An Evening in Casablanca

Alone in My Room in Casablanca

January 15, 1943

Anfa Hotel - Casablanca

I'm sitting here, pen in hand, scribbling away like a school girl. It's been ages since I last wrote in this little book. I suppose it's the weight of secrecy that's kept me from putting my thoughts to paper. But tonight, I feel an urge to unburden myself.

As I sit here, sipping Scotch and listening to the distant sounds of laughter and music drifting from the hotel bar, I have mixed motions. The past few days have been a whirlwind of meetings and briefings, with the PM and President Roosevelt in attendance as I sit on the outside and observe. It's exhilarating, yet terrifying, to think of the weight of responsibility that rests on everyone’s shoulders.

But it's not the war that has occupied my thoughts of late. It's the two men who've managed to capture my heart, though in vastly different ways. Dear God, I feel like a traitor, torn between my duty and my desires. Lt. Col. JC, with his dashing good looks and bravery, has been my rock, my confidant. We've shared moments of tenderness and laughter--quiet understanding. I've watched him lead his men with sincere determination. But I've also seen the vulnerability in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking.

And then, there's my American counterpart, RJ, with his quick wit and easy charm. We've worked together on countless operations, our minds meshing like gears in a well-oiled machine. He's shown me the “can-do” beauty of the American spirit. His smile can light up a room, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. And…just when I think I have him figured out, he shows another side of himself!

Why must I be forced to choose between two good men? Can't I simply follow my heart? It's impossible. Duty and loyalty must come first. But I long to be with them both.

I think of my parents, of their expectations and the life I was born into. I was raised to be a lady, marry well, produce smart, successful children, and manage the household. But the war has changed me, everything really. I've seen the worst of humanity, and I've seen the best. I've learned to rely on myself, to trust my instincts, and to follow my intuition in most situations.

I'm writing this, I suppose, to leave a piece of myself behind. In case...well, in case I don't make it through this wretched war. I want someone, someday, to know that I lived and loved; I did my part, no matter how small.

As I finish writing here, a sense of peace settles over me. It's a fragile thing, this calm, but I'll cling to it, nonetheless. Tomorrow will bring its own set of difficulties, its own secrets and lies. But for now, in this small quiet moment, I am free to be myself.

Until next time, dear diary, ol' buddy (...if there is a next time).

Always and forever,
“D”

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