Play this Brooklyn, NY, USA
September 5th, 1939
My Dearest Genevieve,
This morning’s sun found it’s way through that little hole in the shade your brother made last Christmas and blinded me awake long enough to hear the boy on the corner hawking his rag with shouts of war. I went down to see what the fuss was about and flipped him a nickel for the pleasure. We got the news 2 days ago about Germany and Poland but now I see France is joining in. I don’t care how much moolah Donavan is raking in from the Toulouse shows, he needs to pull up stakes and get the whole caravan to make tracks or he’s going to hear it from me. You know what a pill I can be when it comes to you.
I know there’s nothing to worry about, but it’s just that I miss you so bad, see? Two days ago, I got your mom to watch the boys so I could go out with Al to the pictures, only he shows up with this dingy dame he’s all dizzy with. We’re halfway through the first show and I can’t even pay attention because they’ve got pitching woo on the brain to the point of indecency. I excused myself and came back to the apartment. It was some silly flick with a wizard and animals and a man made of iron or something anyhow.
I’m writing this from the fire escape as the sun is setting. The street is just the normal hub-bub as when you left. I have the Victrola set to play the new Glenn Miller over and over. Have you heard Moonlight Serenade there yet? When you get stateside again, I’m going to take you out and tip the bandleader to play it just for us. I want to hold you in my arms and dance again. Boy, I can’t wait.
When I’m getting my coffee in the morning, I imagine you’re up in the air at the start of your workday. I see your feathers and the way your outfit sparkles with every flip. It’s just you, alone up above the commotion of the tent with every eye in the early crowd on you. You’re why they come and Donovan better realize he’d be all wet without you.
The boys ask after you every day. Come home to us safe. Come home to us soon. Just come home.