“Right now I see red,” begins Dart’s letter. He then goes on to tell about working off his extra duty hours by painting the chief petty officers’ quarters. It wasn’t hard work but it took up all his letter-writing time. The reason he’s seeing red? He’s writing this under the red night light that shines on the corner of the deck where he spreads his mattress out every night.
Today, he worked his poor body to the brink. Whenever they have a few short days in port the whole crew must hustle to accomplish tasks that can’t be easily done at sea. Loading stores of all types of things is the most exhausting work – work you don’t really feel until you’ve had a few moments to rest. Then, when you must move again, every cell creaks and balks.
They had another mail call today at which he received six letters from Dot and two from his folks. He knows that she has some idea how much her letters will mean during the time, soon to come, when no mail will be able to get to him. He cherishes every word she writes. What does he know about what’s coming for his ship that he’s not allowed to tell her? It sounds vaguely ominous.
He says it’s okay for her to be glad he’s not on an aircraft carrier, but it’s plain to see that she has not much of an idea about the duties of a destroyer. “After it’s all over and we can talk about things instead of guarding against even the slightest hint in letters, there’ll be a few tales to tell. Let’s hope they’re told and forgotten quickly.”
He’s trying to use every available moment to write his thoughts to her about how much he loves her. Actually, he has no time now, but he’s stealing a few moments anyway, gambling that no one would begrudge a poor, tired sailor the few minutes it takes to write his sweetheart a letter. He wishes he could tell her in person, but explaining his love will take a lifetime of chatter.
Dot has been working on her income tax return today so she hasn’t been having much fun. Still, the government owes her $58.20 so she guesses she’ll keep on working if she can get that kind of cash from the government. She’s thinking about claiming Tonsillectomy as a dependent next year to get an even bigger refund. She jokes that maybe Tonsillectomy will have a little brother or sister by then and the government will be her sole support. That’s weird, but I guess she’s running out of new things to say.
Wanting to include something to make him laugh, she encloses some snapshots of herself as a young child. The photos are missing from this collection of letters, but she refers to herself as a real “glamour girl,” but I suspect she says that with tongue planted firmly in her cheek.
She hopes his mother never sent the photo they had taken together while in Cleveland. He’d never want to come home if he saw a glimpse of it. Shes very tired, so it’s off to bed for her.
