February 11, 1936: Eggs & Coffee

She talks about a funny lookin' man.

 

Dear Diary,

 

     It's barely the afternoon, and it's felt like time has run from my fingers. I only say that because I've had such a sadly spectacular morning, as well as an amused one. Maybe I should begin sometime after I woke.

     Last night I did not sleep, I groggily laid awake in my stuffy compartment on the Taurus Express. About 5 in the morning, I heard Arabic quarrels outside my window. Somewhere in the midst of it all my ears caught the voices of to men speaking French. I raised myself slightly from my bed to peer just below my window. In crisp winter air stood a lanky French officer and a compact little man whose face adorned an enormous set of handlebar whiskers. The sight of him drew a slight grin across my worn face. As I watched the two converse, I tried to open the window, but failed miserably. It just would not even crack open for me.

     The Wagon Lit conductor went up to the two men, and informed them that the train would soon depart. Nodding politely, he took off his hat, exposing a peculiarly egg shaped head. My smile spread, despite my weariness. His appearance is something no one can possibly take seriously. Soon the two went their ways, and the train jerked and rode on. I did not see the ridiculous-looking man until breakfast.

     I rummaged through my luggage for my thin burgundy dress. I never thought I would need to wear something so thin out here, where the air stung your skin. Quickly slipping the dress on, I walked casually to the dining cart, and call out for my attendant. I ordered some eggs, and just as that little man walked through the doors, I asked for my second cup of coffee. Wondering when Bob was going to stroll in the doors, I stared out passed the little man's head, and secretly watched him. I felt his gaze, even though I couldn't spot his eyes on me. Presently, Bob sauntered towards me, and as an English gentleman, he politely asked to take the seat across from me. We made painstakingly plain conversation, giving off the idea we knew nothing about one another. It took all my heart to keep me from reaching out to interweave my fingers with his, and to kiss him good morning. Beyond his façade, I noticed annoyance as his lips twitched, holding back comfort and adoration for me. He made his ordered, eggs and coffee as well, then turned to look at the man he must've noticed watching us, or at least mainly me. As soon as I finished my breakfast, I excused myself, and I returned here to write to you. No that I've filled you in on my morning, I'm going to go and attempt a quick nap or read, which ever turns out more successful.

Mary Debenham

Author's Note

like always, dears.