Sunken ships

3

The journal. That damn book I wrote a couple of years after our escape from Dunkirk beach and everything that happened after that. I haven't seen it since we moved into this house.

I wrote a lot of things in there, everything that was happening, everything I was feeling. It helped to stuff it all in there but it was also an escape from reality. It was a way to hide inside my head by myself, just me and my feelings.

I don't exactly know where it is now. Should I go find it?

I hesitate for a few seconds before I eventually get up from the armchair. Where do I start?

I opened the top drawer of the wooden cupboard in the living room. I started searching in the drawer hoping to find that journal which had a black cover and a brown lace around it to hold it closed. There was nothing even close to what I was searching for in there.

I wasn't going to stop looking for it so I opened the second drawer and repeated what I did for the previous one. Again with no luck.

My last and final chance to find that damn book is the last drawer of the cupboard. I was already getting frustrated because I couldn't think of another place where it could be. But also, I am not very patient when I am looking for something. So the last drawer it was. I got on my knees so I could reach the handle. Right away I could feel that this move wasn't good for my back, I haven't gotten on my knees in a pretty long time.

I continue to look for the journal. There is a lot of useless stuff in that drawer, maybe I should find some time to clean it. 

Just when I was about to leave it be and find something else to do I got a glimpse of something that looks like a black notebook in the far back of the drawer. That's the one. 

I close the drawer after I took the journal out and carefully get back up on my feet with one hand on my lower back and the other around the old notebook. I walk back to where I was seated earlier. 

I place the book on my lap to take another sip of my coffee which was already getting a bit cold. 

I am still not sure if should open it again. I have been trying to avoid thinking about the past so I would just be ripping it all open again if I did. But on the other hand, I was already ripping it open by talking about it in class, so why not? It could be useful, wouldn't it?

Carefully I take the lace between my index finger and thumb of my right hand and start to pull the messy bow open. The moment I take the lace off completely the journal jumps open a bit. I place the lace next to my coffee cup on the dark wooden table.

The notebook that is now in both of my hands had a couple of stains on the cover and cracks in the corners of how old it was. I slowly open the cover trying not to damage anything. There isn't anything written on the first page so I turn it over to where the text begins.

1943

Those beautiful emerald green eyes...