New York, then we’ll get on a ship. I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you where we’re going, but I’m really dying to see you, Buck. Just imagine it.
I hope you are well and that your unit has been successful. I hardly know what to say, other than take care of yourself. I don’t know where the tour will take us, and you said you won’t be able to get mail for a while, but maybe this letter will be there waiting for you when you get back. Maybe I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. I bet I can get there faster than any old sack of mail.
In the meantime, think of me and ice cream and warm socks and turkey (and blue silk) and keep your ears open in case I just have to run around the continent yelling your name until I find you. I have no idea where your unit is, but I’ll find you. I’ll fake sick. I'll sneak out in the dead of night. I’ll go AWOL. You know I’m stubborn—if there’s any way to get to you, I’ll figure it out. I’ll find you, Buck. Don’t doubt it.
Love,
Steve